Chapter Twelve
Before
“I’m nervous,” I admitted to Ali as we approached the sports bar where we were meeting his cousins to watch a football game.
I hadn’t met any of them yet, but I knew they were all close. Ali was especially tight with the cousin he roomed with in college. “What if they don’t like me?”
Ali squeezed my hand. Holding hands still felt very illicit. Our close family knew we were getting married, but our engagement wasn’t official and wouldn’t be public knowledge until after the formal asking ceremony, the tulba, in a couple of weeks.
“Why wouldn’t they like you?” Ali asked. “Besides, what they think doesn’t really matter because I like you.” Winking, he squeezed my hand again. “Very, very, very much.”
I smiled back, swallowing my nervousness. Pretending not to notice that he didn’t use the L-word. Neither of us had. Other couples exchanged the L-word all the time. I knew that. We just hadn’t gotten there. Yet.
But it was on my mind enough that, earlier that day, I’d mentioned to Mama and Lulu that Ali hadn’t said the L-word yet.
“Hetchee fathee,” Mama proclaimed. “You don’t need empty talk.”
Lulu and I had been at the kitchen table making maamoul cookies, which would be frozen and served at the tulba. Mama stood at the counter prepping the date filling for the semolina butter cookies.
Lulu rolled a small ball of cookie dough. “Telling your future bride that you love them is empty talk?” she asked. “Do you mean Baba doesn’t tell you he loves you when you’re in bed at night being all lovey-dovey?”
“Ist-hee a halick!” Mama blushed and threw the kitchen towel she was holding at Lulu. “Have some shame.”
Lulu easily caught it. “There’s no shame in wanting your husband to be in love with you.”
“Seriously,” I said, agreeing. “But just because Ali hasn’t said, ‘I love you,’ doesn’t mean that he doesn’t.” He was definitely into me physically. And I felt his warmth and his fondness, that indescribable glow of something special between us.
“You don’t have to love each other yet.” Mama carried the date filling over to the table and heavily took a seat. Her apron was covered in flour, and curly gray-frosted tendrils of hair escaped her ponytail. “You grow to love each other.”
Lulu scoffed. “Yeah, I intend to be in love before I get married, not after.”
“Don’t be such an American.” Mama reached for a cookie-size dough ball and flattened it before spooning in the date filling.
“We are Americans,” I reminded her.
Mama kept talking. “They are all in love when they get married, and then half of them end up divorced. Our way is much better.”
“What way is that?” Lulu asked. “Marry a near stranger and hope you get along? It’s like a one-night stand that lasts until death do us part.”
Mama frowned at her. “We’ll be lucky if we manage to marry you off. Men don’t like girls with attitude.”
Lulu winked at me and mouthed, Some definitely do.
“Our way,” Mama continued, “is for the families to help you choose a good mate. We check his reputation and his family’s reputation. We try to see if it’s a good match, a sensible match.”
Lulu grimaced. “I prefer a passionate love match.”
I replayed Mama’s words over in my head as Ali held the bar door open for me that evening.
I didn’t need to wait for love to grow. I was already in love.
As for Ali, he was definitely in lust. And it was obvious that he enjoyed my company.
But was he in love? I had no idea. But surely it was only a matter of time.
“There you are,” said a heavyset guy with an appealing teddy bear quality about him.
Ali’s cousins were an attractive group. They all had killer thick, dark lashes that required no mascara or eyelash curlers. He introduced me around. There were seven of them in all, four women and three guys, including his cousin Nasser, a handsome man who mostly kept his distance.
“This is Hamooda,” Ali said, introducing me to the teddy bear cousin.
“So you’re Lizzie, the girlfriend,” Hamooda said. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”
I froze. An arctic air swept through me.
“This is Amira,” Ali said quickly. “My fiancée,” he added, stamping the air with the firm words. “The girl I can’t wait to marry.”
“Oh! My bad.” Hamooda looked both mortified and surprised. “You’re engaged?” He looked to the others, who pretended not to notice the car crash happening in front of them. “Is this common knowledge? Am I the last to know?”
“Both,” said the cousin named Shireen, a willowy girl with straightened long black hair. “If you’d ever return Mama’s phone calls, you might learn something.” She turned to me. “Amira, in order to survive this family, you have to ignore half of what these idiots say.”
I forced a smile. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
But in my head, all I could think of was Hamooda mistaking me for Lizzie. I’d put her out of my mind after we got engaged, but for her name to pop up in this setting thrust her firmly back to center stage.
I’ve heard a lot about you.
What had he heard? Did all the cousins know Lizzie? Did they all think she was great? My insecurities about whether Ali had lingering feelings for his ex-girlfriend blazed back. Was I competing with her for his affection? And for that of his entire cousin group?
“Do you want something to drink?” Ali asked, his voice low and intense in my ear. I registered the tense lines around his mouth.
I ignored him. Instead, I plastered a teasing smile on my face, as if I were too confident to care about my fiancé’s ex. “You’ve heard a lot about Lizzie?” I said too loudly, trying to be funny. “I haven’t. Tell me everything.”
For a brief moment, an uncomfortable silence hung over us.
“She was whatever.” Shireen broke the silence. “Obviously a nobody. You’re the soon-to-be wife. You’re the winner.”
“Does that make Ali the prize?” Hamooda said teasingly. “Poor girl.”
I was tongue-tied, so unnerved by hearing Lizzie’s name that I couldn’t think of a clever way to engage in the banter.
The aloof cousin, the handsome one, subtly came to my rescue. “OK, everyone,” Nasser said. “The game is about to start. Look at the menu, and let’s order.”
“I need some wings,” one of the cousins said.
Shireen reached for a menu. “Should we order a bunch of appetizers for the group?”
“I’m going to get a burger,” Hamooda said. “I haven’t eaten since breakfast.”
I exhaled, relieved the focus was no longer on me. My initial plan coming into the evening was to win over the cousins by being interesting and engaging. So much for that.
Once we were all eating and watching the game—I pretended to follow the action on the TV screen—Ali, who’d kept close tabs on me all evening, leaned in. He spoke into my ear so I could hear him above the din.
“Are you OK?”
“How well do they know Lizzie?”
“Not well. You heard Hamooda. He never met her.”
“How not well?”
He released a breath. “She came out with us two or three times. Maybe more. Nasser was my roommate. He knew her the best.”
Knew her the best. Liked her the best?
Ali placed his hand over mine and squeezed. “Forget about Lizzie. I promise you. She’s ancient history.”