The next morning, Talia and Zaid got an early start to their day.
They were out of the house by seven-thirty. Though yawning left and right, sleep had long left them, and hunger had taken its place. She leaned her head on the passenger seat window and dug her hands into the pockets of her black parka, gazing at the passing scenery of wiry trees and dirt-laden piles of snow.
Ten minutes into the quiet ride, her phone buzzed in her small purse. The number was unrecognizable, but something told her to answer.
"Hello?"
"Hi, Talia. How are you?"
Dad?
"Oh, hi," she chuckled. "I didn't recognize the number."
"Yeah, we're on our layover in France right now. Calvin told me he's been texting you with updates, but I'm not sure if you've received any of them."
Received probably wasn't the problem. She hadn't opened her phone in over ten hours, consumed by her infatuation with Zaid, burying those messages among twenty other unopened ones.
"Oh yeah, well, I've been busy and whatnot." She cleared her throat when she noticed Zaid's eyes linger on her face. "Is your trip really already over?"
"Your flight's in two days, Talia," he chuckled, voice fading a little. She could hear the bustle of travelers in the background as he moved somewhere quieter. "Thankfully, I can sleep off some of this jet lag when we get back home, but your mom and Cal are going straight back to work and school."
Note to self: own your own company.
"Oh gosh, don't remind me," she mumbled, rubbing her forehead from her own sleep deprivation. "Well, I hope you guys have a safe flight. Tell Cal I'll stop ignoring him sometime."
"Wait a moment, Talia," he said. He hesitated over his next few words, while she gripped her phone case harder, staring at the empty road ahead. "Your mom wants to talk to you. She's sitting right next to me."
Of course, Talia thought. Now that her mother was away from her family, she was back to the woefully oblivious version of herself, who missed her daughter without knowing why she'd missed her in the first place.
"Um, I—" Talia closed her eyes for a moment, heart skipping a beat for nothing. It was just her mother, after all. "I don't know if I have time right now. Maybe I can call back later?"
Her father released the faintest of sighs, knowing she was lying. "No worries, habibti. Take care of yourself for me."
"Shukran, Baba," she thanked him, voice barely above a whisper, noting Zaid's drifting eyes. "Love you."
He didn't comment as they exited the car and hurried to the bakery to pick up breakfast. The toasty air of the inside was a stark contrast to the icy early-morning weather, but she was already numb, perfect mood destroyed by that simple phone call.
"What bagels do your grandparents like?" Zaid asked, pulling her out of her thoughts. He stared at the assorted baskets behind the counter, holding flavors that ranged from as simple as whole wheat and salt to as unconventional as rainbow and tomato-basil.
"My grandparents?"
"We're bringing them back breakfast, aren't we?"
She blinked. "Oh, right, sorry. I don't know where my brain went." She glanced back at the display before her and chose a kind at random. "Sesame is always a safe bet."
"Sesame it is," he said and dragged his gaze down her face. "Hey, if you want to tell me your coffee order, you can go sit down, and I'll do the ordering."
"No, because I want to pay this time." She fished for her wallet in her purse, praying she hadn't forgotten it. "This is my treat to my grandparents."
"But—"
"No ifs, ands, or buts. This is America, baby."
"And this"—he pulled out his heavy matte-black credit card and held it up before him—"is called chivalry."
"I prefer the term 'gloating,' but whatever floats your boat, I guess..." She yanked out her measly student credit card, hiding its bright-purple color from Zaid. "Look, we're not arguing over this, before I figure out a way to steal that card and charge these Dior sneakers I've always wanted onto it. Chivalry, right?"
He muttered a curse in Arabic and plastered on a smile for the worker at the counter. After a good five minutes, they left with their hands full: four different bagels with lox, an assortment of muffins, and two coffees about the size of their heads. They said nothing on the ride home, only speaking when Zaid stopped the car in the middle of the driveway.
"Your mood changed after that call," he said, reaching out to tweak her cheek. "I thought I'd fixed it."
Talia slowly looked up, head as heavy as a ton of bricks. "Can you fix it again?"
"Tonight," he murmured and sealed his promise with a kiss.
***
The night came and went, and they had no plans.
Returning from a dinner with her grandfather, Talia kicked off her uncomfortable heeled boots in the mudroom and stepped into the kitchen, finding a couple lights on. Trailing her eyes across the room, she felt her heart jump in her chest, rattled by the sight before her.
Zaid lay slumped over the kitchen table, a limp hand dangling over the edge.
"Zaid!"
She bolted to the other side of the room, mind swirling in a million different directions. Gripping his shoulders, she shook him awake and called out his name again, trying to feel the warmth of his body. After a few unresponsive moments, he jerked forward and let out some incomprehensible jumble of English and Arabic.
"Are you okay?"
"Are you okay?"
Why was he asking her that?
He winced and dragged a hand down his stubble-covered cheek, eyes barely holding open. Rising from his seat, he rubbed his lower back and released an obnoxious yawn. "I was sleeping, Talia. In the most ordinary of locations, no, but I've never seen someone have a heart attack over someone else having a nap."
"Well, pardon me for thinking you had died," she snapped, tightening her arms over her chest. "Who the fuck sleeps like that?"
The clearing of a throat cut her thoughts short.
Spinning around, Talia found her grandfather standing by the pantry on the other side of the kitchen, eyes darting between the two of them, displaying some mix of bewilderment and amusement. She mashed her warming face into her hands, while Zaid let out a low chuckle next to her, only furthering her embarrassment.
"Well, I will leave you to decide whether the man is alive and well," Fouad said, patting her on the shoulder. "In the meantime, good night, habibti." He darted his eyes to Zaid, gaze narrowing with the slightest bit of a threat. "And good night, Zaid."
She kept her face in her hold, until she was sure her grandfather had long retired to his bedroom, but even then, she didn't have the dignity to face Zaid. He made it easy for her, grasping her wrists and pulling her hands from her cheeks.
"Look, I know you're mortified, but I actually think that was kind of cute—in an odd Talia way, of course."
She narrowed her lined eyes, turning them into two black slits. "You're not allowed to fall asleep in weird places again, okay? I jump to conclusions too quickly."
"How mom-like of you," he joked, flattened a hand across his chest. "Are you going to assume your kids have polio whenever their foreheads are the slightest bit warm?"
"We are not talking about me being a mother," Talia snapped. "I'm not the loving, domestic type, for the record. Even though I have a soft spot for chunky babies with brown eyes. Preferably around eight to ten months. And not mine."
"When did I ever imply that?" he asked. After a slight pause, a small smirk played on his lips. "All I'm saying is you would make a cute mother. And technically, you wouldn't have to work...if you stayed with me."
She backed away from him, knowing where exactly this conversation led. "If you're going to tell me you're another one of those Arab men looking for a docile housewife, pretend like you never met me, Zaid."
He threw his head back in laughter, the warm sound filling the near silent house. "No, Talia. This is where I'll claim the American side of me you're so intent on erasing. If you want a career, ala aini wa raasi." He kissed the top of her head in a funny twist on the actual saying "on my eyes and my head," and she couldn't help but let him see her smile.
"Are you hungry?"
He cocked his head to the side. "Weren't you just at dinner?"
She walked over to the fridge and scanned the full shelves. "Yeah, but I didn't do much eating. I had to update my grandfather on the last year-and-a-half of my life and listen to a whole lecture on mass spectrometry. He always forgets my brother is the science-y one of us." She whirled around in her winter dress and popped a green olive into her mouth, savoring the sour flavor. "Want one?"
"I wouldn't consider that dinner, but sure, I guess."
He closed the gap between them, probably having expected she'd drop the small olive into his hand. Instead, she deposited it on his tongue and let her fingers brush his lips as they slipped away.
"Did you know my filthy-rich great grandfather made his fortune owning olive groves in the West Bank? The oil practically runs through my veins, Zaid."
"Spoken like a true Palestinian," he laughed, leaning against the countertop. "Does any of your family still live over there?"
She chuckled and popped in another few olives mindlessly, thinking back to familial history—and reality—that she never pondered. "A few distant relatives did stay...probably to save the last of those trees..."
"You should plant one back in California in honor of that great-grandfather," he joked, pulling her out of her musing. He looked out the pitch-black window and then back at her. "Nothing grows here, sadly."
"Oh, come on, Zaid, New England boasts some of the finest squashes and tomatoes."
"And crippling depression." He gazed into her bloodshot eyes for a few moments, the lines in his face softening. "Do you think we can even make it past midnight today?"
"It depends," she said through a yawn. "What are your plans for tomorrow?"
"Well, truth be told, I have a lot. Some made by me, some by the universe."
"Wait, what do you mean?"
"It's my twenty-first birthday tomorrow, which, apparently, is a cosmic event here."
Her eyes widened in surprise. "Wait, how come you didn't tell me you were gonna be the birthday boy from before? You're going to drop that revelation two hours before the day of?"
"Don't use that term," he said, wrinkling his nose. "And for the record, I was born at nine-thirty at night, so the clock striking midnight makes no difference."
She rolled her eyes at his persnickety tendencies. "Twenty-one is, in fact, a huge deal here, but you'll have to enjoy your legal celebrations without me for another nine months and some change."
"I thought most Americans have fake IDs? Unless cinema has lied to me all these years."
"Oh, many do," she chuckled, finding his brief moments of American realizations rather entertaining. "I just know with my luck, none of my friends would get caught, but I somehow would. And I'm kind of trying to have a career here."
He swooped an arm around her lower back and pulled her to his front. "You could have always lived your life and then became a housewife, Talia."
"Zaid, I will literally cut your—" She wrenched herself out his grip, but he wouldn't surrender, pulling her even closer. With her cheek pressed to his chest, she rolled her eyes at nothing. "I am no longer finding you charming at this point."
He chuckled into her hair, dragging his hand down her back. "Shame that even when you're annoyed, I still find you beautiful."
Talia drew herself as far back as he would allow. "Whoa there, dude, we weren't talking about beauty. I was just referencing chopping off your—"
"But I am," he cut her off, voice low and tantalizing. His fingers traced the curve of her hip in her tight dress, touch light and featherlike. After a few more torturous strokes, he leaned into her ear and whispered, "You just might want to rethink your threats from now on, if you hope to find any real pleasure in your future."
With a hard squeeze of her hip, he let her go, and she released the gasp trapped in the back of her throat. A million curses ran through her head at the complacent smile on his lips, a mark so subtle yet indicative of who held the true power in these heated moments. Without giving him a genuine reaction, she walked to the other side of the kitchen to wash off the oily residue on her right hand, but he followed her there.
"Look, I need to be honest with you," Zaid said after a moment, speaking from behind her.
She froze with her hands still under the lukewarm water, knowing those words never led to good news. "I'm listening."
"I know tomorrow is your last full day here before you leave on Thursday...but my roommates and I decided we'd officially move back in tomorrow for the semester. So, that makes tonight our final night of this kind."
She dried her hands and glanced at the array of black nothingness through the small window above the sink. "That's okay. I mean, you're allowed to have a life outside of me."
"I know," he said, "but you want it to be memorable, don't you?"
She shook her head, gazing into his sleepy eyes. "We don't have to do anything special for it to be memorable."
Because all these nights will still play in my head like a broken record when I have to leave you...
Talia let him pull her back into his hold, curling up into his chest. "Promise me you'll fall asleep somewhere normal? I can only bear to come to the grossly unfounded conclusion that you've died about once."
"I can promise you as much as a mere mortal can that I won't die," he joked back, dipping his head down. "My heart, on the other hand, may die a thousand deaths in your absence."
She wanted to roll her eyes at the wannabe-poet response, but she found herself murmuring, "I'm not worth that much suffering."
"No, you're not," he agreed, practically making her heart sink to her feet. When she turned away, he gripped her hand and pressed a chaste kiss to her knuckles, lips lingering. "You're actually worth more. It might not make sense, but in a way, I owe you some of my life."
"Me?" She lifted a befuddled brow. "The annoying American girl with mildly violent tendencies?"
He tried to laugh at her stupid remark, but the gloom enveloping him overpowered any surface-level happiness. "Talia...how great do you think my mental state was after losing my father, all my life's goals, and traveling halfway across the world to fill a void that our culture refuses to even acknowledge?"
Absolute shit.
"But how did I save you?" she asked after a moment, each word softer than the last. Her breath hitched in her throat as she mulled over the thought, before she whispered, "Surely, you never thought about—"
"It doesn't matter," he said, voice dipping below a whisper. "Just that I don't anymore."