capable of being me and taking on Dad. Of getting in the boxing ring with him.
Because he is wrong, and I know it with a certainty that makes me feel like I can be anywhere, in any situation, and stand tall. Like his racism just gave birth to more of who I really am. And who I’m definitely not.
I’m not him and never will be.
I look at the trees and think, Yes, I do like trees the way Nuah described me to Khadija. They’ve been around for millions of years, seen tons of crap, and still stand strong and graceful, sure of their worth to the world.
“Fighting makes you smile, huh?” Layth says, interrupting my trees-are-my-Patronus aha moment.
“I’m smiling?”
He nods.
“Maybe it’s because I’m ready to go back to help my brother get ready for his wedding,” I say. “Do you have siblings?”
He shakes his head. And then says faintly, “Used to.” And shakes his head again.
We make our way out of the forest.
Dad, Haytham, and Nuah look up at the same time at Layth and me walking toward them.
I smile at Nuah. Huge.
So Dad can’t miss it.
Too bad for Muhammad this wedding is going to turn into a little war.
Chapter Seventeen
We’re half an hour into putting together wedding favor boxes—an eerily silent half an hour for nine people gathered around a long table—when the ice-cream truck chimes. Haytham and I look at each other.
It’s ten o’clock. Ice cream has never arrived this early before.
“Permission to take a short break, sir?” Haytham raises a hand to salute Muhammad. He nods at me. “For Sergeant Janna, too?”
“You want permission to break the delicate assembly line we got going here?” Muhammad drops a blue-foiled chocolate basketball into the box in front of him. “You’re the candy almonds. Everyone loves those.”
“Ugh. Not me.” Dania shakes her head and, with the blade of a pair of scissors, curls a ribbon that ties the dua paper to the favor boxes. The dua says May God bless you both and shower blessings upon you and unite you in all that is good in Arabic and English.
“I’ll take over the almonds. They’re right next to me. I can do a double shift,” Nuah says, using an elbow to nudge the bowl of pastel almonds right next to him. “Haytham, you owe me.”
“And Janna’s dates?” Haytham’s already standing up. “Who’ll do her dates?”
“Seems to me that you’re doing that? Dates with Janna?” Muhammad says to Haytham, smirking.
I can’t believe Muhammad. And wait, is that a smile on Nuah’s face as he shakes his head at Muhammad’s “buffoonery,” as he always calls it? Why would he be smiling at a stupid joke like that?
I stay seated as Haytham hits Muhammad on the back.
“I’ll do Janna’s dates,” Layth announces. He’s sitting diagonally from me, having been cajoled to stay and help by Dania and Lamya, who are seated across from each other at one end of the table. Lamya puts little packets of fennel candy into the boxes before passing them on to Dania to add the finishing touches.
I look at Layth, but he’s not looking at me. He’s unfolding the bright yellow cardboard that makes the boxes and propping them open to lay a small square of blue tissue inside. His hair is off his face, tied back by a tiny elastic, and I see his forehead.
I don’t want to look at it.
I push the bowl of unripe yellow dates closer to Layth and get up. That’s when he looks at me, and I notice his eyes don’t hold the blank look that I first saw on him, that his eyes are kindly when they turn in my direction.
Is he thawing?
“Anyone else want ice cream?” Haytham asks. “Where are the kids?”
“They went into town with Linda to get groceries. Dawud said he needed to get something, so he went with Sarah too,” Dad says from the head of the table, where he’s working on his laptop, apparently updating wedding things. “And of course nobody wants ice cream at this early hour.”
“You can’t assume that,” I say sternly. “Anyone want ice cream?”
Everyone shakes their head. Dad shoots me a look—a smug one. Again.
“Dania? Lamya? It’s really good ice cream,” I say, pressing. They shake their heads. Haytham’s already started walking away, but I’m not going to leave until I prove Dad wrong. “Mom?”
I make a pleading face at her.
“No thanks, sweetums. And how will we eat it while we’re doing this?” Mom says, dribbling chocolate kisses into the three open boxes