Misfit in Love (Saints and Misfits #2) - S. K. Ali Page 0,80

like the bride walking down? Sarah’s doing that with her family, so let’s receive our groom?” Dad puts the brush in his hand down on the counter and picks up Luke. “I want to get pictures.”

I nod, but I still don’t know how to handle Dad, so I turn to the glass sliding doors. The guests are chatting happily with one another in the distance, and I kind of wish I was mingling with them again. There’s no tension over there.

Mom clears her throat. “Haroon.”

I turn from the door, surprised at Dad’s name coming from Mom’s lips. It’s been a long time since I’ve heard it.

“Do you want to go up and walk Muhammad down? With Janna?” Mom looks at Dad and then at the stairs.

And a photograph blooms in my head.

It’s a photograph Mom has hanging in our apartment, right outside her bedroom. Of Dad and Mom sitting on top of the stairs at their first house, the one they had before I was born, with a toddler Muhammad sitting between them. His hands were resting on both their knees in trust, and sometimes when Mom would look at that picture, she’d tear up, but she’d always tell me it was from happiness.

“Shouldn’t it just be you and Dad, Mom?” I say, thinking of that photo. “And Linda, too—the parents? And I can take the pictures of you all coming down?”

“No, you three would be beautiful,” Linda says, nodding her head encouragingly. “Muhammad will like that.”

“Are you sure, sweetheart?” Dad’s voice is hesitant.

“Yes.” Linda reaches over to take Luke from him and looks at me, her voice certain. “Janna, go. I’ll join in on the photos when you all get down here.”

“I can take the pictures!” Tats says. “And Logan can help me, right, Logan?”

He nods and lets Tats lift him onto a chair so he can see the camera set up on a tripod, and I follow Dad and Mom upstairs.

Chapter Thirty-Four

We wait outside Muhammad’s door in silence, me close to Mom.

Dad suddenly turns around completely to me. “Janna, I’m sorry.”

I’m so caught off guard that I freeze.

Mom looks at me, confusion on her face.

“We don’t have time to talk now. But please, let’s make time.” He turns back to Muhammad’s door. “I don’t want this day to be a bad memory for you and me.”

I nod. And whisper to Mom, “I’ll tell you later.”

After the wedding, I promise myself.

And it won’t be just telling.

The door opens, and Muhammad, in a royal blue tuxedo that actually looks really nice on him, jumps back, frightened. “Oh my God! What are you guys doing? You almost gave me a heart attack! On my wedding day!”

Mom, Dad, and I laugh at his hyperbole and also his face.

“We came up to walk the groom down,” I say. “You have to position yourself between Mom and Dad, and I’ll walk behind you all.”

But when we take the first step, a tsunami of bittersweetness pours into my heart, and I can’t move. Maybe it’s the fact that when Muhammad takes those steps down the stairs, he’s actually moving on to his new life.

“Janna!” Muhammad, now at the top of the stairs, looks back at me. “What are you doing?”

“You realize you’re moving away, right?” I lift my hands to my face.

I can’t cry My makeup.

“Yeah, you mean like how I moved away for college?” His voice is playful.

“No, for good. ’Cause you’re getting married.” My hands are still in front of my face. This is the best makeup I’ve ever had. It’s not coming off or getting messed up.

My hands are in front of my face so I don’t have to see Muhammad’s face.

Because if I do, my makeup will most definitely get messed up.

“Janna, come here.” He calls me but actually moves back to me and wraps me in a hug. “I’m not going for good. You think I would have said yes to Sarah asking me to marry her if I’d had to leave my family for good? No way!”

Uh-oh, tears are starting. I try to quickly think about something else.

Layth handing me the yellow handkerchief comes to mind, the handkerchief with the name Muhsin.

And suddenly it hits me.

I’m not alone and won’t be.

I’m surrounded by love. Mom, Muhammad, Dad, Linda, Sarah, the laddoos.

So is Layth—he just can’t see it. Uncle Bilal, Dania, Lamya, his mom—they all love him.

Wait… did Muhammad say Sarah asked him to marry her?

I start giggling into Muhammad’s jacket, my shoulders shaking lightly. He hugs me tighter and