Misfit in Love (Saints and Misfits #2) - S. K. Ali Page 0,63

the opposite of how he’d come into the doughnut shop.

Khadija gets up, and I stop her from getting the doughnut box and picking up the garbage and just being a mom, so she follows Layth out.

As I gather all the stuff on the table, my phone beeps with a message from him.

Too late to text Muhammad? About crashing at the barn?

No, I’ll do it right now.

I dump all the garbage and dial my brother.

It’s a beyond-texting emergency.

And then, for good measure, I text Haytham. Layth’s going to stay at the barn. He needs space but also a friend. Just don’t ask me why.

Ok on all three. Watching a movie so he can join us if he wants.

I’m glad Haytham’s awake, so I didn’t have to try Nuah, also at the barn.

* * *

Layth drops us off, and before he drives away, but after Khadija’s begun walking to the hotel doors, I knock on the passenger’s window. When he lowers it, I say the words I couldn’t find before, when he told us about his brother. “You know how you loved your brother? I don’t think you need to bear not loving him now. You can still love him, you know?”

He doesn’t say anything, but he doesn’t give me that closed-soul look either, so I go on.

“So far I’ve never lost anyone except an old, really old friend. He was ninety-three. I told you a bit about him before. He’s the one who got me to read critically. Anyway, I still think about him and write about him too. And read the books he gave me before he died. It’s a way to still love him.” I pause and look behind me, and yup, sure enough, Khadija’s waiting for me inside the hotel double doors. Man, she’s one powerful mosque study circle leader. I turn back to Layth. “I don’t know if I make sense.”

“Yeah. You’re just saying I don’t need to forget him.”

“And maybe I’m saying you don’t need to push the memories away whenever they hit you? That you can be active about remembering him?” I set the box of doughnuts in my hands on the hood of the car, take the yellow handkerchief from on top of it and fold it neatly once more. “Sorry if I don’t know what I’m talking about. I’ve never felt pain like yours. But you should have this. Thank you for letting me using it in my moment of need.” I laugh slightly, but my eyes are filling up. And when I hold out the handkerchief, Layth sees them.

He reaches for the cloth and nods, and I back away with the box of doughnuts, but I don’t turn to go inside until I see which way he exits the parking lot.

I want to make sure he doesn’t turn right to head to the highway.

I want to make sure he turns left to the road leading to Dad’s house.

I guess I want to make sure I get to see him one more day.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Back in our room, I notice that even though the rest of the girls are still here, Tats has already fallen asleep—on top of the bedspread, her hands still painted with dried henna paste. Lamya told her the longer you leave it on, the darker the color.

I wonder what it’s going to look like in the morning, the swirly designs on her pale palms.

After everyone else leaves, about ten minutes after the doughnuts get shared and a subsequent yawn-fest set off by the first contagious yawn from Khadija, I brush my teeth, pray Isha, and climb into bed with Mom.

I let her stroke the hair off my forehead for a bit before I turn around, deciding not to tell her any Nuah news today. She seems glowy and happy, and I don’t want to make her worried about me.

I’m thinking of a list of new happy things (Tats is here, sloths, dancing with Zayneb) to settle my mind down, to get it to not veer into unhappy territory like Layth’s little brother or Nuah, when Mom starts rubbing my back. “Sweetums, Tats set her alarm for six so you can go swimming after Fajr. But now that it’s so late, are you sure you want to go to the pool?”

“I don’t know if I can,” I mumble into the pillow. “I’m tired.”

“Okay, well, make sure you wake up in time to join us for breakfast in the restaurant before we head to Dad’s at eight. I already packed all our