Confessions of a Muslim Girl

Chapter 40 -- The Point Our Lives Merge

"Yes," my mom nods. "Just give it some thought, make dua, and make good decisions. You know our parenting style has always been relaxed and we let you kids learn on your own while we guide you when we see you fall. This isn't really something where we can control your decision every step of the way, so it's up to you."

"I understand," I say as I wrap my arms around myself protectively. Being given all this responsibility and freedom scares me.

☮ ☮ ☮

What I'm learning is that life isn't about big shifts and grand gestures. It's like shaking a snow globe—as soon as the snow starts settling, things go back to normal. I have a new appreciation for the daily, though. I find happiness in the little things, like my entire family actually talking at the dinner table or being able to walk into Zak's room with a chemistry question. I used to think being related to someone by blood was a guarantee of your closeness to them but I realize how terribly naïve that was to think as our family heals from the distances between us. Each moment is a tentative step closer—like impromptu Malik barbeques—something Zak, Nazia, and I do a few times a year when our parents are out of the house.

My parents are out today at some masjid fundraiser leaving the three of us at home. Nazia came to my room a few minutes after they left and proposed the idea, which I was down for because it beat pretending to do homework. Zak (who was immediately all for it once we asked him) is forcibly assigned to oversee the operation because we don't let him do anything.

The thing about impromptu Malik barbeques is that they never involve parents so using the grill is out of the question. Instead, we take frozen burgers and hotdogs, convert our stove to a makeshift cooktop, and have a blast. Over the years we've figured out how to perfect baked corn and perfectly toasted hamburger and hotdog buns. When all the food is cooked, we set it out on the dinner table and have a feast.

"Nazia, boil the hotdogs first," Zakariya advises her when she emerges from the garage, having gone there to look for the hotdogs in the big chest freezer.

"Got it," she replies, giddily taking out a pot and filling it with water.

"Zak, do you remember the first time we gave Nazia hotdogs?" I ask, smiling at the memory as I unwrap frozen burgers from their plastic packing.

Zak thinks for a minute before giving a low, long laugh. "Yes! Oh my God, what were we doing? We could have killed her."

"Wait what?" The row of frozen hotdogs hovers over the water as Nazia pauses what she's doing. "You guys tried killing me?"

"No, no, we just—" I'm laughing too hard to finish and my laugh makes Zak crack up too.

"Okay, so what happened was that Mom was getting mad at us for not finishing our food and I had this uneaten hotdog on my plate and when Mom wasn't looking, Maysa told me to just cut it up and put it in your plate for you to eat."

I pick up where Zak leaves off. "The problem was that we aren't entirely sure you were allowed all solid foods. Luckily, when Mom came back she praised us for finishing our food but we felt kind of guilty so we took the hotdog pieces back from you to finish them. Turns out you loved them so much you ate half a hotdog that day."

Nazia's mouth is hanging slightly open. "Y-you guys!" She sputters, at a loss for words. "Why were you so mean to me?"

Zak grins. "Rite of passage. You were the youngest." Nazia scowls but the good-natured banter continues until we're setting freshly toasted buns and stove-grilled burgers and hotdogs on the table. Before we eat, I leave to go pray Asr, the third prayer of the day. As I finish, I make a quick dua for more moments like this, where we feel like a family again.