A house could change, but a true home never did.
The stylish Newton colonial showed natural signs of wear, its cream-colored panels yellowing over the years, now in desperate need of a pressure wash. The landmark pine tree in the front yard had slowly withered, eventually plucked away and replaced by a patch of uneven grass. The once sprawling herb garden in the back had dwindled down to just a small batch of mint, rarely finding a place in a cup of tea anymore, but its bright green color was indicative of the life that still flourished in and around those four walls, the keepers of the secrets of generations.
And they kept coming.
"You know, I'm still lost on why eighty-nine is such a huge deal in your family," Zaid chuckled, pulling their son, Elias, out of the backseat. He grabbed onto his small hand as he began charging towards the open front door, almost flying into the biker making his way up the main road of the neighborhood. "We only threw a party for my grandfather's ninetieth birthday earlier this year."
"I don't think it's the age. It's the fact everyone is actually here, for once." She waved a big hello to her Uncle Marcus throwing a football with her ten-year-old cousin, Tyler, always having to block out how close in age he was to her son. "Also, eighty-nine is a prime number, which I think is kinda cool."
Elias perked up, no longer fighting his father's grip on his hand. "What's a prime number, Baba?"
"Just a math concept," he replied, ruffling his hair. "Nothing too fun, habibi."
"But I like math."
Zaid stilled and closed his eyes, possibly wondering once again why he had to deal with her in two forms—as Elias was all Talia.
She wasn't sure whether it was comfort or nostalgia that always hit her first when she walked through the front door, as this house overwhelmed her brain with a flood of memories as much as it assuaged any worries planted inside.
"Amo!"
Elias ripped himself out of Zaid's hold and raced through the foyer to his favorite uncle standing by the stairs. Laughing, Saif picked him up and spun him around, beginning a chorus of how are you's in Arabic, to which Elias happily replied in the same language, usual shyness nowhere to be found.
A sigh echoed from next to her. "And once again, nothing for Khalo."
"Calvin," Talia chuckled, holding her chest.
She'd thought his work schedule hadn't aligned with this celebration, but there was he was, decked out in a pair of seersucker shorts and a white dress shirt, embracing his inner my-dad-is-a-lawyer look. In truth, there was only one lawyer in the family, and he was already abandoning his job as a litigator for the messy world of politics.
"Hey, guys." Reagan wedged himself between his two cousins and planted an elbow on each of their shoulders, grinning from ear to ear. "Can't stay too long. Sido and I are already on rough terms, so hopefully I can make it through the next hour unscathed."
Those rough terms had started the day he'd announced he was running for Congress in Massachusetts, which, to Fouad, was the equivalent of having one less grandson. With his quick wit, charisma, and a Yale law degree under his belt, there was no reason for a seat in the House to have been a lofty goal, save for the fact he was barely in his thirties, and the incumbent Representative he was trying to boot from office was pushing eighty and had quite the dedicated fanbase.
"What is it this time?" Calvin chuckled, quirking a thick brow. "Grassroots fundraiser? Or reading through the desperate tweets from fourteen-year-old girls?"
Reagan stiffened, hand at his blue shirt sleeve. "You've seen those?"
"I pretend I haven't."
Talia shuddered at the thought of thirsty remarks from people who weren't even old enough to vote.
"Well, on the topic, I do have something for you, Talia." Reagan disappeared around a corner, in the direction of Fouad's old office, and emerged with a thick white sign, which he pushed into her hands. "For your yard."
She stared at the writing, then looked up. "I live in an apartment, Reagan."
"Wait, really?" He darted his blue eyes between the contents of the sign and her blank stare, hand at the nape of his neck. "Oh, well, you know—you could just consider it an advertisement for our last name. See, if you squint hard enough, the 'Reagan' and 'for Congress' kind of go away, and it just becomes 'Awwad.'"
"If you keep this up, I'm definitely voting for the old white dude." With not a moment of hesitation, Calvin yanked the sign from her hands and tossed it up the stairs.
Reagan chased after it, not before being stopped by their cousin, Salma, who had a collection of grievances she wanted to be turned into bills. At the top of her list was getting paid to exist, which was most certainly one Talia was right with her on.
"Just listening to that guy takes years off my lifespan," Calvin grumbled once they were alone, crossing his tanned arms over his front. "But God, why is he so convincing? Fucking lawyers."
Talia shrugged. "You very well could have become one, but then you wouldn't be the doctor of the family. That's something to be proud of, at least."
He snorted, burying his mouth into the back of his hand. "Talia, I'm getting paid minimum wage to stare at a screen in a dark room all day and get verbally abused by doctors twice my age. Oh, and I still have two-hundred-forty-six-thousand dollars left in student loans mocking me." With another sardonic smile, he threw in, "Plus interest."
She sighed, hands at her hips as she eyed the door. "Well, Cal, not all of us can be Nadine. I've even accepted that myself."
Her ebullient sister-in-law burst through the entrance, bright purple scrubs visible from a mile away, matching the silk scrunchie that kept her long black hair together. She shut the door behind her with her hip, hands full of three sparkly bags.
"I come bearing gifts!"
The word gifts was enough for three little nephews to come racing to their bubbly young aunt. Saif's two sons were always working up some sort of mischief, daredevil personalities the near antithesis to Elias' tranquil demeanor. He'd already politely whispered to Talia once that he didn't like them, but Nadine was a natural peacemaker, making the three boys hug before she handed them their respective goodies.
Calvin snorted again as he watched Elias' face contort mid-hug, small hands not even touching his cousins' backs. "That's what you get for not choosing me as your favorite uncle, little guy," he sneered, staring him down. "That's right, feel my pain...traitor."
Before she could chide her brother, Nadine popped up in front of their faces.
"Oh my gosh, Talia, you are glowing!" Nadine pulled her into a hug, pressing a kiss to each of her cheeks, and then held her at arm's-length. "Wait...don't tell me there's another little, you know...surprise on the way." Leaning into her ear, she whispered, "I can keep a secret, if you're shy."
Talia froze, hands still on Nadine's skinny arms, before the thought finally hit her, eliciting a few nervous chuckles from her mouth. "Oh, no—most definitely not. No babies here." Pulling away, she eyed Zaid in the distance, standing next to his mother, a hand tugging through his hair. "Actually, it's not even me who's killed off the baby fever. Apparently, Zaid drew the line at the three gray hairs that appeared on his head after all those months of no sleep with Elias."
"Definitely sounds like my brother," Nadine laughed, throwing her head back. When she looked back at her, Talia could make out a few lines by her eyes, ones that grew more visible every time she saw her. She and Calvin were no strangers to sleep deprivation in the world of residency, but at least they had each together to get through the long days and nights. "I guess I hate that you guys have to see me looking like this. I just got off a week of night shifts, and I'm sure I look so—"
"Beautiful? Stunning? Like the love of my life?" Nadine blushed harder as Calvin kept the compliments rolling, finally yanking her away to a private corner of the house as they did whatever a childless married couple enjoyed doing.
She found herself in the living room, where a few more members of the family were, namely her son, who sat on Saif's lap, deeply engrossed in a story. She realized he was explaining what he and Zaid did at their father's company, somehow finding a way to dumb down engineering enough for a five-year-old—though perhaps she, too, needed the simplification.
Joining the rest of the crowd, the three headed outside to the deck, where the last of the family—and the true guest of honor—resided.
Her grandfather hadn't changed much since her college years. Despite the new wrinkles by his brown eyes and a gruffer voice, he was very much the tall and lanky man she'd always known, still in the same shape even after eating his wife's full-flavored food for well over sixty years. Seated with Teta Salma at his right and Nabil at his left, she could only imagine what was going through his mind, knowing they were all gathered there to celebrate his eighty-nine glorious years.
"I've been waiting for the sight of my favorite grandchild." Two hands grasped her face, and a soft kiss was pressed to the top of her head. She squatted down in front of him, not wanting him to stand more than he needed to, in spite of his protests. "Oh, come on, I need someone not to treat me like I'm a doddering old man."
"Well, you are old," Nabil rasped, shakily lifting his glass. "Denial isn't a good look, ya Fouad."
"Oh, you stop it," Salma chided, swatting his arm. "He may be old, but he's still my handsome husband."
"Finally," Fouad groaned, lifting his hands to the sky. "Someone acknowledges my eternal good looks."
Warm laughter filled the air as more and more people crowded the small deck, the youngest of the bunch eagerly waiting for the dessert. At last, her uncles Thomas and Marcus emerged from the kitchen with the triple-layer cake, two numerical candles adorning the middle. She watched Fouad's eyes light up even more than the flames that met the eight and the nine, holding Elias back to her front as he curiously tried to touch the fire.
"I will be honest," Fouad began, folding his hands under his chin. "I never thought there would be a day where so many of us would gather here together, on a beautiful sunny afternoon in suburban Massachusetts of all places. But I..." He stopped to brush a knuckle under his left eye, melancholic smile tugging on his lips. "I couldn't be more grateful to be here with my oldest friends by my side and the whole future before me." Pausing, he glared at Reagan and finished, "Even if it means selling our soul to Congress."
"Don't forget to register to vote, guys," Reagan chimed, flashing two thumbs up.
As Fouad continued on, he couldn't hold back a few of his tears, letting them stream down his cheeks. Whispering an oh no, Elias pulled himself out of her hold and came barreling towards his great-grandfather. Noting his speed, almost too much for an older man, Talia lurched forward and tried to grab onto his shirt.
"Elias, no!"
Her grandfather held up a single hand, shaking his head. "Come here, little Fouad."
Eyeing Talia, Elias slowly walked towards him and smiled as Fouad gently pulled him on his lap, kissing his soft cheeks. If only he knew he'd earned the title of favorite great-grandchild simply because after a lot of convincing, Talia had given her son the middle name Fouad—and not Zaid.
"Before I blow out these candles, I want to bestow a sincere blessing on this family. However..." He held up his index finger, chin lifted a little higher. "Talia gets my highest blessing, because my namesake will no longer die with me."
Smirking, Fouad blew out the candles as a commotion broke out, all three of his sons begging him to take back his words. Zaid, finally on good terms with the man now that Reagan had become Fouad's new punching bag, took a step forward and placed a hand on her grandfather's shoulder.
"Can I ask?" Fouad nodded, glancing up at him with a warm smile of approval. "What did you wish for?"
"Nothing this time, ya Zaid." Fouad flickered his eyes over the generations around him, smile as bright as the future of this perfectly imperfect family, who allowed him to utter blissful words seven decades in the making. "I finally have my American dream."