Lilly, less chaos, more grace.
“I’m joking, obviously,” I hurried out, lifting a hand in surrender. “Nothing breaks the ice like a minor feminist manifesto before the appetizers.”
A tentative chuckle tiptoed across the table. Khalifa’s palm found the small of my back, guiding me forward. The contact startled me, but I didn’t pull away. His touch was warm, and confusing, and left me caught between hating the intrusion and...not hating it. For someone who had always sworn she’d never let a man affect her, it was disorienting how much that single gesture unsettled me.
Introductions blurred together—Amir with the beard, Hannah with the French-tip nails, Yolanda, who taught medieval history, Layla from the sociology department, and Rishi, whose voice seemed determined to fill the entire restaurant.
I caught their eyes sweeping over my silhouette as they spoke—zeroing in on my red sequined skirt, the soft knit sweater I’d thought was chic rather than foolish, the way I didn’t quite match the company. Hannah and Layla shared a look post-inspection—that familiar, wordless exchange mean girls perfected back when they were deciding whether the newcomer was worth tolerating or neatly dismantling.
“You’re a doctor?” Hannah asked.
“Yup!” I nodded, a little too enthusiastically. “OB-GYN. I love babies—as long as they aren’t mine, of course.”
Her smile faltered. “I’m a mother,” she said, a note of offense grinding her voice. “I have two sons.”
“Oh,” I said quickly, warmth flaring up my spine. “I was just kidding. Moms are awesome. I mean—mostmoms. Mine’s not, but I don’t generalize.”
I offered a chuckle, but it was met with uncomfortable silence.
“Okay,” Layla said finally.
The bread basket arrived then, and my whole face lit up. “Oh my God,bread,” I moaned, already reaching for it. “All I had today was an expired candy bar I found in my desk after three back-to-back deliveries. Pretty sure it was covered in placenta.”
Amir cleared his throat. “You’re not what we pictured when Khalifa said he got married.”
“I wouldn’t have pictured myself as his wife either,” I said easily, because it was either that or acknowledge the tightness in my chest.
Hannah tilted her head, studying me again. “You’re just so...bright,” she said. “And bubbly. You and Khalifa are basically polar opposites.”
I’d heard that fake compliment enough times to know the translation—brightwas code for blinding, andbubblymeant aggressively chipper.
I laughed anyway, breaking off a piece of bread and buttering it with unnecessary focus. “I guess.”
Layla smiled thinly, and the conversation lurched forward again, but the feeling lingered—that sense of being slightly too vivid for the room. Like I’d shown up in highlighter yellow to a world that preferred soft grays and respectable neutrals.
“So, how did you two meet?” she asked, chin propped in her hand.
“A mutual connection,” Khalifa said.
“Wow, mysterious. Sounds romantic.”
“Yeah,” I agreed, “just like a fairy tale. Minus the fairies. And the tale.”
The group chuckled, but Hannah’s brows arched. “You’ve got a quick tongue. Does she always have the last word, Khalifa?”
Heat crept up my neck. I could already feel it coming—the sigh, the deflection, the embarrassment. He’d brush me off, smooth the moment, make me look like the noisy, brash wife.
But Khalifa just shrugged and said, “She’s right.”
The table hummed, the tension dissolving into clinks of silverware and conversation. They forgot about me for a while, which I appreciated. I attempted to listen, nodding along like a functional adult, but after hearingaccreditation standardsandpostgraduate funding modelsin the same sentence, my attention clocked out entirely.
I frowned down at the leafy greens on my plate, pushing them around like they might rearrange themselves into something more appetizing. My mind drifted to the fridge at home instead—wondering what kind of unholy but comforting concoction I could scrounge up once this ridiculous dinner was over. Something with cheese. Definitely something reheated. Possibly something eaten straight from the container, standing in front of the open door like a raccoon.
“Tell us more about you, Lilly,” someone said. “What’s it like being married to Khalifa? He’s always so quiet.”
Well, you know what they say,I thought absently, watching vinaigrette flood my salad.If he’s quiet in the streets, he’s a freak in the sheets.
It wasn’t until the silence fell with athudthat I realized I’d said the thought out loud. I stopped pouring and looked up. Every head turned. Across from me, a fork hovered halfway to Hannah’s mouth. To my left, Layla blinked slowly, buffering. To my right, Khalifa looked...genuinely alarmed. Horrified, even. Like he was mentally drafting a resignation letter.
