The new year came and went, and Talia was not a new person.
She wasn't close to losing five pounds, breaking her fear of unexpected phone calls, or unfollowing Logan on all forms of social media. The only thing she was on the cusp of was leaving, and her flight home was still a very long eleven days away.
The days were blurring, mixtures of freezing walks outside, intermittent shopping trips outside the suburbs, and reading—actual reading. The hardcover that hadn't left her hands in the last six hours still felt awkward and foreign, too heavy to keep elevated for extended periods of time. No matter which way she angled the pages, the print was always shy of making her feel like she was going blind.
Had her optometrist been lying to her all this time when he'd said she didn't need glasses? The no-zoom option on books was definitely making her reconsider canceling her yearly appointment.
Bored out of her mind on a cold January morning, she resorted to vacuuming the entire top floor, a rather laborious task for almost spotless carpet, but she was bored—bored-bored. She dragged the outdated machine over every single open space, even over the carpet that lined the stairs, until she realized that a vacuum older than she was wasn't worth her life.
Thirty minutes later, only one room remained, its door ajar. Talia already knew Zaid was out on another one of his cathartic runs, but it'd already been an hour since he'd left, and he didn't strike her as that much of an athlete.
Although she eventually floated through the door, she surely wasn't cleaning the room, sparing herself the addition of "untalented maid" to his list of pending insults. Still, some combination of morbid curiosity and spite washed over her as she pattered to his desk cluttered in papers. Checking behind her for the fifth time, she picked up the first few pages.
Ha, of course. She couldn't read them no matter how hard she squinted, the foreign script appearing like nothing more than never-ending curves and squiggles. She sighed, realizing the rest of this room was as drab as he was. A bed with black sheets, a few jackets strewn at the end, two suitcases in the corner, a deflated green soccer ball on his dresser.
Football, his annoying, wannabe-British accent corrected her in her head.
"I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but if you were thinking of taking up housekeeping as a part-time job, it may not work out." Zaid's playful voice crept closer and closer until she could feel him hovering behind her back. Bringing his mouth to her ear, he whispered, "You missed a spot in the hallway."
Talia froze, his mystery writings still in her hands. Somehow, she could tell he was smiling from behind her, though her hammering heart made her think otherwise. Swallowing, she lowered the papers to his desk, at least freely admitting she was snooping.
She turned around and tilted her head up to meet those hazel-brown eyes that seemed to mirror her own in every way but color. So warm and inviting, even though both of them were neither deep down.
"If those runs are part of a quest to lose weight, hate to break it to you, buddy," she said, sucking in her cheeks, "you missed a spot."
She poked her index finger into the middle of his shirt, feeling the thinnest layer of fat before hitting pure muscle. Shit, maybe not. His lips formed in the shape of an O, stifling a nervous laugh.
The situation became far less humorous as they fought each other's distance. He took a step forward and she one back, then he made another advance until she ended up with her back flat against his closet door.
Snatching the pile of papers from his desk, he leaned closer, lips just by her ear again. "At least, Talia, I have the courtesy to knock." His free hand propped itself on the wall above her shoulder. "And truly, the smarts to learn a second language. You would make a pretty shitty spy, I have to admit."
She squared her shoulders, fighting an eye roll. "I don't think I need to be fluent in anything to know you're pressed over me finding an old college assignment." She snatched the first page from his hand and flipped it over. "What is this, an English 101 book analysis? We have those in the US too, if you were wondering."
"English 102," he corrected, a devilish smirk tugging at his lips. He yanked the paper back and tossed the pile behind him, the sheer lack of air resistance sending them flying to different corners of the room. "I retract my statement. Maybe just a shitty field agent."
Rolling her eyes, she slid to the right, trying to evade his overwhelming presence, but another free hand meant another to lock her in. God, as much as she hated every cocky word that left his mouth, no guy had ever fired up every one of her nerves just by being this close. When his hot breath tickled her neck, she swore her knees almost gave way.
"Let's play a game today, Talia," he murmured, two fingers grasping a single lock of her hair. It glided through his fingertips, then landed on her shoulder again, seeming to tempt him to do it again. But he held himself back—over ego or custom, she didn't know.
She smirked, tilting her chest out the slightest bit. It grazed his own, but he didn't give in again, despite initiating their paradoxical proximity. "Which game? A new one, or the one we've been playing since I made it to this side of the country?"
He licked his lips and backed off, one hand and then the next. "I didn't win this one, so it's not over yet. But I propose changing the rules just for tonight."
He shrugged off his gray athletic jacket, entrancing her in the most mundane of actions. Maybe because his stupid charm made Talia envisage him doing the same thing in a different scenario, one that didn't seem wrong because they barely knew each other, barely liked each other—and barely had any time left together.
"I imagine you have countless questions you want me to answer, and I the same. So, until today ends, we can only ask each other yes and no questions. No limits."
"And what if one of us lies?" she challenged.
"Well, that's between you and your morals, isn't it?"
"Valid," she mumbled, now knowing he had some sort of good character. She shoved her hands into the pockets of her sweatpants and walked to the center of his room. "What if you forget the rules and lose?"
There it was again: that self-satisfied smile. "Oh, I never lose, Talia. Everyone else simply gets lucky." He walked to the door and gripped the handle, turning around one last time. "Before all this ends, maybe you will, too."
***
Abiding by his maddening nature, Zaid wouldn't let her enjoy this game.
He started by not letting her escape it.
They sat at a table for two at an upscale Lebanese restaurant just outside of Boston. They'd both agreed before coming here that few places could beat Teta Salma's home cooking, but Talia knew their conversation wouldn't be fit for home—and certainly not the ears of her prying grandparents.
The dim light shaded some of his face but kept his light smile in view as he perused the menu. Neither of them had to read all five pages to know what they wanted. As different as their upbringing had been, food still had some way of making up for the rest of a culture that they couldn't replicate thousands of miles away.
"Have you decided yet?" she asked, starting off on the right track.
"Yes," he said and folded his hands over the menu. "Have you?"
"Yup. But I think I'll leave the ordering up to you."
"Why? Too shy to speak?"
She shook her head, folding her arms over her cream-colored sweater. "No." Yes. "I just don't want to ruin your taste of the homeland."
"It's yours too," he mumbled, shrugging, "but sure."
Once the server left, they were a mezze away from easing the awkward tension, as now they had nothing else to talk about but themselves. Well, looking at each other was another possibility. Zaid clearly found no shame in trailing his eyes down her face, one speculative hand propped under his chin.
"I can't tell if you're looking at me to avoid asking a question, or if there's something on my face." Shyly, Talia ran her fingers over her lips and chin, hoping there were a few breadcrumbs stuck there.
She felt nothing.
"I can't answer that with a yes or no," he said, ripping off another piece of bread. He dipped it in some olive oil and popped it in his mouth, still looking.
"Well, it wasn't a question, so you could've lied."
"Lying is beneath me." Over the rim of his glass, he murmured, "I just thought your makeup looked nice."
She blinked, trying to remember what she'd put on before running into the car. "But I'm just wearing mascara."
"Even better." She lowered her head to conceal her warming cheeks and lost herself in the rings on his fingers. Seconds passed of her staring at the three pieces of jewelry, until he chuckled and added, "Should I be asking if there's something on my hand?"
She laughed, averting her eyes. "No, definitely not. To be honest... I'm wondering if they have any meaning. Do they?"
"Yes. Well, just this one." He drummed his index finger on the table, singling out the silver, green, and black ring he never seemed to take off, clear in the slightly worn-out metal. She wasn't sure why it'd caught her attention; maybe she just liked jewelry on men, remembering how Logan found it emasculating. "Is California better than New England?"
She frowned. That was a harder question than the ones previous, as the two regions couldn't have been more unalike. But she wasn't sure if she could answer it honestly, anyway. She only made the journey across the country for her grandparents every few years, never having pictured herself settling down there for good.
"I'll pass on that one," she said and watched his eyebrows knit together. She held up a finger and added, "We never said that wasn't an option, Zaid."
"Fair," he muttered. He pushed the small ceramic plate to the side and rested his elbows in the middle of the table. "I'll just assume you like your home state more, but I'm not sure that I blame you."
She shot him a small smile and didn't change the subject. "Do you want to come back to the US after graduating college?"
"Yes," he said, not even having to think over his answer. She should have felt nothing, but a sense of relief washed over her, easing the minor worry in the back of her mind that they'd never see each other again—if he ever wanted to see her again. "It was always my plan to come here for college anyway, but I suppose I can now live vicariously through you."
"It's not that gre—" She bit her tongue, swallowing the rest of her words. She didn't want to invalidate his dream, not knowing why his plan hadn't worked out in the first place. "Well, if you want me to recount any exciting stories about American higher education, all I have are library adventures, ever inflating tuition, and my part-time job of avoiding my ex on campus."
The third option caught his attention. "Do you still talk to him?"
Talia wanted to irk him with a resounding yes, but her conscience started knocking, reminding her lying was off the table. "No, not at all," she murmured, shaking her head. As she absorbed the complacent smile growing on his lips, some sense of boldness grew inside of her. "Do you... Do you have a girlfriend?"
"If I had one, do you think I'd talk to you the way I do, Talia?" A moment of silence passed, and Zaid began muttering to himself, realizing he'd already lost the game. He cleared his throat and leaned back in his seat. "Let's pretend that was the long way of saying 'no.'"
"Or the synonym for 'Talia wins.'" She sang the words out loud like a pesky second grader in gym class, sprinkling some salt on Zaid's wounded ego. Containing herself, she added, "If it makes you feel better, I don't wanna end the game just yet. I'm kind of liking it."
He folded his arms over his black cashmere sweater, sucking in his cheeks. "You know, technically, I didn't lose. We never specified what losing entails—answering a question without a yes or no...or asking the wrong type of question in the first place?"
"So, me asking about a girlfriend is wrong, but not you about my ex. Gotcha."
He smiled, some of his straight white teeth poking through his lips. "No. You're free to ask whatever you want, Talia, no matter how improper the question..." His eyes flickered to the exposed skin in the V of her sweater for just a second. He blinked and glanced up. "I just think we should place the penalty on the nature of the question, not the answer."
"Okay. So first one to ask a non-yes-or-no question loses." She was somewhat convinced by his defiance, at least. Logan would have already conceded by this point, not having an obstinate bone in his body. "Were you mad when my grandparents told you there'd be a guest for winter break?"
"Nope. I was actually ecstatic to have someone my age to annoy for three weeks."
Their food prevented a snarky reply from leaving her mouth, which watered at the sight of the small bowls of food. Middle Eastern restaurants dotted her college town, but she rarely picked up a meal at one, knowing she could always come back home on the weekends. Yet still, there was something appealing about restaurant presentation that made even the simplest of foods, like hummus, look ten times more appealing.
Zaid gestured to her and then to one of the many bowls. "After you."
She felt put on the spot and took a stuffed grape leaf for her plate and then a couple spoons of tabbouleh. When she finished choosing, he went straight for the Baba ghanoush, disappointing her expectations.
"You actually...like that?" She pointed to the heaping spoonful on his plate. "I thought you'd be a hummus person."
"I am both," he said and swallowed, "because I have taste."
"Soon enough you're going to tell me you prefer tea to coffee." As she thought of all their potential differences in tastes, she wondered if they were such a bad thing...because why date someone who liked everything you—wait, what?
"One semester in New England, and I'm changing my mind," he said. "Well, so as long as it's not Dunkin' Donuts; I can't go a mile without seeing one around here. My classmates would risk frostbite to buy their iced coffees when it's five below."
Talia snorted, remembering all the times Logan had dragged her on car rides to the sole Dunkin' store in their area. Zaid looked up puzzled, and asked why she was laughing, but she simply shook her head, unable to explain how the universe had placed the exact opposite of her ex in her path, and she was loving it.
"Was it hard to get used to being so far from your family?" She felt wary about a more personal question, though part of her wanted to milk the rest of this night, knowing there was so much left to learn about him. Chuckling she added, "You know how Arab families are; they're always somehow nearby, even if they're far away physically."
The five unread texts from her father and Calvin appeared before her eyes, guilting her.
He sighed and looked down at the wooden surface of the table, flicking away a few crumbs. "To tell the truth... No. Because I'm already used to it. I only chose to attend my college because it was the farthest place from my family that I actually got into."
Reading deeper into his tone, she asked a more hesitant question. "So, were you trying to escape your family...or something they remind you of?" She didn't know what that something could be, but her words seemed to strike a chord, so much so, he didn't comment on the nature of her question, breaking all rules of the game.
"I don't know..." he murmured, looking away. "I don't feel like I can justify my feelings either way."
"That's okay," she said softly, noticing his tightening fist. Out of character, she inched her hand across the table and rested it atop his, prompting him to relax his fingers. He blinked and stared down at their connected hands. "I'd be lying if I said that I didn't feel the same way about this vacation. I don't miss—" She stopped herself from continuing, unsure if Zaid was the right person to rant to about her feelings towards her mother, feelings of which neither her father nor her brother were truly aware.
"You don't miss your family?" He pulled his hand away. Her heart sank for a moment, liking their proximity, but he revived it when he leaned forward and rested his palm on her arm. "I may be the last person to speak so definitively, but you're allowed to feel that way."
"It's not my entire family," she said, shaking her head. "It's just my mother."
Not the mother in California with her father and brother, living their simple, private life. But the mother who could go back home to the same people who'd made Talia conflate the place they lived in with the people that lived there, until eventually, she'd wanted neither, hoping that one day she would understand why.
She never did.
"She hasn't talked to me since she left. I guess she's still mad I didn't come with her."
His lips flattened as he took in her distant expression. "Is she mad that you're not there with her... Or is she inconvenienced she has to explain to her family why only one of her children wanted to come see them?"
She looked up. "I didn't think you'd catch on so fast."
"Trust me, you're not the only one with extended family they can't stand," he said, wiping his mouth on a napkin. "Actually, I can barely tolerate my saintly brother, and we share the same last name. Middle name, too. Not sure how much that counts, though, since so does my sister."
"Father's name, right?" He nodded. "My dad insisted on also giving me an American middle name, so I'm Talia Emma Elias Awwad."
"Now that is a mouthful," he chuckled, ironically, through a mouthful of food. "Did you know your initials spell tea and not coffee? Maybe you should rethink your favorite drink, Talia."
"Zaid."
She hated that she found the fact more amusing when she repeated the letters in her head. They soon shared their first genuine laugh since they'd first met, the sound blending into the chatter of other good-humored patrons.
When he wasn't looking, Talia checked her phone under the table and breathed a sigh of relief, realizing they still had five hours until today ended.