Other Side

34 | Back in Boston

"Well, um," Talia began, folding her hands over that mammoth Khalil Gibran book Zaid had gifted her. She wasn't telling him she'd barely gotten through one-hundred pages since January. "My boyfriend is waiting for me."

"Oh, to be young and in love." She pressed a fist to her chest, over her dainty yellow cardigan. "How long have you two been dating?"

"Around seven months," Talia replied, but that didn't feel like the full picture. At least the woman was in the mood of listening. "To be frank, it's been quite the long-distance thing almost this entire year. On top of that, he's not even from this country. Life likes to keep me on my toes, I guess."

"Tell me about distance," she said, lifting her small bottle of water to her lips. "My first husband was from Argentina, the second a French ex-pat in Australia. Never thought I'd live on three different continents in one decade, but you'll be shocked at how much you enjoy life's surprises when you accept them." Swallowing a gulp, she finished, "Now losing your spouse is far from a pleasant surprise, but a secret home in Marseille written in your name lightens the blow, I have to say."

No longer dreading the remaining four hours of this flight, Talia chatted with the woman about past romantic encounters the rest of the way to the East Coast, until the jarring thud of the landing pulled her back to reality.

***

God, Boston was hot.

Or steamy or soupy or muggy. Whatever adjective she wanted to pull out of a hat, this city on a mid-August evening was nothing short of a humid inferno with a side of self-loathing.

As she walked to Fouad's SUV, she couldn't wrap her head around the fact this was the same place that once had her piling on layers when all she wanted to do now was strip down to a skimpy bathing suit.

"I will say you chose one of the worst heat waves in recent history to make a visit, but on the plus side, there is certainly no shortage of beaches in New England." Her grandfather felt more like a tour guide as he rattled off places to visit in the next few days, not knowing that sight-seeing was far down on her to-do list. Item number one: Zaid. "Anyway, you won't be seeing your grandmother when you come home, since she's staying with your Uncle Marcus and Meredith for the weekend. I'll be giving them a visit after I drop you off at home."

Talia yanked on her seatbelt, wincing as the buckle seared her skin. "Any reason why?"

"That baby is why," he said, pulling out of the parking lot. "Or did you already forget?"

"The baby?" She blanked for a moment, racking her mind for mentions of an infant. And then the realization slammed her in the face. "Oh crap, the baby—my baby cousin. How come no one told me Meredith gave birth? When did all of this happen?"

"Three months ago, Talia," he said, chuckling at her astounded expression. "I take it you haven't spent much time around your family recently. Or on social media, for the matter. I think Meredith's Instagram followers know more about Salma than I do at this point."

"Salma...?" She pressed her fingertips to her lips, eyes widening. "Oh my god, did they name the baby after Teta?"

"We weren't fully on board at first, but when we visited the hospital that day, she was, in fact, the most peaceful baby we'd ever set our eyes on, so the name does fit well." Merging onto the highway, he grumbled, "Apparently, Fouad didn't suit any of my five grandsons. What's so wrong with the name...?"

Her grandparents' suburban home soon felt like a different world. Everywhere she turned her head, green met her eyes, from the full deciduous trees to the rhododendrons that had lost their colored petals in the spring to the manicured lawn currently under the attack of the sprinklers. Wanting to loiter in their backyard garden and smell the mint, thyme, and oregano plants Teta always raved about, Talia forced herself into the house to wash off some grime from that cross-country flight.

Three more days than zero, she reminded herself as she washed off her body in the shower, rehearsing everything she would say when she'd finally see Zaid again. Every whisper that left her mouth under the pressure of the water felt too awkward or too stiff or just plain wrong—because why was she still nervous?

Get a grip, Talia.

Armed with a glass of mango kombucha, she stepped onto the deck after her shower to breathe in some fresh steamy air. The heat was half as bad as when she'd first arrived, tempered slightly by the setting sun, but she welcomed it on her body after her fake summer in San Francisco. She squatted before the small pots of thyme and oregano, finally inhaling the pure scent of fresh herbs. A small ladybug crawled up her finger as she held the plants, and surprisingly she didn't shriek and yank her hand away in horror.

No, apparently, she was saving that reaction for someone else.

Still lost in her herbal trance, she felt a pair of arms curl around her waist, then a stubble-covered cheek at her ear.

"Marhaba."

Talia screamed.

Hand shooting up into the air, she splattered half the neon orange kombucha onto her white blouse and the wooden floor planks, staining them like giant drops of paint on a canvas. Reeling forward on the smooth soles of her flip flops, she almost head-butted the fence of the deck, saved by the glass somehow still in her hand, which knocked against the wood, dumped the last of the drink on her poor shirt, and slipped out of her hand into one of Teta's pots of thyme.

Mouth agape, she turned around on one slippery heel and waved the droplets off her hands.

"Oh God, this is your revenge, isn't it?" she asked Zaid, eyes frozen on the massive orange splotch on her shirt. "I knew this was coming."

"What rev—" An unbridled laugh escaped his lips when he remembered, sounds of pure mockery at her hideously orange outfit. When his amusement didn't wane after a good thirty seconds, she burned holes into his forehead, hands curling into fists at her side. "Okay, that was unintentional, but on the plus side, who needs clothes in August?"

Not caring that her drink still drenched her, he tugged her towards him, abandoning the last of the restraint still extant after seven torturous months. When her fingertips met the edge of her shirt, he pushed her hands away and yanked her ruined top off for her, backing her all the way into the glass door leading to the kitchen.

Her back hit the surface with a hard thud, almost harder than the beats of her heart as he dragged his gaze down her face to her skimpy lace bralette. In her vulnerability, she got her first good look at the summer version of him, clad in a black T-shirt, well-fitting jeans, and some high-end pair of white sneakers. He'd clearly had more time to absorb the sun than she had, skin now a warm bronze—and maybe even to hit the gym as well, because she didn't remember his arms being that veiny and bulky as she watched one lock her in on either side.

Feeling small, trapped, and oh-so-attracted to this upgraded version of him, Talia waited for his mouth to close in on hers, but it met her ear again.

"Let's get out of here," he said, trailing the back of his finger down her cheek, "and do everything we couldn't do in winter."

"Are you—" She gasped when it continued down her neck to the top of her chest, just peeking out of her bra, before settling around her pounding heart. "Are you sure three days is enough?"

"After waiting seven months for you," he breathed, lips over her own, "three days will feel like a lifetime."