When I pull up to the curb in front of my parents’ house for dinner, my mother and grandmother are waiting for me at the front door, watching my every move like hawks.
Mama pushes the storm door open and waves me inside while Teta tugs her shawl tighter around her shoulders, complaining in Arabic that my mother is letting in the cold.
“Habibti, get in here before you catch your death,” Mama greets me, leaning farther out the door as if that will get me inside faster.
“It’s not even that cold out,” I tell her, but I hurry anyway, taking the stairs on the front stoop of the row house two at a time, just like I’ve done since I was a kid.
She scowls and practically pulls me into the house by my jacket, scolding me all the way for not zipping it up and wrapping my scarf improperly. “Baba’s on his way back from the store,” she says after the lecture. “I made sure he got all your favorites to take home.”
This is part of the reason I visit at least once a week—they send me home with so much food that I rarely have to do my own grocery shopping. Between them and Carly, I’m always well fed.
Teta looks me over as I shrug off my outerwear. I can see in her eyes that she’s about to refute what I was thinking. “You aren’t eating enough.” She pinches my waist through my sweater, and I nearly jump back. “You need to take better care of yourself. If you don’t, you’ll have to move home so we can feed you properly.”
There’s no use arguing with my grandmother. “I’ll work on that.”
Mama peers over my shoulder through the glass pane in the front door. “Where’s Carly?”
“She’s having dinner with her boyfriend’s parents tonight.”
“Such a good girl,” Teta hums. Carly might as well be her granddaughter too; sometimes I think Teta loves her more than me. “When are they getting married?”
I shrug. “I don’t know. We’re still waiting for him to propose.”
“He better do it soon,” Mama comments as she shoos Teta and me toward the dining room. “Dating for three years?” She scoffs. “I married Baba after three months.”
Teta agrees with a grunt, slipping her arm through mine so I can help her to her chair. “And what about you? When will you bring someone home to meet us?”
“Teta, come on,” I groan. This is an evergreen conversation.
Since the moment I graduated from college, the pressure has been on to find a man, get married, and start popping out babies. When I decided to major in English and become a full-time writer instead of a doctor or a lawyer, I thought that would be a spot of contention between us, but my single status is the only thing they ever give me grief about. And now that I’m pushing twenty-six, the pressure is only growing.
“Your mama and I want babies to spoil,” Teta practically begs. “Find a good boy and settle down. I keep telling you, all my friends at church have nice grandsons. Single grandsons. Good Lebanese boys.”
“Does he have to be Lebanese? Baba’s Palestinian,” I point out as I escort her to her seat at the head of the table.
“Yes, yes, I know where he’s from. I studied geography,” she says, waving it off as she sits. “As long as he’s a good boy who loves his mama, you should date him.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.”
My mother and grandmother blow out matching beleaguered sighs and murmured prayers for me to find a man. If I was hesitant to tell Carly about Daniel, I certainly won’t be telling these two until there’s a ring on my finger.
Not that…not that I expect to ever wear his ring, but still. It’s the principle of it all. Yeah. Right.
I’m saved from my horrific thoughts when my phone buzzes in the back pocket of my jeans. I excuse myself from the dining room and step into the hall as I pull it out, sure it’s Carly calling since she’s pretty much the only one who ever does.
But her name isn’t flashing on the screen.
It’s Daniel’s.
There’s no way I can take this call anywhere near my family. They’ll ask who I’m talking to, and they’ll know I’m talking to a man I like immediately. Despite a lifetime of trying, I’ve never been able to keep my mother and grandmother from reading my expressions.
Heart in my throat, I bolt upstairs to my old bedroom and shut the door. I pace the room my parents have kept as a shrine to my childhood, staring down at the screen. Do I answer? Do I let it go to voicemail and then text him to ask what he was calling about? Do I ignore it and hope it was a butt dial?
Don’t be a coward.
I slide a trembling finger across the screen. “Hello?”
“Hi, Selene.”
Just the sound of his voice sends something electric shooting through me. “Hi,” I repeat, my voice embarrassingly breathy. “Everything okay?”
Why is he calling me out of the blue after nearly a week of no contact? We haven’t spoken or texted each other since I sent him my number, so I can only assume he’s calling now because something’s up.
“Everything’s fine,” he answers.
I wait for him to say more, but that’s it. Why is getting him to elaborate always a task and a half? “Okay…is there a particular reason you’re calling?”
“Just wanted to hear your voice.”
If I’d been falling slowly for him before, then that phrase has accelerated the process.
There’s a clamor of a crowd in the background. Clearly, he’s in the middle of something, but he’s taken the time to call me.
Frowning a little, I ask, “Where are you right now?”
“Out.”
“Out where?” I press.
“A bar. In Mexico City.”
My jaw goes slack. “You’re seriously calling me while you’re at a bar in Mexico?”
“Yeah,” he says easily. “I am.”
My legs all but give out, and I drop to the edge of my bed. “Don’t play.”
“I’m not playing.”
Laughter, clinking glasses, and conversations in Spanish echo down the line as I let his words marinate. “You really wanted to hear my voice that badly?”
“Is it so hard to believe that I think about you when we’re apart?”
Swallowing hard, I tell him, “I guess not.”
He gives a soft murmur, amused. “I already know you think about me. Do you miss me?”
I scoff, trying to force myself back to my senses, but I’m drowning. “Don’t even go there.”
“Ah, so you do.” His warm voice wraps around me like an embrace. “Don’t worry. You’ll get to see me soon.”
“Not soon enough.” The words that escape my lips surprise me, leaving me to hold my breath while he’s silent on the other end of the call.
“You really are dangerous,” he finally murmurs. “You’re going to have me flying back to New York early, aren’t you?”
I laugh at that, blushing but empowered. Because I’m beginning to realize that maybe I have him wrapped around my finger. All I have to do is crook it to have him back with me. “Enjoy your night, Daniel. I’ll see you next week.”
“Like you said, not soon enough.” His heavy sigh makes me smile. “Good night, Selene.”
“Good night, Daniel.”
No matter how much I want to, I won’t abuse my power. Just knowing I have it is enough for now.
