My cheeks heat up, and I catch the barista’s eyes; she gives me a wink.
“I’m not comfortable with that,” I say quietly to him when she moves away to prepare our order.
“I’m not comfortable with you paying.” He stares firmly back. “I didn’t know if you were doing something with your dad, and I asked you last minute. So I planned the whole thing.”
I laugh. “What?”
“Yeah. This is my first Eid, and I want it to be special. With you. So I made the plans, therefore,Ihandle the finances. Next timeyouplan something.” He accepts the hazelnut latte the barista places on the counter.
I chew on my tongue.
He peers intently at me. “All right?”
“I’m not—”
“A charity. I know. You really think I see you like that?” His voice is serious, worried.
I shake my head. “No.”
His shoulders relax. “Take your coffee.”
I pick my paper cup up, and the giddiness spins in my head. It’s a tentative joy, like I’m not sure if I’m allowed to be happy. But it’s so hard to be worried in the warmth of this café with a coffee and a bagel in my hands. I chose a coffee flavor I’ve never had before. A toffee-nut crunch.
“What do you have planned for today?” I ask. “Do you wanna sit or go somewhere?”
He turns toward me. There’s a new type of nervousness in his expression. Hesitation. “I—I want to pay my respects.”
I blink, the heat leaking from the cup sleeve, marking me, but I don’t put it down.
Mama.
“I remember you said the people who passed away can hear us.” He stares at the floor. “And I know this might be too forward of me, but if you’d like, we can visit her and say a little prayer. If it’s too much, we don’t have to.”
My breath hitches. The last time I visited Mama’s grave was last Eid, Eid al-Adha. She’s buried so far away because there are almost no Muslim graveyards in New York City.
I clear my throat. “She’s… she’s in Washington Memorial Park in Long Island.”
“We can go. Is this something you’d want to do?”
I swallow hard and nod.
His eyes crease. “We don’t have to—I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have—”
I shake my head. “No. Thank you for asking. But it’s going to take us more than two hours to get there andmultipleconnections. I’m fine with it because Braxton is on the other side of the world, but—”
“We’re taking a taxi,” Jamie interrupts, frowning.
“But it’s much more…” My voice trails away, and my griptightens around the paper cup. I don’t want to discuss cheap and expensive things with Jamie.
“Faster. That’s true,” he finishes for me, and nods at the door. “Come on. Let’s go.”
He hails a cab within record time and opens the door to let me get in first. He sits in the back with me with the middle seat acting as a buffer between us. The driver asks us where to, and Jamie tells him.
Taxis were considered something of a luxury in my household. It was always the subway or walking if Baba wasn’t there with the car. Even when Mama was really sick and had to visit the hospital, she took the subway.
“Okay?” Jamie asks me, and I give him an appreciative smile.
His own smile becomes something I can’t quite name. We don’t talk the entire way there, and the closer we get to the graveyard, the more jittery I feel. The coffee tastes too sweet, and the bagel sits heavily in my stomach.
