Misfit in Love (Saints and Misfits #2) - S. K. Ali Page 0,88

you consider he takes a biannual approach to showering, it makes sense!”

When I look up from reading that out from my phone, I see Muhammad doubling over in laughter. Okay, this was a good call. To dish out humor at his level.

And, in a way, Muhammad got what he wanted all along: a blue-and-yellow wedding featuring bad humor.

Nuah and I go on and on, and there are a lot of groans and cringes from the audience, and squealing laughter from the laddoos.

And then we’re done. But I don’t get off the stage. I add one more that I do on my own.

“When you consider the relentless kindness of Muhammad, it’s awwww. But when you consider he’s the best brother in all the land, someone whose footsteps I wanna follow, one of the purest souls I know, you just wish him the most beautiful life possible in this life and the next.” Then I get off and go hug my brother.

* * *

Afterward, there’s a dabke that starts small with just a few of Sarah’s relatives—including Haytham near the lead of the line dance—but which begins to pick up guests as the drumming becomes livelier. Pretty soon, Thomas, Jeremy, and Nuah are holding hands with Sarah’s dad and uncles and cousins, trying to keep up with their steps, and I’m marveling at how this weekend all the various parts of my universe have collided into one.

Auntie Rima is smiling huge, clapping her hands to the beat of the dabke, and seated beside her, Auntie Razan winks at me like, See? There’s so much joy here.

* * *

Layth and I sit in the back row of chairs, watching the dance and the groups of people taking pictures with Muhammad and Sarah in the gazebo. We already did our family pictures, so now I’m pointing out everyone I know to Layth, who nods in between looking at his phone.

“You said you want to see videos I upload when I get to Ecuador. What about some I already did?” He passes me his phone.

It’s a younger Layth, with super-short hair and a more innocent look about him. He’s smiling at the camera with a gray baby monkey attached to his arm. The monkey’s reaching for his black leather cord necklace, trying to chew on the round pendant hanging from it.

I wonder what the pendant is and whether he’s wearing it now, but I’m too shy to look.

I say cute, and he tells me about the monkey, how her mom was shot and she was saved from being sold as an exotic pet and brought to the sanctuary and how she was so clingy.

“This was Muhsin’s favorite animal at the place, so I uploaded a ton of videos for him.” He takes his phone back. “The way it is in my head is that he watched this one before he died. ’Cause I’d just uploaded it the week before.”

“He must have.” I don’t know what else to say. I’m just happy to hear him tell me something about his brother.

“Here, this isn’t one of my videos, but I thought you’d like to see this guy.”

“Aw, a sloth!” I watch the sloth slowly stick his head out of an animal carry case set on the forest floor and, as if starring in a slow-motion movie, grasp the mossy reedlike tree in front of his cage and climb. His head rotates in mellow motions as he climbs higher. It’s like he wants to take in—and consider—everything around him.

“It’s a release-day video. After being treated at the sanctuary, he’s ready to be on his own again.”

I’m so enamored with this sloth and his handsome eyes and gentle appreciation for the world around him. I press pause on the video, my black-nail-polished fingers enlarging the picture to look at the sloth’s cute eyes. “Can anyone go there? To this place to volunteer?”

“Yeah, why? Would you want to?” He turns to me, his eyes wide. Surprised. Happy.

And… is that excited?

“I don’t know. Maybe sometime in the future… It just seems peaceful. And important.”

“That’s why I’m going back. That’s what I was talking to your uncle about. I read his whole article on the environment that he just posted a few days ago, and even though I’ve heard it from other Muslim scholars before, it’s never like the way he wrote about it. He basically said it’s one of the most important fights for all of us.” He stops speaking and looks at Amu, who’s talking to Mom and Auntie Ameera