You Can't Tell by Looking Page 8

  She laughs at me, not realizing that I’m not only talking about my sister but also feeling her out, should I decide to come out of the closet right here, right now.

  “Kerem, my darling, it’s true. Only you and Allah need to approve your innermost feelings, how you think, how you live.”

  I take a deep breath. Start to speak. Hope that the words come out right.

  “But marriage is the most important step in life.” She stops me before I can say anything. “How you choose to spend the rest of your life and with whom you choose to do it cannot be taken lightly. It requires much prayer before a decision is made that will bring happiness, inshallah.”

  Not knowing what God’s will is for me, I instantly fall deeper into my closet.

  “Well, it appears we’re through here.” She kisses my forehead. “Thank you, love, for helping me. And now, I must take a nice bath before evening prayers.”

  I look at her with wonder.

  “You may think you know your mother, but you don’t know everything. Just because I don’t pray standing behind you, your father, and your cousin doesn’t mean that I don’t pray. Yes, I fail sometimes and skip my prayers. But most evenings, I pray in the privacy of my bedroom.”

  She leaves me in confusion. I never knew that. And I’m not sure Baba even knows.

  I spend an hour or so reading; then I go find Baba and Timur in the family room, waiting.

  “Why is it you can’t be early for prayers instead of rushing in at the last minute?” Timur asks, with that disdain that is so often on his tongue.

  “Isn’t on time better than late?” I spit back at him.

  “Boys, let’s prepare and stop this bickering.”

  We cleanse ourselves, unroll our prayer rugs on the marble floor, slip off our shoes, and perform the ritual. At the end, the personal prayer part, I silently pray for guidance on this issue that’s been plaguing me since I saw Gabe this afternoon. And I selfishly ask Allah to make Gabe fall in love with me.

  Prayers finished, we roll up our rugs. Timur says, “You’d think Aysel and Aunt Maria would join us sometimes. When I was young, we prayed as a family.”

  “We’ve heard this so many times, Tim. We could recite it with you.”

  “Kerem, be kind. Your cousin grew up in a much stricter family than I’ve brought you up in. Your Uncle Sivan was very devout and believed in following all the old ways. I suppose I could be a better Muslim, like my brother was.”

  “Your brother k—” I put the brakes on my wayward tongue immediately when my brain engages. We never, ever talk about Delal’s death or the fact that it was her own father who killed her. Especially not in front of Timur. That is a family secret left buried. I think quickly. “Your brother, my Uncle Sivan, kind of went a bit overboard with religion. I like the way we practice Islam much better, Baba. Uncle Sivan, I’m sure, was a good man….”

  I look at Timur when I say this, hoping to make amends for what I almost said and hoping he doesn’t pick up on the fact that I don’t believe any man who could kill his own daughter could be a good man. But judgment is only for Allah. I truly believe that.

  “And he brought up his family in the way he saw fit, but there is so much love in our house, there is no way Allah could possibly find fault with you.”

  “Thank you, my son,” Baba says. “From your lips to God’s ears.” He smiles at me. “Now, I have an appointment with a soft bed. Good night, Kerem.” He kisses my forehead. He turns to Timur. “Good night, my nephew.” And he kisses Timur as well. There is no pleasure on Timur’s face from the kiss.

  In my room, I punch in Gabe’s speed dial digit.

  “I didn’t expect a call from you tonight.” His voice warms me, but there is hesitance in it. “After what I laid on you today, I figured you’d need time to process. Or time to delete me from your phone and Instagram.” He chuckles, but I can hear he is just nervously trying to make light of his revelation.

  “I admit what you said surprised me. But it doesn’t bother me at all. I told you that.”

  “Yeah, but that’s what you say when someone lays something heavy on you.”

  I desperately want to tell him I’m not bothered because I’m like him. But I can’t. It’s too soon.

  “Look, do we live in a world where a Muslim can get elected class president in a school that has no other Muslim students?” I ask.

  “Well, yeah. I think you know that.”

  “Then we live in a world where said Muslim’s best friend can be gay, and it’s not a big deal.”

  I hear him expel a giant breath. “It makes me feel so good to hear that. Now, why are we on the phone when we could be skyping?”

  I laugh. “Because I figured it was so late you might already be in bed. And I didn’t want your naked ugly butt filling my screen.”

  He laughs back, not knowing that looking at his naked ugly butt is exactly what I’d like to be doing right now.

  “For your information, I have a very nice butt. But I will make sure you never get to see it.” There is challenge in his voice.

  “Oh?” I ask, wishing I could rush across the street and gaze upon that butt right this minute. “I may have to pants you the next time we’re together if that behind of yours is that special.” It feels so good to be tossing innuendoes about like we’re lovers—even though I know that Gabe would probably never take a Muslim lover. Too much baggage involved.

  “You just try. And speaking of, when are we getting together next?”

  “Well, we go to mosque on Sunday mornings.”

  “Sunday? Like us Methodists go to church?”

  “Not quite. There is no sermon, no promises of hellfire and brimstone. We go to pray. Traditionally Muslims gather for noontime prayers together at mosque on Fridays. But that’s hard in the dog-eat-dog world we live in here in the US. Baba and Mama have a hard enough time seeing all their patients as it is. If they had to leave to go to mosque for Friday prayers, they’d never get caught up. And I, of course, am in school. They accommodate my praying at lunch, but I’d miss my calculus class if I had to leave campus for mosque. So for us and all the other modern Muslims, there is Sunday prayer at mosque, a chance to make up for missing Friday prayers and a chance to commune with others like us. Used to be—and in a lot of tiny mosques—the prayers are said, visiting is done, and people go home. In our mosque, there are hundreds of faithful. So we pray and visit. Then there’s a big potluck lunch. Not everyone attends, but we usually do. It’s fun. You wouldn’t believe how much good food is there.”

  “Oh, yes, I would. Methodists do the same thing sometimes. Not every Sunday, but when they do, there is an enormous spread of everything you could imagine. Mom always takes her prize-winning ham, of course.”

  “Not a lot of ham at the mosque.”

  “Not any, I’m betting.”

  “You got it. Anyway, I have a proposition. Aysel’s spending the day tomorrow with Hasan, and Baba and Mama are going to the theater—to see Fiddler on the Roof, no less; sort of an interfaith experience, wouldn’t you say?—and Tim is always holed up in his room. That means the family room is totally free and clear, so we can get our Walking Dead fix. What say we stream a few episodes? I have my favorites, and you no doubt have yours. We could put a playlist together and wallow.”

  “I’ll bring my spear in case the walkers invade. I’ve learned a few techniques from Michonne.”

  “Somehow I don’t think we’ll need any protection, but if we do, I’ll let you do your thing while I scream like a frightened little girl.”

  “Oh, I’d bet you could wield an ax as well as Glenn.” He pauses, then laughs. “Can you imagine what someone would think if they’d just tapped into this conversation and didn’t know Walking Dead? The cops would be at our doors before we knew it.”

  “Yep.” I involuntarily yawn. It’s been an exhausting day. “Come over around two tomorrow, ’kay?”

  “You got it.”

  I smile as I put my phone on my bedtable.


  My dreams are sweet ones.

  I WAKE up for morning prayers. I ask Allah to make two o’clock come as quickly as possible. I’m pumped about this—what do I call it?—do I dare call it a date?

  I can barely wait to get home from mosque and shoo Mama and Baba out the door to their theater date. I pop some microwave popcorn, and it smells enticing, when my phone chimes. It’s Gabe. Oh, no, is he canceling?

  “I’m at your front door,” he says.

  “We do have a doorbell,” I say as I open the door to let him in.

  “I know. Phone’s better.” He steps inside, and we head to the TV.

  “I like Episode 5, Season 1; Episode 2, Season 3; and Episode 9, Season 5,” he says, settling on the couch.

  I beam. “Those are three of my favorites too.” I sit next to him. I reach for the remote and hand it to him. “You know how to work this thing?” I ask. I reach around to the sofa table, where I’ve left the popcorn. “I made us a snack.”

  He gets everything going expertly, and within minutes, we’re watching Rick and the gang.

  I sneak peeks at him as he watches. He’s so cute, sitting there totally engrossed in our favorite characters. He makes little noises as he watches, of fear, of fun. I want to lean over and kiss him, but I know that is not going to happen. Too soon.

  The second episode starts, and about fifteen minutes in, I can’t stand it. I have to do something. I hesitantly put my hand on his. He doesn’t seem to notice. I squeeze, gently. Lovingly, I hope.

  He looks at me. “I thought you didn’t shake hands.” A wicked smile. “A Muslim thing, you said.”

  “We don’t. But I never said it’s a Muslim thing. Actually, it’s a Dr. Dad thing. Too many germs. But I’m not trying to shake your hand,” I say. I’m trying to make these sound like words of love, but I don’t know a thing about how to do that. This is all so new to me.

  He turns the palm of his hand up and clasps my hand in his. “I thought this would never happen,” he says. He starts to lean toward me.

  “What you guys watching?” It’s Timur. How long has he been standing there? I quickly pull my hand away from Gabe’s, praying Timur has seen nothing.

  Before I can answer his question, Gabe’s phone chimes. He pulls it from his pants.

  “Whuzzup, Mom?”

  I look at him. His smile vanishes. His face turns dark.

  “Is he okay?” A beat. “Hospital?” He listens again. I’m worried now. Has Gabe’s dad been in a car wreck? Has his grandfather had a heart attack?

  “Are you there now?” he asks his mother. “Wait! I’ll go with you. Be right there.”

  He jumps up. “I gotta run. It’s Shaun.” Thank Allah it is not his father or grandfather. Then I immediately hate myself for thinking it’s better if it’s Shaun, especially since Gabe is showing such concern for his cousin. “Mom didn’t know all the details, but Shaun was in a pickup game at the basketball courts at the park. He popped off to a guy, and the guy beat him up. It’s pretty bad, Mom says. We’re headed to the hospital now.” He says all this as he makes a beeline to the door.

  “Is there anything I can do?” I ask.

  “No. Probably nothing we can do. But family is family, so we need to be there.”

  “I’ll pray for him,” I say.

  “Do that. Please. I know God listens to you.”

  “Text me if you can.”

  “I will.”

  Just as he is going through the door, I grab him and turn him around. “I enjoyed this afternoon. Before we got such horrible news.”

  From the way he looks at me, I think he knows what I’m trying to tell him.

  About us.

  Chapter 9

  Timur

  I DON’T blame Father for what he did. Delal, as much as I loved—love—her, dishonored us.

  I’m a pretty good lurker. Aunt and Uncle never discussed it with me, but they had their own discussion. When Uncle returned, hours later, from accompanying Father to the police station, he spoke with Aunt. I overheard it all.

  The man who’d brought Delal back, her new husband, was angry. He told Father that she had not bled. Her hymen was already broken. She was not a virgin. He wanted no part of her.

  Aunt told Amca that there were many reasons why a young girl wouldn’t bleed when penetrated, but I know of only one. And since Delal had spent so many afternoons out of the apartment, leaving me alone, it was obvious what she’d been doing.

  Funny, I was a ten-year-old, and I should not have understood. Perhaps I didn’t. Perhaps I’ve filled in the gaps as I’ve grown older. The one thing I know is that Delal had been returned and that she had brought shame to Father and his family. My family.

  My brother was dead, my mother was dead, my sister was dead, and my father, no doubt, thanks to US laws, would soon be dead. Or at least put in jail forever.

  It wasn’t long before I learned that we lived in a death penalty state, so the very government that decried the death penalty in so many Islamic countries put my father to death. For defending his family’s honor.

  And in some ways, they executed me, as well. I was to live with a family that didn’t follow my family’s customs, that didn’t live the pure life I had been taught to live. A family that would bring up a daughter they were trying to turn away from her religious ways and a son who might be planning a life that would be one of grievous sin.

  I saw them. It was disgusting. Sitting there. Hands clasped. Like young lovers.

  Aunt and Uncle might be lax in their practices, too modern in their ways, but surely they cannot condone this. It is an abomination.

  No family should have to put up with this.

  It is an unforgivable act of dishonor.

  JANUARY

  Chapter 10

  Gabriel

  I GRAB my phone and text: MFs?

  Sure. Bundle up. Cold out there, he replies.

  Ker and I haven’t walked to the pond in months. Three, in fact. Life got in the way.

  I burst out my front door. I don’t care if it is thirty-six degrees outside. It’s been ages, and I’ve missed my friend. He stands on the sidewalk, waiting, gloved and hoodied.

  I almost leap across the street, my mom screaming in my brain that I didn’t look out for the cars. Thank God we don’t live on a busy street. I’m too filled with seeing Kerem right now to remember Mom’s basic life-preserving rules. There is so much I hope I can say to him.

  “Nice outfit.” His beautiful smile invades his voice. “You look like the Michelin man. Or maybe an Iditarod spectator.”

  “You’re pretty covered up yourself.”

  “It’s colder than a witch’s tit out here, thanks to the wind.”

  “You want to go back inside and visit? We could save the walk for a warmer day.”

  “Not on your life. Our friends the swans are probably wondering where we’ve been. For their lonely sake, we need to get back to our walks. I’ve missed them. And you. So we can brave a little cold. I’m up for the icy challenge if you are.”

  I’m definitely game. I’m not about to give up this chance to be with Kerem after all these months, despite what’s lying heavily on me. I gesture for him to lead the way.

  As we stroll, shivering, we talk, catch up. Our breaths freeze in front of us, it seems. The cold, crisp air smells fresh. It’s the aroma of renewal. With our walks back on track, our bond is sealing its crack, the crack of nonattention. Which is my fault.

  “Shaun leaves tomorrow, thank God, and I’m ready for normal. I’m glad we could help my cousin, but I’m an only child, and I like it that way.”

  “It was nice of your parents to take him in while he recovered.” His breath forms little clouds that linger on his beautiful lips, lips that may never be mine.

  “Well, Aunt Evvie was a total wreck over this, and Uncle Don has been working tons of overtime, trying to keep the family from going under. Seems their insurance was not the best in the world. And with Shaun doing daily physical t
herapy, there wasn’t much left over in the family coffers, money or emotion-wise. My cousins, Shaun’s brother and sister, were going to starve, literally, if Mom and Dad didn’t step up to help. And as under pressure as Shaun’s folks have been, I know if they’d had to oversee Shaun’s care, my young cousins would have withered from neglect. Aunt Evvie and Uncle Don are frazzled. But now that Shaun’s on the mend, Mom and Dad think they can handle it.”

  “So how is Shaun doing? Really.”

  “Better. Much better. His PT says he’s about as good as he’s ever going to get. He’s walking with a cane, and that’s probably going to be for the rest of his life. As for his attitude, it’s positive. He’s pumped about going home, and he’ll be back in school very soon. As soon as the new routine at home sets in, he’ll be good to go.”

  “I’m glad. For Shaun. And for you.”

  Ker’s a good guy. I know he has no love lost for Shaun, but he does care, which doesn’t make my impending revelation any easier.

  “Thanks,” I say, not adding anything else. I’ve missed Kerem so much, and I don’t know what he’s really thinking. About us. Is he glad that the pressure of Shaun’s care is off me now? Or is he glad that we can be together again, now that I’m back to being alone? And how does either impact me?

  “I’ve missed you so much, Gabe. Seems like we’ve been a thousand miles apart forever. Right across the street from each other, but so far away. The texts were great, but I missed our regular skyping, our walks, and our being together.”

  My heart breaks when he says this. Why did I neglect him? And just when we were getting closer. I couldn’t do anything else. With school and swim practice and swim meets, I barely had time to breathe. And Mom needed my help with Shaun. She moved him right into our house so she could nurse him while my aunt and uncle tried to keep their family afloat. With all that going on and helping Mom entertain my aunt and uncle and cousins when they came to visit Shaun—which was just about every day—I was overwhelmed.