who.
“This is Layth. Our cousin,” Lamya says. “He was driving through, and Dad asked him to meet us for dinner.”
Layth nods again.
“Our entrees are coming. Would you like to order appetizers?” Uncle Bilal beams at me.
I shake my head. “I already had dinner, thanks.”
Uncle Bilal’s changed out of his suit and is wearing an old faded T-shirt that says KICK CANCER: A TREK FOR HOPE.
Did he do that to match Mom’s outfit when she’d first arrived? Her I DID 10K FOR ALZHEIMER’S?
Too bad for him, because now Mom is in a flowery summer dress with sensible sandals and a silky khaki hijab.
Uncle Bilal’s daughters are still in their runway clothes.
Layth’s in a jean jacket with a black T-shirt underneath, a design of a wilted, yellow daisy dying on it. He catches me trying to read the words under the flower. “It says ‘Cheap Thrills,’ ” he says wryly.
When he speaks, I instantly realize who he reminds me of. If this guy’s hair were trimmed, he would look like a taller Zayn Malik, the singer. Well, an around-my-age version of him. It’s his looks plus the way he talks, the way his mouth moves up on his left side more.
And the clipped way he speaks, his dark eyes reserved and framed by strong eyebrows, and how he didn’t look right at me when he spoke just now, like he’s somewhere else.
I nod my head at him, pretending I get it. His CHEAP THRILLS T-shirt.
“Your mom’s told us so much about you!” Uncle Bilal beams again. “Scholarship! To the University of Chicago. Masha’Allah! And to study English lit!”
“With a focus on British lit,” I clarify.
Is it my imagination, or did that Layth guy just smirk a little at this?
Is he sizing me up as a nerd?
I close the menu and add, “They have a learn-abroad program in London that I’m interested in doing.”
“How wonderful,” Uncle Bilal says. “Travel is great when you’re young. The twins did a year in Italy and Sweden, Lamya and Dania, respectively.”
“Yes, more travel to emphasize Eurocentrism,” Layth says, most definitely smirking now, his eyes still not on me, even though he’s talking about me. “How great.”
Dania laughs. “Don’t mind him—he’s going through a Che Guevara moment.”
Ouch, the belittling sarcasm. But also so definitely needed, because how does this guy Layth know why I want to go abroad, why I want to study British lit?
For the last little while, all my English essays have been on the roots of the revival of widespread xenophobia, of the current strain of it calling for bans and walls, through analyzing the British “classics” that we’re fed in school.
I’m not studying British lit to support “the man.” I’m studying it to take him down. “Well, as Che himself said, ‘The first duty of a revolutionary is to be educated.’ ”
Layth gives me a surprised stare before turning away.
“We have a few friends at UChicago,” Lamya says, folding her arms on the table. “We can send you their contacts. And we’re at Northwestern with Sarah, well, where Sarah used to go, so we won’t be too far.”
“Yes, get contacts. You don’t want to be lonely on campus,” Uncle Bilal says, nodding at Mom. “It’s the worst thing. Remember? Freshman year, before we all met each other?”
“Oh yeah. I don’t know what I would have done if I hadn’t met Magda. And she hadn’t made me come to that dinner…”
Mom and Uncle Bilal drift off into a conversation about the old days across from me, and I open the menu again. Because it’s something to read.
“Do you like to dance?” Dania asks me.
That was out of the blue. “Sometimes? With my friends?”
“We’re doing a surprise dance for Sarah at the henna party tomorrow. A bunch of us, like twelve people, have been practicing on Zoom, because the girl has friends all over the place. Do you want to join us?” Dania says earnestly. “It’s just a simple mehndi song. And we’ve shortened it even further because there are a lot of non-desi people dancing.”
“I don’t think I’ll have time to learn it.”
“It’s super easy. This girl named Zayneb, you must know her—Sarah’s good friends with her? MSA president? She put it together in like twenty minutes.”
“She called the Bollywood moves funny names so that everyone can understand them. Come up to the room after dinner and we can show you!” Lamya says excitedly, adjusting her scarf so that it peaks at the top perfectly, her loose silver watch sliding down her slim arm as she does