what I really want to ask.
Um. I don’t know. He makes me feel so good—when I think of him, when I look at him, when I’m around him (well, except for yesterday), but I don’t know if I’d want to breath him in like that.
I don’t want to breath anyone in.
I’m okay admitting I have proximity issues.
“What’s going on in that brain of yours?” Mom asks. “Your eyes became so still suddenly.”
I shake myself out of my reverie and am about to give my standard answer of “nothing” when this sudden, uninvited thought enters my head: Hello, what about telling her the truth?
And maybe it’s this disruptive thought, and maybe it’s because I’ll be going to college in a month, going away from Mom after having been away from her for three weeks already, that I can’t stop myself from blurting out, “Nuah. I’m thinking about Nuah.”
I cringe. Did I just do that? Tell Mom about Nuah?
She flips herself to face me now. But I put a hand out and gently turn her back so that she can’t see me.
Then I lie on my back too. “Can we both stare at the ceiling so we can forget what I just said?”
“We can stare at the ceiling, yes, but no, I’m not going to forget what you just said.” She turns only her head. “Can I look at you at least to talk?”
“No. If we’re going to talk about this, we have to look at the ceiling.”
“Okay, looking at the ceiling. Talking about Nuah.” She pumps her fists in the air above her. “YES. Nuah! A perfect first crush! Janna, I’m proud of you!”
“He’s not my first crush, Mom.”
“I know, Jeremy was your first crush. I mean a perfect first proper crush.”
“What?” I look, no, stare with hints of glare at her. “How did you know about Jeremy?”
Jeremy’s this guy that I lost my mind to two summers ago. He of the perfect forehead, but unperfect academic aspirations and, ultimately, unmatched faith. We parted ways after what must have been the shortest foray into tentative potential love ever.
The Jeremy thing taught me that I have to be strategic in who I choose to set my sights on in the future. That it was kind of wasting my crush time to put all my pining into a train going nowhere.
The Jeremy thing, and a brief detour to this other guy at school who also didn’t cut it, taught me that Nuah made sense all along.
But I thought I’d kept the entire reconnaissance mission to discover the potential mines and pitfalls in a girl’s route to true love from Mom. “Ugh, how did you know about Jeremy?” I ask again.
“Moms know. And remember when he came by the apartment? With Tats, to see if you wanted to go hang out? I saw your face, Janna, and I knew. Anyway, Nuah! He’s so special! And he treats you so well, kindly, always. I’ve seen it!”
“Mom, he liked me for a long time.”
“I know. I know. I told you—moms know these things. Well, this mom knows things. He didn’t come over all the time just to hang out with Muhammad, you know.”
“You knew?” This was making me feel a bit weird now. That Mom was in the background, rubbing her hands together, thinking, Perfect. Two Muslim kids—one a true gentleman, the other my precious baby—falling for each other.
“Yes, and I’m happy.”
“You are? Why?” I’m not sure I like this. I hadn’t wanted to tell her, but I hadn’t expected this, either.
“Because he’s a good kid and I—I don’t know—it makes me feel safe, to know my kid likes a good kid.” She sits up and fixes her pillow so that it props up behind her before she leans back on it. “I think it’s because he values the same things you do. It’s easier to build a life together when you share the same values.”
I continue lying down, looking at the ceiling. I still don’t like her being so enthusiastic, but now at least I understand it more. She’s just excited because he’s a good person.
“When I first met Dad, I thought we were similar, but—” Mom stops talking. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have brought that up.”
I sit up too. “No, tell me. Please? I want to know.”
“When I met Dad, he was just getting into Islam. Uncle Bilal got him into it, actually. And Dad was all excited about it—super excited. And I got excited, because you know I come from a very religious