I’m going to try. It’s just hard, with my dad and my uncles here, and it being my auntie’s birthday weekend and everything.
There was a slight pause.
I miss you, he wrote.
She swallowed back the ache in her throat and typed.
I miss you too.
We only have one more week.
His words had sent a spike of pain through her. Misery pressed hard against her heart, making it difficult for her to breathe for a few seconds. She wiped at the tear hastily before she started to type again.
I’ll be there no matter—
“Laila?”
She spun around and saw her mother standing in the hallway.
“Who are you texting to?” her mom asked, taking a step toward her, her eyes narrowed in curiosity.
“No one,” she snapped, shoving the phone in her shorts pocket.
“No one,” her mom said sarcastically. “You were texting awfully fast to no one.”
“Leave me alone, Mamma. Stop spying on me. You’re driving me crazy,” she said in a burst of frustration. She lunged for the bathroom. She slammed the door in her mother’s face and locked it.
“What’s gotten into you?” her mother shouted through the closed door. “What will your father say when I tell him you’ve accused me of spying?”
Laila plopped down on the closed toilet seat and made a sound of pure frustration. “What will Baba say when I tell him you’re invading my privacy?” she shouted back.
There was an uncomfortable silence.
“Oh . . . is it Ben?” her mother asked, her tone completely altering from being angry to excited. “Is that who you’re texting with?”
“Mamma,” Laila growled. “That’s none of your business.”
“It’s entirely my business. I’m the one who asked him here, aren’t I?” her mom said, her voice sounding calmer now. Smugger. “Listen, don’t tell your father about Ben and his mother’s visit a few days ago until I get a chance to talk to him about it tonight. I’m going to invite Ben back this Sunday. I’m sure your father will like him as much as we did. But don’t mention it to Ben until I smooth the path with your father.”
Laila rolled her eyes. She couldn’t believe this. She wanted to scream until her throat was raw.
“Don’t be too long, now,” her mother said amiably, as though they hadn’t just been shouting at each other. “I need you to make some cookie dough.”
• • •
That night, after helping clean up following the birthday party, Laila walked down the terrace stairs of their cottage. She made out a large shadow relaxing on the steps in the darkness and paused.
“Have things been busy at the shop, Baba?” she asked quietly, sitting down next to her father. Her dad, Anass Barek, was one of her favorite people in the world. He worked so hard for them at his collision and glass repair shop, putting in long, grueling hours both during the week and on weekends. Yet he’d never failed to attend even one of Laila’s volleyball games or concerts when she was in school.
“It’s an especially nice summer. Lots of people are traveling. That means more wrecks. The shop is packed.” He glanced over at her. From the lights glowing through the kitchen window, she was able to make out his small, amused smile. “Your mamma has been telling me about this young man she invited over. Ben, isn’t it?”
“Ben Khairi.”
“Is he nice?”
“Sure, he’s nice,” Laila said, failing to keep the frustration out of her voice. “But Mamma is making a much bigger deal out of him than she should. I don’t like Ben that way, Baba. And I don’t like having someone thrown at me either. You should have seen the way Mamma and Ben’s mom were watching us like hawks that night at dinner. I felt like we were the meal instead of the mrouzia.”
Her father chuckled. “Your mother just gets a little carried away sometimes, that’s all. She just wants you to be happy. Don’t worry. I’ll talk to her about it.”