He unfolded the single-page letter and read silently.
Nasir,
Have you spoken to your parents yet? Are you coming to visit? I know the ticket is expensive. Soon I’ll make enough money to fly you over. Once you come you’ll never want to leave. I’ll get an apartment with a room just for you. I swear, you’ll love it here. You’re free to do what you want. Right now I’m saving up to buy myself a car. Everyone here drives a car.
How are my parents? Do you see them often? I can tell from their letters that they’re growing nervous. They keep asking me to promise I’ll return to the Middle East when my degree is complete. Their last letter was about setting up a marriage to one of their friends’ daughters in Beirut. They think that will keep me close. But I won’t do it.
I’m in love, Nasir — the real thing this time. The women here are so beautiful. And they’re free to speak their minds — and marry whoever they please. Everything is so different here. There are jobs here that pay more money in one year than our fathers ever made in their whole lives. You must come join me.
Write to me soon,
Ziyad
“Well?” urged Mama, shifting Rana from one hip to the other. “What does he say?”
Nasir scrambled to come up with something.
“Um … he says he’s well. School is fine and he’s studying very hard and earning top marks. And, uh … he’s lost some weight — Western-style food still doesn’t please him.”
He studied his mother’s face, hoping the mention of food would distract her from asking more questions. It worked.
“Ah! Poor child!” she said, clucking her tongue. “What he needs is a big plate of my musakhan. It was always his favourite.” Picking the letter out of her son’s hands, she frowned as her eyes scanned the page. Nasir held his breath and waited.
“Such a good boy, Ziyad. You should try to be like him when you grow up,” she said, handing him back the letter.
He nodded and stuffed it back into his jeans pocket. His thoughts flashed to the gum girl.
“I’ll try, Mama,” he replied, heading straight for the bathroom where he could read the letter one more time in private before ripping it up and flushing the pieces down the toilet.
Chapter 11
We spoke! Oh my God! We spoke!
I stumbled up the street towards my apartment, praying my legs wouldn’t give out on me. My head was spinning, my heart was racing, my lip was sweating and there was a hot, prickly feeling making its way up the back of my neck. I felt like I was going to faint. I sat down on the curb outside my building and put my head between my knees, willing myself to calm down as my mind went over the details of what had just happened.
Relax, Mack … relax! Get a grip on yourself!
But I couldn’t relax. I was a mess. A quivering, sweating, hopelessly romantic mess. The Arab boy and I finally spoke. Actually, we did more than speak: we touched. Well, he touched me. Oh my God, just thinking about it was making my stomach do flip-flops!
It all started out so normal. I walked into his store, picked out my usual pack of gum, and took it up to the counter to pay. I could feel those brown eyes of his studying me as I fished around in my purse for some money.
Wouldn’t you know it, I couldn’t find any! Between my new daily habits of coffee and gum I was practically penniless. Note to self: ask Dad for raise in allowance. I stood there like an idiot, burrowing furiously in my pockets for change while my face turned red with mortification.
After a few more seconds, I found some shekels at the bottom of my back pocket and sprinkled them on the counter in front of him. I waited for him to take them and put them in his cash register — but he didn’t. I pushed the coins closer towards him and cleared my throat.
We did this routine every day—what was he doing?
I racked my brain to think of something clever to say when suddenly he glanced around to see if anyone was watching, then leaned over the counter towards me.
“I see you in here a lot. You buy a lot of gum.”
My heart skipped in my chest. His voice was deep and smooth and, although he spoke with an accent, his English was perfect. Just like I’d imagined it would be.
“Um, well — it’s sugar-free, so my dentist doesn’t mind,” I stammered stupidly.
Great, Mack! Why don’t you tell him about your last fluoride treatment while you’re at it?
He didn’t say anything; he just stared at me. Damn it! He must think I’m an idiot.
“Um, my name’s Mackenzie,” I said to ease the silence.
“Mack-en-zie,” he repeated. The way he said it sounded more like “Muck and Zee,” but I didn’t dare correct him. It was kind of cute.
“Nice to meet you, Muck-and-zee,” he said, flashing a smile of beautiful white teeth. “I’m Nasir. Nasir Hadad.”
“Hi,” I said shyly, willing my face not to blush a second time.
“Do you live in the neighbourhood?”
“Yeah, in the apartment around the corner. How did you know?”
Now it was his turn to look embarrassed.
“I — I just see you in here so much,” he stammered.
“Yeah, well, we just moved here from Canada.”
His eyes lit up. “Ah! Canada — I have a cousin going to school near there!”
“Oh really?” I laughed. Did everyone in this country have a cousin in Canada?
“He goes to university in a big city where the winters are very cold,” Nasir continued. “He’s been there two years now.”
“Is it York University in Toronto? Because my dad’s a professor there. Maybe he knows him.”
I was eager to find something in common with him. I’d always heard that couples who were destined to be together could find strings of coincidences linking their lives to each other.
Nasir smiled and shook his head. “No, I don’t think that’s it.”
Damn it! So much for destiny!
“Ziyad’s school is in Massa … uh, Massa …”
“Mississauga?”
“No, Massa … Massa-twoshits.”
I giggled. “You mean Massa chusetts?”
He nodded enthusiastically. “Yes. His school is called MIT — it’s a very difficult school. Ziyad is very smart. You said your father’s a professor? He must be a very smart man, too.”
“Yes, very smart,” I agreed, unsure what to say next. I didn’t want to talk about Dad. And I didn’t want to embarrass Nasir by telling him that Massachusetts was like, a ten-hour drive from where I lived. I cleared my throat again and hoped I would come up with something funny that would make him laugh and realize how witty and friendly I was. But my mind drew a blank. So instead I flipped my hair off my shoulder and tried to pose prettily like I’d seen Hailey and Steffi do so many times. It felt kind of awkward, but I hoped it looked good. It always seemed to work for other girls.
Nasir