“Baba, you too,” Amal says.
“InshAllah,” Baba replies absently. He’s physically here, but mentally he’s detached himself from the situation. It’s been a while since I took a good look at him. His hair and beard are whiter, and the look in his eyes is more broken than usual. I think there’s a crookedness in his back like he physically can’t hold himself up. Amal leaving is destroying parts of him as well.
“Baba, think about coming to live with us, okay?” Amal latches on to his arm. “You’ll be closer to your grandkid. Being in a Muslim country… you won’t have to be scared. Retire in Qatar. It’s better for you. Even Jihad is thinking about studying college there.” She gives me a meaningful look.Lie.
“And leave your mom?” he says hoarsely, shaking his head.
What about me?I think.
“You can’t live your life here forever,” Amal continues. “You can’t be stuck in the past. It’s hurting you. Mama…” She swallows hard, shuddering in a breath. “We can only pray for her. But Jihad and I need you. So please, think about it. You have time until Jihad is done with school. And I want you to see your grandkid.”
Baba nods, his lips turned downward, and I think he’s halfway into the afterlife; the only thing keeping him here is us. And now one of us is leaving.
“All right,” Marwan says, walking over and giving Amal’s passport to her with the boarding pass tucked inside. “Boarding is in two hours.”
“Okay.” Amal gives him a watery smile, and he pats her back. She clears her throat. “I think we should move toward the security thing.”
“We don’t have to go in now.” He takes her bag and drags the carry-on. “We have time to say goodbye.”
“Okay.” She sniffs, and when we walk toward the security check, she grabs hold of my hand, squeezing it tightly to her chest.
The lump in my throat dissolves, and the dam breaks behind my eyes. My tears pour down my cheeks, and I know Amal is crying, too, but we’re not looking at each other.
I want the walk to TSA to take fifty years, but we’re there too soon and she rounds on me.
“Message me every single day,” she says through hiccups, and wipes my tears away with her palms.
“I’m sorry for what I said,” I whisper, my breaths choppy. Guilt sours my tongue. Why didn’t I go over to see her every day the past three weeks? Why did I let some stupid sense of pride rob me of more time with my sister?
She shakes her head quickly before grabbing me into a tight hug. “I love you. Okay? I love you. And we’realwaysgoing to be a family. I am here for youforever.”
I bury my face in her shoulder, holding her just as close, inhaling her apple-blossom scent in mouthfuls.
She doesn’t want to let go, so I do it for her, and her eyes are a bright red, her tears rivers. She turns to Baba, grabbing his hand to kiss the back of it, but he raises hers and kisses it.
“Allah yerda aa’laiki,” he says gruffly, and for a split second, I see my dad. The colors that were muted, gray and translucent, are back. He doesn’t say anything else but hugs her. Amal is once again a kid in her father’s arms.
When they let go, Amal pulls me to the side and hugs me before kissing my head. “I think I’m going to call it off. I’ll just live here. It’s fine.”
I let out a blubbery laugh. “I want that so bad.”
“Promise you’ll visit in the summer. I’ll have given birth by then, and the baby will be so cute, and you have to meet your niecephew.”
“Niecephew?”
“We don’t know the gender yet. Sonieceplusnephew. Promise.”
I glance at Baba, who’s standing beside Marwan, too far to hear our conversation. “I might be on my way to San Francisco then.”
She brushes away her tears. “InshAllah, you will be. But you’ll have time. I know there’s a direct flight from Doha to San Francisco. I looked it up. July you’re with me, okay? Promise. It’s the only way I’ll get through this.”
“I promise.” It lights up something in me. That this isn’t the end but the beginning of something else. Maybe Mama felt the same way when she left Syria. The conflicted feelings, doubting whether it was right to leave or not.
Amal straightens, kissing my cheeks twice, and walks over to squeeze Baba’s hand once. Marwan hugs Baba goodbye and nods at me. He holds Amal’s hand as she walks backward, not taking her eyes off us.
She keeps waving goodbye until she’s out of sight, and a new silence weighs heavily on us. A new loneliness settles in our lives.
Baba doesn’t say anything on the way back, and it’s only when he stops by the gas station that I realize we’re not going home.
