seems to heighten. Another graduate skids past and clasps Zara with a high-five. She passes some comical remark, a private in-joke perhaps, and Christ, I realise I’m about to lose her all over again. Somebody calls her name and as she turns to acknowledge them, I notice a cab with its light on and back away, giving the driver a gentle thumbs up. It’s time to go.
‘Anyway,’ I say, placing my hand upon her shoulder, just gently. ‘Congratulations, love.’
And a smile encases my heavy heart watching Zara skip away, a spring in her step but with roots firmly planted. I clamber inside the cab and I’m right where I should be, going home. Life – its journey and beyond – is awaiting me.
42
Zara
My jaw is aching. For the first time in my life, I don’t think I’d like to get married, or at least have a wedding. Not only am I tired of the endless posing and pictures, but my parents are starting to drive me crazy. I guess I could always elope.
‘Zara has made a reservation at an Italian place, Samir,’ my mom is telling my papa, although my papa is wafting his hand in her face, as if her words are creating a pungent odour.
‘The Hilton has a steakhouse,’ he says, loosening his tie further and yet refusing to remove his jacket. ‘Let’s just go there. It will have air conditioning.’
Paige reminds us all about how she doesn’t eat animals. We’re crammed together around a small table in the Philharmonic, a grand old pub famous for its even grander washrooms, overpopulated today by gangs of friends hanging onto their last few hours of student life, and, of course, by other bickering families. The ceremonies are over and everybody is hot and hungry. My friend, Dom, is at the bar after insisting on buying us a round of drinks.
‘Who is this Dom, anyways?’ my papa asks. ‘Your boyfriend?’
‘Papa, hush.’
‘So he is. He’s your boyfriend.’
My mom gets the chance to waft her hand back at my papa.
‘Samir, when will you grow up?’ she says. ‘Dom is not Zara’s boyfriend. He’s just her lover.’
‘Mom!’ I say, along with Paige.
We blush together and giggle, a real sister moment if ever there was one. Actually, there have been a few of these moments over the past couple of days, natural, uncanny and comforting. Thanks to her tagging along with my mom to my graduation I no longer feel like that distant relative, the one who once gave her a My Little Pony when anything from High School Musical would have been more appreciated. Until Paige takes out her phone to document what just happened with GIFs and emojis and her perfect pout. She looks exactly like our mom, an all-American girl with well-maintained teeth and flowing natural blonde locks, the only major difference between them being Paige confidently exposing her midriff whilst our mom’s toned figure is covered demurely with pastels and pearl. Paige shows me the image of us both that she has posted to her four thousand plus followers. I’m unmistakably Samir Khoury’s daughter, with his short height and long nose, thankfully minus his bulging belly and sweating temples, which he is currently dabbing with a napkin.
‘Forty likes? Already?’ I ask, impressed.
‘That’s nowhere near enough,’ Paige sulks, then snaps her fingers repeatedly. ‘The pace needs to pick up if I’m to be an influencer.’
‘Remind me, what is it you want to influence people with again?’
‘Anything. Everything. I mean, I don’t care!’ She looks upwards to find inspiration and then turns her attention back to our picture. ‘That’s definitely your best side, Zara.’
Dom arrives with a tray of drinks, his energy refuelled from a double vodka Red Bull. He twists his pointed beard, arguably his most favourite thing on this earth, before planting a wet kiss on my cheek. My mom creeps me out by winking at me, like she’s pretending to approve. God, she really doesn’t know me at all, does she?
‘The steakhouse has good reviews,’ my papa pipes up again. ‘And they do fish.’
But a commotion by the bar drowns out his restaurant pleas and we all look in the direction of the students – well, graduates – doing some sort of buddy ritual, downing shots and making one hell of a noise in doing so. I think about Jim, how I hope he’s in the company of his own buddies, perhaps in the Pacific Arms, drowning his sorrows with them all.