The Impossibility of Us Read online

  Ryan holds the ball at his chest, looking right at Xavier. “That what we had was good, but I can see now that it’s run its course.”

  Their shared gaze holds, and I can guess what they’re both thinking: If they stay together, eventually they’ll have to deal with a lot of miles.

  “Have you done the long-distance thing before, Xavier?” I ask.

  He shakes his head. “I don’t think I’d mind, so long as I cared about the guy enough. It’s all about putting effort into the intellectual stuff even when there’s not much physical payoff.”

  “Physical payoff’s not all that’s important,” I say.

  Ryan remembers the football he’s holding and lobs it to Mati. “True,” he says, watching as Mati makes a neat catch. “And I bet that when there is physical payoff, it’s better after the time apart.”

  “Absence makes the heart grow fonder?” I say.

  Ryan winks. “Pretty much.”

  “I can get behind that,” Xavier says. He smiles at Ryan, and Ryan grins back.

  Mati spins the football on his palm. He looks subdued. “Absence makes the heart grow fonder? This is a common expression?”

  “Yeah,” Ryan says. “It means—”

  “I understand its meaning. I’m just…”

  Reconciling it with what he’s feeling. Trying to decide how it applies to him and me and the teetering tower of fondness and admiration and lust (maybe that’s just me?) we’ve been constructing over the last few weeks.

  I get it—I’m trying to do the same.

  After we climb the stairs, Xavier heads back to the MLI for an afternoon class, and Mati walks almost all the way home with Ryan and me. He stops a few cottages down from Iris’s, an attempt to avoid another run-in with my mom, I think. He scratches Bambi behind her ears and says, “Xavier is great, Ryan. I had a good time.”

  I had a good time, too. But then, why do I feel so down? Why does my head feel like a wrecking ball balanced precariously on my neck? Why do my limbs drag as if they’re made of concrete?

  “I think we’ll start imposing ourselves on all your beach walks,” Ryan says.

  I glare.

  He laughs and musses my hair. “Gear down, Elise. I’m kidding with y’all.”

  Mati’s watching me, rapt, like he’s trying to discern the meaning of gear down while at the same time figure out why I’d care whether Ryan and Xavier start tagging along on our walks.

  Because I want us to be alone, I think, clinging to his gaze.

  He smiles, looks at the sidewalk, then bashfully back at me.

  My heart … It sings.

  Ryan thumps his shoulder. “We can hang out sometime, if you want. I know Elise is prettier than me, but if she’s ever busy and you’re bored and want to get out…”

  “Okay,” Mati says. “Thanks.”

  Ryan passes over his phone and Mati inputs his number and, my, what a trio we make. It’s been so long since I’ve had real friends, I almost didn’t register that that’s what these boys have become. Standing beneath the shade of the Cypresses, breathing ocean air, laughing with the two of them, I feel warm and lucky and full of joy.

  But in the next moment, my happiness blows away, letting reality spread like a chill through the chambers of my heart. In a few weeks, Mati and Ryan will leave, just like my dad left for New York, and my brother left for Afghanistan, and Audrey and Janie left for Cypress Beach.

  In a few weeks, I’ll be alone again.

  elise

  The next morning, I return from the beach to a cottage that smells of strong coffee. I check the pot in the kitchen—fresh, still hot. Nick’s malformed mug is sitting out, a spoonful of sugar waiting in its bottom.

  Mom must not be hating me today. Of course, I haven’t said anything about Mati since our argument on the sidewalk. As far as she knows, I’ve listened to her oh-so-sage advice and ended my friendship with him.

  I can’t fathom a world in which such a thing would actually happen.

  I fill my mug with coffee and head to the library, Bambi trailing behind me. Mom’s working, her fingers flying over her keyboard, tap-tap-tapping out a novel that I’m sure will send many a middle-aged woman into fits of pleasure. The small TV in the corner is on, tuned to Fox News, set to mute. I fall into my regular chair, Bambi takes to her bed, and Mom saves her file.

  She spins around to face me. “How’s the coffee?”

  “Good, thanks. How’s the work?”

  “Rough.” She glances over her shoulder at the calendar that’s tacked to the wall to the left of her desk. Her deadline looms three weeks from now, the day after Ryan and Mati leave Cypress Beach. “I think I’ll make it, though.”

  “You will,” I say, modeling supportive behavior, hoping she absorbs it.

  She picks up the newspaper on her desk. “I read a frightening article this morning.”

  “About what?”

  “Muslims. The threat they present.”

  I roll my eyes but resist the urge to pop out of my chair and walk out of the room. “God, Mom. We’re doing this again?”

  “I think you should read the article.”

  “Why? Mati’s not a threat. Anyone who knows him understands as much.” I think of the day he poured sand into my hands and explained about the Afghans, the Muslims, who live kindly, humbly. I recall the tiny pinch of sand that represented those who do not. “Muslims aren’t a threat, either,” I continue, “and it’s dangerous to generalize.” I point at Bambi, curled up on her bed, paws twitching as she dreams. “It’s like saying dogs are a killer species just because they all have sharp teeth.”

  Mom’s gaze is level, unaffected. “They’re planning to target military families. Dependents of soldiers, active-duty and killed-in-action.”

  This … gives me pause.

  Dependents.

  Audrey and Janie.

  I set my coffee mug on the table, my pulse ratcheting in a way that makes my grip untrustworthy. “Really?”

  She waves the newspaper. “It’s all here. There’ve been anonymous letters sent to different media outlets around the country.”

  I make no move to take the paper she’s still holding out. I’m curious—I can’t deny that I am—but I won’t give her the satisfaction. “You can’t actually think Mati is involved in making violent threats. I have never in my life met a more peaceful person.”

  “What about his family? Their arrival in America, the timing of it all. You have to admit—it’s very coincidental.”

  “His father is sick!”

  “You don’t know for sure.”

  Yes, I do. I met the man, saw his sallow skin, heard his ramshackle cough, smelled illness coursing through his blood. More than that, I sensed his tranquility, and was on the receiving end of his warmth. Rasoul is not an Islamic extremist.

  “Elise, I know you prefer to think the best of people, and that’s one of your finest qualities. But I think, in this case, your friendship with this boy is more than you’re capable of managing. You don’t have the perspective to see past twinkling eyes, a chiseled jaw, and a charming smile.”

  “Thanks, Mom. I’m happy to know you think I’m a moron who’s ready and willing to tangle with a terrorist just because he’s good-looking.”

  She stands, crosses the room, and lays the newspaper on my lap. “He’s here for, what? A few more weeks? Is he so important that you’re willing to create a divide within our family? Haven’t we been through enough?”

  “Mati has nothing to do with what we’ve been through. In fact, he’s making it easier for me to cope. Did that ever occur to you? Audrey has Janie, and you have your work. What do I have? The camera my dead brother gave me and a graveyard of a photography portfolio.”

  With that, I spring from my chair and storm out of the library.

  I leave my cooling coffee on the table, but I take the newspaper.

  In my cavernous bedroom, I read every word of the article that’s got my mom so worked up and, yes, it’s scary, but I re
fuse to let fear color my perception of the world. Mati is good. If I thought for one second that he or his parents were a threat to my family, I’d cut things off immediately. I might be idealistic, but I’m not obtuse.

  I think of the poem he let me read at the cemetery, how it made me want to laugh. How it made me feel cherished …

  Twinkle, twinkle shiny star, she has marked him like a scar.

  I know exactly what he means.

  I find a paint pen in my desk drawer, silver, and haul myself onto a chair. I have to stretch, but I can just reach my black ceiling with the tip of the pen. I draw a star, small, the size of a silver dollar. I fill it in, and then I give it a neighbor. Feeling a little like Michelangelo, I step down from the chair and gaze up, admiring my work.

  Twinkle, twinkle indeed.

  MATI

  “I have to babysit my niece tonight,” she tells me.

  We are walking home from the beach,

  just the two of us.

  We are closer than usual,

  drawn to each other

  like monarchs to milkweed.

  Occasionally, the dog tugs the leash she holds,

  causing our shoulders to bump,

  or our hands to brush.

  Her touch smooths my rough edges.

  Her tone is tentative when she says,

  “You should come by.”

  “To your sister-in-law’s cottage?”

  “Sure. Audrey’s working the late shift.”

  This … is appealing.

  She talks about her niece with wonder,

  as if she were the most precious jewel.

  Like oxygen, Janie feeds the flame of Nick’s spirit.

  I would be happy to meet her.

  And I will be happy

  (timorous, tentative, terrified)

  when Janie undoubtedly goes to sleep,

  leaving me and this beautiful girl

  alone in a cottage of possibility.

  I stumble over a crack in the sidewalk,

  a renegade root that has disturbed the pavement.

  I clear my throat and bury my hands in my pockets.

  “I’m not sure your sister-in-law would approve.”

  “It’s not like we have to tell her.”

  She smiles and her expression,

  framed by glossy caramel hair,

  is alight with hope.

  “Seriously, Mati. It’ll be fun.”

  I should not go—no, I should not.

  I have devoted myself

  to fostering a closeness with Allah,

  and I strive to be a gracious Muslim son.

  But that does not mean

  I am not vulnerable to misdeeds.

  I have tempted sin in her proximity already,

  engaging in meandering conversations,

  letting my hand drift to hers,

  daydreaming about her,

  when I should be doing anything but.

  If we are truly alone …

  I will not make choices that honor Allah’s word.

  But our situation is not so simple.

  The feelings she incites in me—

  affection, esteem, compassion—

  strengthen my spirituality.

  Being with her, sometimes,

  feels transcendental.

  Say yes, say yes, say yes!

  “Can I think about it?”

  Her eyes narrow;

  I have given her invitation

  the same response she gave mine.

  “Of course,” she says, borrowing my words.

  “Call me later to let me know what you decide.”

  elise

  I don’t really think he’ll come to Audrey’s, and I feel guilty for heaving the pressure of my invitation on his shoulders.

  Why can’t I leave well enough alone?

  Even when the doorbell rings thirty minutes after Aud leaves for Camembert, I don’t really think it’ll be him. My mom, maybe, or the UPS man, or some random kid selling candy bars. But when I look through the peephole set in the front door, there’s Mati, wearing jeans and a butter-yellow T-shirt, a hoodie slung over his arm. His hair’s grown since we met and it’s everywhere, sticking up in thick black tufts. He looks nervous.

  Janie runs up and grabs the hem of my shirt. “Who is it, Auntie?”

  I crouch next to her. “My friend. Do you mind if he hangs out with us?”

  Janie’s blue eyes gleam. “I don’t mind. Open the door!”

  I do. Mati smiles; he’s unquestionably happy to see me, and the feeling’s mutual. Instinct says, Throw your arms around him. Logic says, Let him lead.

  He’s got a hand tucked behind his back, but he reaches out with the other. I give him mine and he squeezes my palm. My heart performs a joyful dip, and all is right in the world.

  “You must be Janie,” he says, stooping to talk to my niece.

  I rest my palm on top of her head. “Can you say hi to Mati?”

  She smiles her dimpled smile and parrots, “Hi, Mati.”

  He brings his arm out from behind his back, revealing a puffy white dandelion, ripe for blowing. “I heard you like to make wishes.”

  Her face lights up. “I do! Can I make a wish now?”

  “You should probably come outside. New flowers won’t grow if these seeds land on the floor of your cottage. And if the flowers don’t grow—”

  “My wishes won’t come true!”

  He grins. “That’s right.”

  I watch from the doorway as she follows him onto the lawn. He kneels in the grass so she can take the dandelion from him. She holds it carefully, blocking it from the breeze with her little hand. “I’ll wish for cookies,” she says. “That’s what my daddy wished for when he was little like me.”

  Mati opens his mouth, blinks, then wordlessly closes it. I have to look away because I’m biting hard into my lip, a vain attempt to keep tears from falling.

  Oh, Janie.

  She closes her eyes and gives the dandelion a mighty blow. Her lids spring open again and she watches the seeds scatter with unadulterated delight. “Thank you for my wish,” she says to Mati. “You should come inside now. Auntie is making noodles.”

  “Is she? Well, I cannot miss that.”

  She leads him to the door. As she passes me, she whispers, “Cookies for dessert, Auntie, because I wished for them.”

  I swallow around a lump that won’t let me be. “You got it, girlie.”

  She runs inside and plops down in front of the crayons and coloring books I put out to keep her busy while I work on dinner. Mati lingers in the foyer while I close the door.

  “That was sweet,” I say, which sounds trite compared with his gesture.

  “But I made you sad.”

  “No you didn’t. You made me really happy.”

  He raises a doubtful eyebrow. “That isn’t true, but I think you’ll be happy when we have cookies for dessert.”

  I smile. “Thanks to you and your wishes. We’d be up shit creek if you hadn’t come by.”

  He feigns shock, as if he hasn’t grown accustomed to my colorful language. “Is it okay if I stay for noodles?”

  For an instant, I think of Audrey and how she’d react if she knew Mati was here. She’d be pissed—I know that for sure. And then I decide I don’t care, because she’d also be wrong.

  I take a step toward him, curious as to whether he’ll let me into his space. He does. He smells good, summery and clean, like rosemary, and heat wafts off him in waves. The pace of his breathing changes, abbreviates, like maybe I do exactly to him what he does to me.

  I look up and tumble headfirst into his firelight eyes. “You can stay as long as you want.”

  * * *

  We eat our noodles and because I insist, carrot sticks, and then we hang out at the table awhile, listening to Janie recite a choppy version of Goldilocks and the Three Bears. Apparently, she sympathizes with Goldilocks. “She was just sleepy,” she says after the part where the bears chase the i
ntruder from their cottage.

  Mati counters with a story about Buzaak Chinie, a goat whose kids get eaten by a wolf, kind of like Red Riding Hood’s grandmother. Buzaak Chinie takes rescue advice from an alligator, a tiger, and a lion before finally defeating the wolf and freeing her kids from its belly. Janie giggles at the silly voices Mati adopts for each character, particularly the falsetto he gives Buzaak Chinie.

  After, we head out into the yard with a bag of frosted animal cookies. The twilight sky is clear, and the air shimmers with the warmth of summer. Mati and I sit under a trellis laced with climbing jasmine, breathing its sweet scent, and he tells me about how the flower originated in his part of the world, and that its fragrance reminds him of home.

  Meanwhile, Janie marks up the patio with chalk, devouring her weight in cookies. “Look, Auntie,” she says, pointing to her drawing. “Rainbow.”

  “I love it. Do you remember our rainbow song?”

  “Yes.” She eyes Mati shyly, and I take her hint.

  “Do you want me to sing it with you?”

  “Yes!”

  And so we sing to the tune of “Head, Shoulders, Knees, and Toes,” the song I taught her a few weeks ago: Red, yellow, green and blue, green and blue. Red, yellow, green and blue, green and blue. Purple, orange, brown and black. Red, yellow, green and blue, green and blue.

  When we’re finished, Mati claps like he’s genuinely impressed. Janie curtseys.

  She continues drawing, flowers and princess crowns and sunshines with googly eyes, humming our rainbow song while she works. Mati passes me the bag of animal cookies and I take a pink elephant, then go about picking sprinkles off to eat individually.

  “That is … an odd way to eat a cookie,” he says.

  “I know. I like to make them last.” And then, thanks to a random but perfectly timed recollection, I grin and say, “Khwazza.”

  His eyes widen, and then he’s beaming. “Have you been studying?”

  “Not really. I just happen to have an excellent teacher.”

  “You are a flatterer.” He takes a frosted camel from the bag and bites its head off.

  “And you’re vicious! You’re like the wolf from your story!”