I laugh. “You’ll always be my priority.”
She chuckles, although it doesn’t sound full of life like it usually does. “Good. Then I give you my blessing. Who’s going to marry you?”
I fidget with my hijab. “I was thinking Dr. Ziad. At the hospital. That way there would be witnesses.”
She sighs. “Perfect.”
I take a deep breath. “I was wondering if Kenan and his siblings could move in with us. I—I don’t want him to be so far away from me.”
Layla beams. “Of course! It’s better we stick together till we leave.”
I exhale, a weight slipping off my shoulders. “Well then, you know I want you to be there. Can you come?”
She laughs lightly and brushes her pregnant belly. “I wish! But Baby Salama is being difficult. I’m feeling a bit tired.”
I press a palm to her forehead. She’s not too warm.
“I’m fine,” she says. “Just weary.”
“Well, of course you’re tired. You slept in the hallway!” I scold and help her onto the couch.
She settles comfortably under the covers before noticing the disappointed look on my face.
“Salama, I really want to come.” She squeezes my hand. “I would crawl if I could, but I can’t even do that now.”
Guilt washes over me. I can’t be selfish. “I know. It’s just, I didn’t think I’d get married without you at the wedding. It’s weird.”
She grimaces.
“I could ask Kenan to postpone it until we get to Germany. Or tomorrow. I’m okay with that.”
She shakes her head. “No. Today. You get married today. You never know—” She stops. “You’re not putting off your happiness for me. Besides, we’re definitely having a party and another wedding ceremony in Germany. And of course, I’ll be the center of attention then, even if youarethe bride.”
I laugh, my sadness lifting at the beautiful image it’s creating in my mind. Being this close to leaving is allowing the suppressed dreams to wake up and grow like ivy between the cracks. Layla and I picking our dresses and a matching smaller one for Little Salama, who will have her mother’s eyes and her father’s hair. Holding her in my arms would make me feel closer to Hamza. Her pudgy hand grabbing my thumb in a tight grip and her little nose breathing in air that isn’t polluted with smoke and death.
Her time in Syria would be a dream she dreamed in the womb. One that exists only in the stories her mother and I tell her. Until one day she can come back to her country and grow the lemon trees.
I massage Layla’s shoulders for a bit. They’re stiff and bony under my hands and it’s an icy bucket of water on my dreams.
“Thank you,” she murmurs, eyes half closed. “Now go.” When I don’t move, she repeats, “Go! I’ll be here.”
She takes my hand in hers, peering at me through her eyelashes. “I’m so happy for you. So proud. Your parents and Hamza would be too. Look how you’ve changed.”
I give her one last squeeze before grabbing my lab coat. Today, this is my wedding dress, but in Germany, I’ll have a real one. With Layla. Safe and sound.
WHENKENAN ARRIVES AT THE HOSPITAL,HIS SIBLINGSare right beside him. Lama’s eyes are wide with wonder, while Yusuf’s expression is curious and unclouded by sadness, giving me a glimpse of how young he truly is.
“Hey,” Kenan says, his eyes brightening at the sight of me.
“Hey.” I smile, feeling giddy.
“Hey,” Lama says, and I tear my stare away from Kenan to look at the little girl clutching his side.
She looks stronger, life lifting her features.
“How are you, Lama?” I ask.
“Good,” she replies and then glances up at Kenan, who nods at her. “Thank you for saving my life.”
