“How old are you?” she suddenly asks.
An amused smile tilts my lips up. “Eighteen.”
She frowns, trying to calculate how much older that is than her. “Kenan’s nineteen,” she finally says.
“I know.”
“And you married him,” she says in a matter-of-fact tone.
“I did.”
“Why? He’s always on his laptop. Sometimes I have to yell three times before he hears me.”
She says it in such a solemn tone I burst out laughing, and Kenan’s shoulders shake with his own suppressed laughter. Yusuf surges forward and grabs the hem of Kenan’s sweater.
“Why are you laughing?” Lama demands.
I reach over and brush her cheek. “I’m sorry. You’re just so cute.”
Her nose scrunches as she debates with herself whether she should analyze this more or accept the compliment. She decides on the latter.
I look at Yusuf and smile. “I like your backpack. Spider-Man is really cool. Is he your favorite superhero?”
For the first time since I’ve met him, Yusuf’s eyes brighten up and he nods once before pressing his lips together and clutching the straps. He breaks my heart. It’s clear he’s been forced to grow up so suddenly that he’s holding on to anything resembling the innocence he lost. Normally by thirteen he would have thrown away his Spider-Man backpack for video games and meeting his friends for a football match in one of the alleys. His emotional growth is a plant that people forgot to water, so it tries to capture any moisture it can.
A crowd emerges from my neighborhood. Young men, women, and teenagers, all carrying various signs and banners for a protest, and Kenan’s eyes trail after them. His jaw clenches and I immediately touch his elbow, trying desperately to tether him back to me. Back to the promise he’s made.
The fiery gaze disappears when he looks down at me, and I can breathe again. I press a hand against my ring. His eyes fall on the movement and his gaze traces my scars.
My home looms in the distance and I take out my keys. My nerves suddenly come alive when I unlock the door as I realize that Kenan and I will be living under the same roof.
Together.
Where will he sleep? Layla will let me use her bedroom for Lama and Yusuf. Maybe she’ll stay with me in mine, and Kenan can take the couch.
He’ll be footsteps away from me. Just one hallway over.
“Layla,” I call out when I walk in, banishing the butterflies from my stomach. “I’m home and Kenan and his siblings are here!”
Silence answers me and the hairs at the back of my neck stand on end. She’s fine. I’m just a paranoid mess of a person who treats each bout of silence as danger.
“Come in,” I say to Kenan. “Layla’s probably still sleeping.”
They shuffle inside and Kenan closes the door behind them. Everything feels too real. Kenan’s height fills the narrow hallway and Yusuf peeks from behind his brother curiously. Kenan sets Lama on her feet and tells them both to take off their shoes while I go look for Layla.
When I walk into the living room, I see her sitting on the couch with a faraway look on her face. She’s staring at her sea painting like she’s trying to separate each brushstroke. Her hair dangles in waves over her shoulders, one hand resting on her stomach.
“Layla!” I say loudly, and she jumps.
“Salama! You scared me!”
“I was just calling you. Everything okay?”
She smiles but it looks haunting. “I’m good.”
I take a step closer. “Are you sure? Why are you looking at me like that?”
She tucks her hair behind her ear. “Nostalgia for the good days. Remember when I painted that?” She nods at the sea painting.
