“I don’t know what you mean.”
Mom sighed.
“It means you’re a partner in a very successful restaurant, and you make a healthy supplementary income at the fire department. You can afford childcare.”
“Oh, great. So I should abandon your granddaughter to complete strangers because we’re ‘rich’.”
I knew I was guilt-tripping her, but it was my last resort. Although, I knew my parents. I knew once they’d made up their minds, there was very little anyone could do or say.
Mom slapped my arm and frowned.
“First of all, we’re not rich. We’re…comfortable. And you’re being purposefully obtuse.”
I squinted.
“Stop using words you don’t know,” I told her, and she smacked me again.
“Just becauseyoudon’t know what it means…” she grumbled. “All I’m trying to say is… I’ve told you a hundred times before. You don’t need to work yourself to the ground. You do it because you’re grieving, and you don’t know what to do with yourself. You need to get yourself out of this rut.
“You need to spend some time with your daughter. She barely sees her dad. You need to be careful, honey. Because one day she’ll be an adult, and you won’t know how that happened or how to make up for lost time. Don’t see this as an inconvenience. See it as an opportunity to make this Christmas the best one yet. For Ella.”
I shook my head. Not because I didn’t agree, but because she was right, and I didn’t like it. I didn’t like it one bit.
“Fine,” I said. “Go off into the hot islands and get yourself all crispy and red. See if I care.”
Mom chuckled and fell back on the couch with an excited sigh.
“Crispy and red sounds just about perfect right now.”
I ignored her and made my way to my bedroom. Ella was fast asleep in her cot, looking like the perfect little angel she was.
As if she were three already!
I ran my hand through her hair and took a deep breath.
“Don’t worry, baby girl. We’ll be fine, just the two of us. I promise.”
Somehow, I’d make it work.
I had to. I had to be the dad she deserved even if I didn’t know how. I had to figure it out.
For her.
2.Samir
“Thank you, everyone. Assalamu alaikum,” the imam said, and I got to my feet, making my way out of the prayer hall with some while others stayed behind to perform their dua or to chat with their friends and family.
Although, on an island as small as Mayberry Holm, everyone was family. Especially when the Muslim population was so tiny. Everyone hung onto whatever shreds of community they could. Not that I could blame them. It was nice having a support network, wherever one went, in their nearest mosque.
“Samir,” someone called out behind me, and I turned to look at an uncle running to catch up with me.
“Hi, Uncle Haroun. Are you okay?” I asked.
“I’m very well, Al Hamdullillah. How are you? Are you going already?”
I sighed. I didn’t know how many times I had to have this conversation before it stuck.
“I’ve got to return to the store, Uncle. You know that,” I said.
