I get a text and glance at my phone. Amal sent me a picture of theyabra’a. The picture is a bit blurry thanks to the steam coming from the pressure cooker, but the yabra’a looks divine. It makes my mouth water. The stuffed grapevines are all exactly the same shape and size, a testament to my sister’s steady hand. The blessing she refuses to believe she has.
Amal:where are you?
Amal:I’m gonna eat them all
“I should get going,” I say when there’s a brief lull in the chatter, and reach for my bag. “But this was fun. Thank you.”
Hayley and Jenny give me twin smiles. Nicole just stares at me. Alexis’s expression falls, but she collects herself at the last second.
“I already sent you my share, Lexi,” I say to Alexis, nodding at her phone.
“Great!” Alexis smiles.
“Did you include tip?” Nicole asks, and Hayley snorts but masks it as a cough.
My face burns, but I say, “Yes, of course.”
I guess now that she got what she wanted out of me, there is no need to keep up the niceties. I’m such an idiot for thinking it was going to be different.
“Just making sure.” Nicole flips her mane over her shoulder.
“Why? Do you want me to cover you?” I say, and Nicole flushes. The rest of the girls go quiet, and I look at Alexis, but she’s become extremely interested in her phone.
I turn around and walk out. My steps are heavy, and I think I’m causing indents on the floor. I feel their eyes at the back of my head. My ears are hot, my heartbeat fast, but I’m glad for what I said. I hope not getting the last word in eats away at her.
My heart slows down to normal once I’m outside. My mural fillsmy entire vision. It spans the whole building in front of me, stretching on to the other nearby buildings.
Mama, ten years old and between the jellyfishes’ embraces, opens her eyes under the sea’s surface. Eyes golden like the sun, and when her gaze lands on me, she grins.
Amber Brown
So how’s school?”Amal asks, sitting in front of me.
I pause between shoving three yabra’as into my mouth, relishing the slightly lemony taste and the rich spices in the rice and meat.
“Is this why you asked me over?” I ask through a full mouth.
She rolls her eyes. While my hair nearly reaches below my waist, Amal’s hair is sheared into a French bob. Her bangs make her look younger, and the whole style works extremely well with her square-shaped face. She’s always known how to be chic and use what God gave her. Although she loves expensive things, she’s able to create expensive looks from whatever she has.
Her apartment reflects that. It’s a two bedroom, and most of Amal’s and Marwan’s salaries go toward the rent. She keeps it minimalist, opting for a light green and sky-gray palette. She doesn’t like the floors, because they’re laminated when she wanted tiles, so she covered them with rugs. Mama called them poor imitations of the real Syrian ones in Souq Al-Hamidiye.
“This is a normal question.” Amal takes a sip of her coffee. “You ask me about my job, and I ask you about your school. Unless you’re feeling defensive for some reason?”
“Can I eat?” I answer instead.
“Fine.”
She watches me and pushes the bowl of yogurt toward me before getting up and pouring me a glass of ayran.
I pause, swallowing hard. “Why are you taking care of me?”
She frowns. “Ialwaystake care of you.”
I take another bite. “You never poured me ayran before.”
She stares at me for long second, long enough for me to finally realize she’s nervous. The yabra’a in my mouth turns to cement, and I find it hard to swallow. My fork clatters onto the table, and my stomach seizes with nerves.
“Stop it. Relax.” She takes the seat in front of me.
