Layla
Samira was showing Layla the new clothes she got from a modest clothing brand. It was only a matter of time before her sister wore the hijab. She already loved it so much.
“I like how colorful they are,” Layla told her.
Samira had turned sixteen recently, and while Layla didn’t get the chance to see her the day of her birthday, they spent hours video chatting the next day and she showed her all the gifts she got.
“Are they treating you well?” Layla asked her.
“Our brother is angrier, but other than that, he’s the same. I told you about how Baba decided he didn’t want to lose another daughter, so he promised he’s going to be better at this whole dad thing. I didn’t think he was serious, but he’s been great and he’s really trying, you know?”
She did not know. She never had a parent who wanted to do better for her. She had only allowed herself to think of worst-case scenarios when she left. Layla had cried for hours when Samira told her everything was okay. She was so relieved. She didn’t realize how much guilt she carried over leaving.
“Mom is the same, but it’s all so different. You were the person she threw her anger at, but now she mostly just fights with her mama. It gets really bad sometimes, but she mostly locks herself in her room when it does.”
Layla had asked her sister not to spare any details, but it was a little hard to be reminded of how she was the subject of her mother’s anger. She never really tried to ease things, either. She yelled back, she held grudges, and she was just as angry, which was never good. She couldn’t help but feel so envious. She wanted to ask why her baba never tried for her.
She heard him call out to Samira. It was muffled. He laughed at something Samira said. Layla had to sit down because of how nauseous she felt. She had never heard him laugh so easily before.
When Samira hung up, Layla started pacing in her room. She didn’t want to be alone; she wanted to be held so bad her heart ached with the desire.
When she was younger, Layla used to cry in her room for hours, waiting and hoping for anyone to check up on her, to ask if she was okay. No one ever came. She didn’t want to experience what it would feel like if she asked for help and one came through again.
She never told anyone how she struggled with anxiety, how she was plagued with panic all the time, and how much she tried to hide it. Mateo knew. She never told him, but he had the unfortunate luck of seeing her have panic attacks over things that wouldn’t cause anyone else to panic.
She sat down on the edge of the bed, and then she heard a knock.
“Are you okay?” It was written on the paper. She guessed he saw a shadow of her feet pace through the little space in the door.
Layla didn’t have to cry. She hadn’t asked him for help but he was there, he was there and he was checking up on her.
“Why do you ask?” she asked, the words soft in a way that was foreign to her ears.
“You were pacing and then I walked in and you had a look on your face,” he wrote and then shrugged.
She wouldn’t explain why she was upset. She had never allowed herself that much, but she did contemplate asking for something. The thought felt like a chain around her neck. She swallowed and laid down on the bed.
Maybe it would be okay, she thought.
“Will you play with my hair? Just for a few minutes?” She kept her eyes closed. The room was quiet. She heard footsteps, and then I felt the bed dip.
It was the closest they’d ever been to one another.
She wondered if he was confused or if he could tell that she was a temporary mess and felt pity for her. She didn’t have the guts to find out, so she kept her eyes closed.
She felt his hand—it felt good, and it made her really want to cry. She needed this so badly, and she hated her needs.
I’m not helpless anymore. I got out. I’m okay, she chanted in her head.
“Okay, please leave now,” she whispered. He removed his hand.
No, please put it back, she thought.
It wasn’t until she heard the click of the door that she realized she had been signing every word she said.
⸻
When she woke up the next day, she tried to avoid Jess as much as she could. She wanted to avoid eye contact altogether but, she couldn’t do that. They did a lot of talking with their eyes. Intense eye contact with someone she barely knew was not something she thought she’d be doing.
It felt like they had their own language sometimes. She liked it.
Layla scoffed at herself. It wasn’t their own language, it was just how he communicated.
Jess waved when she came out of her room. He gave a small smile.
“You like me?” he signed. He had a stupid smile on his face. She took notice of how he slowed his movement to make sure he was not going too fast for her.
“I really don’t.”
“I feel so special.”
“You shouldn’t. I hate everything about you.”
“So now that I know you like me, does this mean you’ll let me take you to New York?”
It would be nice to have someone to talk to on the flight, and it wouldn’t be too bad to have someone who knew the city well.
“Don’t take this as a declaration of love or anything, but I think I’m going to allow this.”
“Really?”
“Yeah, whatever.”
“You’re really desperate for me, aren’t you?” Layla threw the sliced tomato at him and glared. He could be so annoying. “You’re so good at hiding it, but I’m just intuitive, you know? There’s nothing you could have done differently, but I really think I should let you know we can’t ever be together.”
“Oh, really?” She threw another tomato, but he dodged, and it fell on the floor. They both looked up when they heard the sound of the door opening.
“I have to say, Matty, your friend is a dirty little liar. She gave us a long lecture about keeping the place spotless and what did we do? We kept the place spotless. And what did she do? She threw tomatoes at your floor,” he tsked. Layla was going to bite him. He stared at her, his eyes drifted over her entire face and then stretched into a pleased smile.
She realized suddenly that she had completely forgotten about the night before, about the slight embarrassment she felt over being caught learning sign language for him. It was a bit clear that Jess was intentionally distracting her from whatever was making her sad, even though she hadn’t confided in him.
Layla felt another pair of eyes on her. Mateo and Kione were staring at the pair, but Jess didn’t notice because he was looking at her curiously.
“There are too many men here for me today, so I’m going to spend the rest of day with Celia and Mia,” she announced.
Jess’s eyes flashed at the name, but he didn’t say anything. Kione kept looking at her strangely. He was very close to Jess. Every time he spoke about Kione, he would say ‘My brother and I’ even though he was an only child.
She really needed to leave the apartment for a while. Celia had just gotten back from Mexico, so it was a good time for girls’ night.
⸻
Jess
Jess went to the kitchen. Kione followed as quiet as a cat, when Jess turned around he startled. He’d always wondered how the hell someone so big could move so soundlessly. He decided smacking Kione on the head would be the best course of action.
“You’re finally attending to your wild needs! Good for you.”
“What?”
Kione pointed outside and winked.
“Do you mean Mateo?”
Instead of whispering like they had the hottest gossip in the world, Jess and Kione signed aggressively and frantically whenever the topic was hot as tea.
“Mateo? No, don’t be ridiculous, he’s not even your type. You don’t think I know your type? I meant the redhead.”
“Her name is Layla.”
“Whatever her name is.”
“It’s Layla.”
They paused, Kione waited.
“I’m not sexually active, Kione.”
“You could just say you haven’t fucked.”
“I will not.”
“So unnecessarily proper.” Kione paced a little. “I picked up on the energy; I could feel something. You shared the look.”
“What’s the look?”
“Haven’t you ever looked at two people, saw them sharing the look, and immediately knew they were fucking? Or in your case, they want to real bad?”
“I can’t say I have. I think, I just—”
“Yes?” Kione asked impatiently.
“She makes me tea sometimes.”
“Then what happens?” Kione asked, jumping up and down. When he noticed Jess not sharing his enthusiasm, he paused. “That’s it?”
“You don’t get it,” Jess huffed, and left a very confused-looking Kione in the kitchen.
