“Oh, no!” Heaven took a step back. “You’re not sick, are you?”
Salama needed to change the subject before Heaven assumed someone was about to throw up on the floor. “What are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be taking care of the café?”
“Terry has it taken care of. It’s the slowest part of the day, and she’s been working there since I opened.”
Nodding, Salama opened her door the rest of the way after ensuring her goodies were carefully placed on a nearby stand. “Thanks for this. I don’t know what came over me. It’s… it’s been a really weird week.”
Heaven looked over Salama’s shoulder and into the small void that was her apartment. “I never really noticed that there were apartments over the pizza parlor.”
“How did you know where I live?”
Heaven shrugged, as if it were perfectly natural for one of the locals to stalk and locate the new girl in town. “I asked Terry. She said she overheard you tell someone that you lived in the apartment above the pizza parlor. It’s a small town. Didn’t take long to figure out which pizza parlor she was talking about.”
Salama supposed not. There was only one in town, after all. “But there are two apartments up here.” Her neighbor was an elderly man who kept to himself for most of the year. He only left when his son came by to take him to doctor appointments and to occasionally go out to eat. Beyond that, Salama only knew he was alive because their bathrooms (and their noisy pipes) shared a wall. Sometimes she could hear “CNN – Headline News!” filtering into her apartment on an otherwise quiet day. Why follow the news herself when she heard half the headlines between lunch and her neighbor’s afternoon nap?
“Oh…” Heaven glanced at the other door. “Got lucky, I guess?”
Where were Salama’s manners? Regardless of the weirdness settling in between them, her mother would personally put those manners back into Salama’s habits. What can I say? I’m shocked! I’m… overwhelmed by her being so close to my personal life? Salama pulled all of her hair back and stepped to the side. “Please. Won’t you come in for a few minutes? I’d hate to think you walked all the way from the café only to turn around and walk back.”
“A girl needs breaks and fresh air.” Ah. Was that Heaven’s way of letting Salama gently down? She supposed it was a bit much, inviting her in after what had happened. I’m doing a great job not messing this up. Salama would have nightmares for a week. When she wasn’t buck-ass naked in front of her tenth grade biology class, her teeth were falling out while talking to her mother. Bonus points for remembering that one nightmare where she relieved her bowels in the middle of the downtown Portland Target. Dropped trou and couldn’t understand why everyone was so mad at me. She never had that nightmare again, but Salama sure as hell never forgot it, either!
Heaven gave a curt nod before showing herself into Salama’s small and dim apartment. Weird. Salama never worried about how plain it was when Amin came over. With Heaven in her domain, however? The bare walls, second hand furniture, and mundane cutlery spoke of someone who didn’t surround herself with things that reminded her of “home.” Wherever that is. Salama was an Oregonian native, but she never thought of Portland or its surrounding suburbs as home. It was where she had grown up. That’s all.
Maybe that was one of the things that drew her to small towns like Paradise Valley. The natives were loyal. Maybe they hated the place. God knew they bitched about it enough, but they stuck around, and not always because of obligations or a lack of choices. They were friends with the same people they played with in elementary school. Everyone knew everyone else’s names. The built-in camaraderie that came from growing up in small towns was lost in bigger cities like Portland. Sure, people cared there… but Salama never got that sense of “forever.”
Not like when she settled into places like Heaven’s Café. Or when she happened to look into those sweet hazel eyes. They really are something, huh? That was the moment reminding Salama that the woman she had crushed on since moving to Paradise Valley was there. In her apartment.
Her lonely, drab apartment.
“Can I get you some water?” Salama cleared a spot at the table, the only place with something that marked this apartment as hers. Or, at least, that MacBook probably screamed “Salama Amari” at this point. It was the only gold-colored MacBook in town. People commented on it all the time. At first, it weirded her out. Then she realized most of the denizens didn’t know much about computers, and liked it that way.
“Water would be great. It’s pretty dry out there.” Heaven absentmindedly wetted her lips before sitting down at the table. She did not remove her coat or scarf. “Thank you.”
Salama grabbed a pitcher of filtered water from the fridge and poured it into the first clean glass she could find. Go for the real glass! Not the plastic stuff! She wouldn’t offer Heaven anything she wouldn’t provide in her café. Great. This was going to be a long visit.
Her shaking hand placed the glass on the table. Only then did Salama also have a seat, spending careful attention on placing her laptop to the side and wiping the crumbs off the table. I should have grabbed my to-go cup… White rooibos was good stuff. She should drink it before it got too cold. Yet why was she too embarrassed to admit to Heaven that she liked drinking it?
“Thanks.” Heaven sipped the water. “So, have you started that article yet?”
Salama was almost too flustered to speak. “Sort of? I actually have two articles going on at once. My main project at the moment is about moving to a small town.”
“From Portland, right?”
“Yeah, I know it’s a big city to people from other parts of the state.” One of the reasons Salama wanted out of Portland was because the transplants from other, more populous states kept calling it “quaint” and “soooo cozy!” They didn’t realize that Portland was the biggest city in a state big enough to swallow most of the others. “So that’s what I’m focusing on. The site I write for is all about the experiences of women from Muslim backgrounds talking about different aspects of their American lives.”
“Oh? I admit, I don’t know much about that.”
Isn’t that part of the point? “There are lots of different types of women on there. I’d say about half are still practicing, and the other half have either left Islam or are transitioning away from the religious aspect of the culture.”
Heaven’s face burned with questions, but she was too polite – too infuriatingly polite, honestly – to ask them.
“I fall into the latter category.”
“Is that so?” Heaven’s relief implied that had been her main question.
“There’s a lot to write about, so we stay in business.” The ad money helped.
“So what do I have to do with your project about business owners? I’m not Muslim.”
Salama had to think fast. Otherwise, Heaven would know what she was really up to in the small town of Paradise Valley. Making an ass out of myself. “It’s for a different website. One I’m breaking into. I’ve already established myself on the other one.”
Heaven nodded, but it was clear she had no idea what Salama was talking about.
“You can ask me any questions you have, you know.” A bit of her frustration jumped out. “It’s not like I signed an NDA when I was born to forego all questions about who I am.”
“I’d think you’re tired of being asked questions around here. I see how many people come up to talk to you about what you’re wearing, and that’s only when you’re in my café.”
“There’s being pestered for answers by nosy people, and then there’s that super Oregon thing where everyone pretends they ‘don’t see color’ and act like you’re not somehow different from them. Differences aren’t the problem, right?”
“Huh. Never thought about it that way.” Heaven shrugged. “Growing up in this town, my mama simply told me to not point out people’s differences. You see, they consciously moved here from down south so my dad could get some work. They knew about the gay
stuff around here, but I was a little kid and a lot of it was new to me. My ma was afraid I’d make a little jackass out of myself at school. Might see a bunch of my classmates with two moms, you know.” She took another sip of water. “Lots of people here are raised that way. Guess it comes with the territory of being founded by women who were tired of people asking questions.”
“Most people don’t mind questions as long as they come from a genuine place.”
“All right, then.” Heaven leaned her elbow against the table, hand fisting a clump of her curly hair. Can she even feel that? How was that for a personal question Heaven was probably tired of hearing? “Where do you get your scarves? Because I’ve had more than one shy person ask me that same question on your behalf.”
It took a few moments for Salama to realize what the hell Heaven meant. “You mean my hijab?”
“Yeah. That. Are they expensive?”
Salama laughed.
She never anticipated spending half an hour with Heaven. Here! In her own apartment! Was she really here, asking Salama questions that had been bothering her for more than a few months? It’s too good to be true. Sure, she was here under the pretense of being friendly, but would Salama dare ask for anything more? She may have accepted that this was a one-sided crush. That didn’t mean Salama wasn’t still a bucket of giggles as she explained aspects of her life that were completely foreign to a woman like Heaven. God knew that Heaven Mossberg probably had some head-scratchers in her own life that Salama didn’t have a chance in hell of understanding.
“It doesn’t sound so different from people who don’t wanna be Christians anymore,” Heaven said at the end of one of Salama’s spiels. “Still wearing their crosses their grannies gave them and still praying before going to sleep every night. Someone might ask why they bother if they don’t believe in it anymore, right? Then they tell you that they don’t know how else to live. It’s how they’re comfortable. Not like there ain’t some Christians who cover their hair, too. Although I’d hate to try to cover my hair. Can you imagine?”
Salama shrugged. “It can be done. You think there aren’t hijabis out there with naturally big hair?”
“Sounds complicated.”
“Running around in heels is complicated. So is a twenty-five minute makeup and skincare routine.” Salama got up and opened her closet. On the back of the door was a rack that displayed her most-used hijabs, displayed in a rainbow gradient. The lemon yellow scarf she had worn that day was already in its rightful place between the orange scarf in her professional photo and the green one she wore for the Christmas season. Let’s see… which color is good on her? With those hazel eyes and cheekbones… Salama grabbed a ruby-red scarf and brought it over to the table. “May I?”
Heaven’s eyes widened when she realized what her hostess wanted to do. “Sure.” She removed the muffler from her neck and unzipped her coat. Her sweater dress looked quite different without an apron on top of it. Really fleshed out her figure. Sigh. I’m hopeless. In another life, Salama would be ashamed about checking out another woman’s body like this. Yet she was already in deep shit. Her hands were about to be in that bushy hair. Was it as coarse to the touch as it looked?
No.
Heaven’s hair was deceptively soft. Those frizzy curls were almost a damn delight to run between Salama’s fingers as she maneuvered a whole head of hair back and forth, determining the best way to approach this. Good thing she had grabbed a large scarf. “Why are you wiggling?” she asked Heaven with a slight giggle. “I’m not gonna hurt you.”
“Ain’t used to people touching my hair.”
“Didn’t you tell me that people used to always ask if they could?”
“Yeah, but…” Heaven cleared her throat. “This is the first time since before my divorce.”
Your divorce… That’s right. Heaven was straight, huh? Cut Salama deep to think about it while she wrapped the headcover around Heaven’s head. “Husband, right?”
“Not exactly a story you hear much around here.” Heaven’s awkward laugh only endeared Salama to her more. “The classic tale of a girl marrying her high-school sweetheart and divorcing only a few years later… usually, that doesn’t include a man in the picture. Not if you’re from Paradise Valley. Or Roundabout, for that matter. Man, the stories I could tell you!” She laughed harder. Salama lost grip and had to start over.
I mean… at least she’s single? Salama didn’t hold out hope that this meant she had a chance, but she was her own cliché. The lesbian in love with a straight girl. Story of her life.
“There.” Salama grabbed a hand mirror off her dresser and passed it to Heaven. “What do you think?”
“It’s nice and warm in here, that’s for sure,” Heaven quipped.
“Probably all that hair insulating your scalp.” She waited for Heaven to peer at herself in the mirror before continuing. “I picked a color I thought would go with your skin and your… eyes…” She cleared her throat. Didn’t want Heaven knowing that she stared into her eyes, now did she?
A small smile crossed Heaven’s face. Without her trademark hair, it was easier to pay attention to the fine details of her visage. Like the little mole to the left of her nose. Or the way her brows arched above her eyes. Her jaw was one of her most defining features, yet Salama had never noticed the way it cut though the air whenever she slightly shifted her head. There was a regality to Heaven Mossberg, like she was the Princess of Paradise Valley, and Salama was but a mere handmaiden who dressed her hair and helped her see the beauty within her.
Come on… handmaiden? Salama could do better than that. Her mother would tell her to have more self-confidence and think of herself as a princess from another land, perfectly matched to be friends with Princess Heaven.
“I like it! I’ve never seen myself without my hair before.”
Although Salama smiled to hear it, she couldn’t help but say, “It’s not only about the lack of hair. You can show the world your personality through your headscarf. I guess I associated you with the color red.” Salama didn’t claim to see auras. She only liked assigning colors to people.
“Not sure I’d want to wear this every day like you do,” Heaven placed the mirror upon the table, “but I guess you’re so used to it, huh?”
“Yeah.” Salama sat back down. “I feel naked if I go outside without it. I also think my mother and everyone else in our neighborhood put so much emphasis on never going out without it that there’s this Pavlovian response within me. I’ve read and written a ton of articles about the feeling. Except it almost feels like… a costume sometimes.”
Heaven placed a hand on her head and looked at Salama with a giant apology on her face.
“You’re fine. I wouldn’t have offered to help you try it on if I thought it would be uncomfortable.” Salama stilled her twiddling fingers. “My brother knows all about my struggles, although I don’t think he understands them. He’s told me it’s weird that I keep wearing it if I’m no longer following other customs.” Which was hilarious, because she was more stringent than some other people in her family. Then again, old habits die hard.
“It can’t be easy around here.” Heaven glanced out the window before briefly turning her gaze back toward Salama. “For what it’s worth, you have really beautiful hair.”
Blush colored Salama’s cheeks. “Thanks.” Not as nice as yours, though. Heaven was only saying that because it was her first time seeing Salama’s hair.
“I’m serious, but I also get where you’re coming from. I know it’s not the same, but I was self-conscious about my hair as a kid. Other kids are ass-nuggets and make fun of anything slightly different about you. For me, it was my hair. I had the biggest hair in school, which… says a lot about the kind of schools we have around here.” She said that with a chuckle. “Anyway, I shouldn’t take up much more of your time.”
“Yeah, guess you should get back to the café. Thanks for bringing me my stuff.”
Heaven gestured to the cover on her he
ad. She needed Salama’s help taking it off.
It wasn’t as fun removing her hijab from Heaven’s head as it had been putting it on, but Salama indulged in the opportunity to let her fingers linger in those curls, now slightly pressed down against Heaven’s scalp. They would surely regain their volume as she traipsed back to work and reentered her world of coffee and baked goods.
Salama wished she could go with her.
“Hey…” Heaven looked up at her with a smile before bracing herself against table and chair. Salama stepped back to give her guest room to get up. Heaven needed to put her jacket and muffler back on, after all. “Hope you keep coming around the café. If anyone, including me, does something to make you uncomfortable about anything, let me know. I’ll beat them up.” Her fist swung through the air, although her teeth remained flashed in Salama’s direction. “Maybe not literally, but you know what I mean.”
“Thanks. Think everything’s cool, though.”
Heaven’s gaze continued to linger on Salama. What was she so captivated with? Couldn’t only be her hair! She’s not really attracted to me. Perhaps that wasn’t the attitude of a woman intent on winning her crush’s affections, but it was what kept Salama sane.
“Until next time.” Heaven showed herself out of the apartment. It closed before Salama made it there to say goodbye.
Chapter 10
HEAVEN
No matter how much she focused on her ledger, Heaven could not balance her numbers to save her life – or her business’s, for that matter. Unfortunately, it was a common enough way for her to spend a Saturday night. A glass of wine, some music playing on the stereo, and a stack of receipts and a copy of Oregon Small Business Law and Regulations to keep her company. Saturday nights in Paradise Valley were quiet enough that a woman could regularly plan to balance her checkbook while rarely reneging on those plans.
Not that night. Heaven’s head was so full of everything but her business, that she guzzled that glass of wine and turned it into two before she remembered what she was doing.
February Kisses Page 6
