You Can't Tell by Looking

by Russell J. Sanders

  “So with your mama and Aysel at our house, and your cousin and baba away—”

  “Don’t even think of it.” I’m hurt by his curt dismissal. “Until I resolve this with Baba, there’s no way I would be comfortable doin’ the nasty in his house.”

  “Doin’ the nasty? Is that what you think of what we do?” I’m offended and don’t want to be.

  “I’m sorry. Don’t know where I heard it called that. I’m pretty sure it was some movie, and in that movie, it was a euphemism for hetero-sex. I guess just the thought of doing what we do—which is not nasty and, in actual fact, is beautiful—in a home where it might not be welcomed, made me want to make light of it. Poor choice of words.”

  “I forgive ya, babe. You’ve got to be under a lot of stress over this. The wedding’ll soon be over, and then you can have that sit-down with your baba. It’ll be okay before you know it.”

  “Inshallah.”

  “Allah—God—has already blessed us by bringing us together. There’s no way He will let your father be against us.”

  “Like I’ve said, I can only hope you’re right.”

  We sit on our bench and watch the swans glide on the water. The weather has started to warm, and they are content to be out and about.

  After these moments of God’s solitude, I say, “So with your mother’s already-given approval and your dad’s soon-to-be-given approval, we will be able to be open and honest to the world.”

  “What about my sister? Tim?”

  “Your sister will soon be a member of another household. How she’s going to live with Hasan’s parents, I can’t imagine. I pray for them because they are in for a rude awakening, I fear. But that’s their custom, and we both know she has agreed to it. She will be so busy that she won’t have time to think about her brother and his lovemaking. And she won’t be in your house any longer, so out of sight, out of mind.”

  “And Tim?”

  “Who cares? He’ll just have to get over it if he doesn’t approve. The only approval you need seek is that of your parents.”

  “Tim is a part of the family. I want his approval.”

  “I know he is, and I know you do. I also know he’s a conflicted soul. So his approval may be something you shouldn’t wish for. For some, they never approve; for others, they accept rather than approve; and for still others, it takes a lot of time to bring ’em around. I’m thinking Timur’s in that last category. He loves your family, and he loves you—even though he doesn’t show it—and he will eventually understand it’s not a choice. It’s just the way we are.”

  “You’re so confident.” He kisses me. “So supporting.” He kisses me again. “So comforting.” He kisses me again, and this time, I put my hands on his cheeks, asking him to stay. I’ve waited all day for this, fearing that he would be so busy we wouldn’t even see each other today. Now that we are here, on our bench, away from prying eyes, I want to take advantage of it.

  Our time by the pond, on our bench, is always magical. It’s a time for us to forget everything else, and a feeling overcomes me—and I’m sure Kerem too—like we are a thousand miles away from distraction.

  We’re locked in an embrace when it happens.

  A rustling noise.

  Someone’s going past the bushes that conceal us.

  Chapter 17

  Kerem

  I YELP.

  “It’s okay, babe. Probably just a bird. Got too close to the bushes.”

  I take a deep breath to calm down. I want to think I was simply startled in the midst of Gabe’s magical distraction, but my mind goes to other things.

  Gabe looks in my eyes. “What? Did you think your baba was closing in, shotgun in hand?” He smiles.

  “Believe it or not, I might have been,” I say, still breathing deeply, trying desperately to calm my nerves.

  “Seriously? I can’t picture your father with a firearm, much less being angry enough to use it on his son and his incredibly handsome, pick-of-the-litter lover.”

  He makes me laugh, and the tension in me breaks.

  I stand. “Let’s go. I don’t want to test fate.”

  We step from the cover of the bushes that surround our bench, and we see what has whisked past without our being aware. After all, we were busy doing other things.

  It’s a kid. A boy. Standing near the edge of the pond. Arm raised, ready to chuck a rock at the swans.

  “Hey, kid,” Gabe shouts.

  The boy turns. Lowers his arm. Obviously not pleased he’s been caught in the act.

  “Leave the swans alone. You make ’em mad, and they’ll bite your nose off before you know it. They’re mean mother—” He stops abruptly. “They don’t like to be bothered.”

  The kid drops the rock and runs away. I laugh at Gabe as we start walking.

  “Kid’s lucky. I almost said ‘bite your pecker off.’ That would have scarred him for life.”

  That’s my Gabe. Funny even when he’s rescuing innocent swans. Gotta love him. Thank you, Allah, for this man walking next to me. For now. Forever.

  Our walk back is pretty much silent. Gabe’s escapade with the kid was only a moment away from my problems. I have so many thoughts rolling around in my head that I’m having a hard time sorting them out. No, I would never expect Baba to show up at the pond with a shotgun. That’s absurd. But I do fear the unknown. I want him to be as accepting as Mama about all this, but I simply don’t know how he’ll react. And that’s killing me.

  But I do agree it’s best to table the whole issue until after the wedding.

  We arrive at my house.

  “Well, you’ve been uncharacteristically quiet on this jaunt home. What gives?”

  “I was just thinking—about everything,” I tell him.

  “I figured. That’s why I left you alone. A walk is a great time to process.”

  “Yeah.” I only wish I had processed it all, but that’s for another time, it seems. “Come inside for a drink. Mama keeps all kinds of juice in the house. You don’t want to go to your house, or you’ll get roped into the madness. I’m sure that Aysel is, at this very moment, making your mom and mine totally frazzled with her demands. It’s best to leave them alone.”

  He follows me into the house, where I’m surprised to see Tim sitting on the couch, calmly eating an apple. He has a large knife, and he’s slicing off pieces and eating each off the blade.

  “Tim, whatcha doin’ home so early?”

  He looks at me, sliding a slice of apple from the enormous blade onto his tongue. “Boss gave me the rest of the day off. I finished the big project he gave me, so he rewarded me.”

  “Good for you,” Gabe says. “It’s good to be appreciated.”

  Timur ignores Gabe’s remark, looking right through him.

  “You wanna go to Hasan’s mosque with me for sunset prayers?” Timur asks, still calmly eating his apple from that death blade.

  “No—I’ll do them in my room, but thanks for asking,” I say. “You’ve sure been spending a lot of time at that place. What gives?”

  “I like it. There’s a holiness there that we don’t have at our mosque. Hasan and his family are truly dedicated to Islam.”

  I want to counter that remark, but I hold my tongue.

  “I only wish Aysel respected that more,” he adds.

  I can’t be quiet at that, not having watched Aysel change so much in the last three months. “Aysel has embraced their ways very deeply. You know that. And it was not to just rope Hasan into marrying her. She really believes in what she has chosen.”

  “I know that,” Tim says, slipping another slice of apple off the knife. “But she disrespected Hasan’s family when she refused to let them join in planning the wedding. In the old ways, the groom’s family paid for the wedding, and I’m sure that’s what they expected to do, not be shut out entirely from paying and planning. Hasan has barely had any input, and his family’s had virtually none.”

  I laugh. “You grew up with Aysel just like I did. That gir
l has been planning her wedding since she was in middle school. No way she’d bow down to someone else taking over. That’s not Aysel.”

  “True,” he says. “But I still think she dishonored Hasan when she insisted on doing it all herself. With Aunt’s and Mary’s help, that is.” There is a sinister tone when he says Gabe’s mom’s name, and I feel Gabe bristle, since he’s standing so close to me.

  “Hasan and his family don’t deserve such treatment,” he adds. “If they’d had their way, the nikah would take place in their living room, and there’d be Lebanese snacks in their backyard as a reception.”

  “Aysel wouldn’t feel like she’d even had a wedding.” I try to keep resentment out of my voice. But my sister needs defending, and that’s what I’m doing.

  “It would get the job done, and that’s all that matters.” Tim’s voice is cold as he continues eating his apple from that enormous knife.

  I’m starting to get hot under the collar, and I don’t like feeling that way. Not in front of Gabe. And not toward Timur.

  Gabe speaks up. Trying to defuse the situation, no doubt. “What kind of knife is that?”

  “Turkish dagger. Bought it on eBay.” Tim’s curt reply to Gabe just makes me madder.

  “Well, don’t let the blade slip. You don’t want to cut your….” I’m about to say throat when my better nature kicks in. Considering what happened to Tim’s sister, saying that would be a low blow. And I do care about my cousin, even if I’m angry with him at the moment. I hastily finish my sentence with “finger.”

  Tim doesn’t react. He slices again, and once more eats the slice off the blade.

  “Come on, Gabe. Let’s go up to my room.” I turn, Gabe following.

  “You boys have plans?” I have no idea what Tim’s implying or if he’s implying anything. He’s a hard nut to crack.

  “I need help with homework,” I lie, looking over my shoulder at him. “And after I say sunset prayers, Gabe and I will get some chow.”

  “Chow? You’re getting to be quite the normal American boy these days. Who taught you that word?”

  I don’t like his question. And I don’t like his tone.

  “Get over it, Tim. I can say—and do—anything I want. It’s a free country.” He’s pushed my buttons, and I unload on him. I’m not even sure why I added the and do part. I guess it’s because Gabe is standing right beside me, and I just wanted to assert myself a bit, to reassure him and get the upper hand with Tim.

  But Tim doesn’t take the bait. “Well, you’re welcome to join Amca and me for dinner. I’m meeting him after sunset prayers at the mosque. Then we’ll return for evening prayers. I hope I can persuade Amca, eventually, to switch to Hasan’s mosque permanently.”

  “Whatever,” I say. Disgust drips from my voice, but I’ve had enough of Tim for now, so I lead Gabe up the stairs.

  When we are safely locked away in my room, Gabe speaks: “He’s wound up tight. What gives?”

  “Who knows? Just when I start liking him more, my cousin goes into inscrutable mode.”

  “Crazy the way he was waving that giant knife. Why would he want one of those? Especially after what happened?”

  I shake my head. “Tim’s been trying to get back to his roots. Maybe he thinks possessing a real Turkish dagger will make him an authentic Turk. You never can tell with him.”

  “My mom thinks he has problems.”

  “Understatement. But let’s quit talking about him.”

  We go to my bed, and despite the fact that I refuse to do what we do in Gabe’s bed, I find myself willing to spend the next half hour kissing and cuddling, chasing away all the dark clouds hanging over me—the fright at the pond, Timur’s weirdness, Baba’s approval or disapproval.

  I am content. With my Gabriel.

  And that contentment carries me all the way until Aysel’s wedding day.

  AFTER MORNING prayers I go back to bed. Then, an hour or so later, I shave and take a long, long shower. This day could be stressful, and I want to look my best, feel my best—for Aysel’s sake, although she will likely be the source of any stress.

  Refreshed, I head down to the kitchen. I start to prepare myself some breakfast.

  Baba sits in his recliner, studying the Quran. As I crack eggs into the frying pan and pop bread into the toaster, I say to him, “You have breakfast yet? I could fry you up some eggs.”

  “Thank you, love, but I’ve already eaten. Your mother and Aysel were so worked up after morning prayers, I treated myself to Denny’s to escape them.”

  “They were in crisis mode, weren’t they? I expected it of Aysel, but Mama is usually a rock.”

  “It’s not every day that her daughter gets married, son. I’m only glad that Gabriel’s mother Mary is a part of all this. She came over, took charge, and was carting them off to the salon just as I was pulling out of the drive.”

  “And Tim? He wasn’t with us at morning prayers.”

  “At Hasan’s mosque. The way he’s taken to Hasan’s family and their mosque, I expect him to announce he’s moving in with them any day now.” Baba chuckles.

  “Oh, somehow I don’t think he would want to live with Aysel the rest of his life, now that he’s getting rid of her.”

  “She can be a trial sometimes, my benim küçük kızım, that she can.” There is so much love in Baba’s eyes. It comforts me. If he can love my exasperating sister like that, then there’s hope he will accept and love me for who I am.

  “And you?” I ask. “Timur seems to think he’s winning you over. That you will be taking us to Hasan’s mosque to pray from now on, instead of our own.”

  “Your cousin’s practicing wishful thinking, son. I have no such intentions. I’m only trying to keep Hasan and his family happy for now. After the marriage, our lives will go back to normal, inshallah.”

  I hope. I shudder, thinking of the message I plan to deliver this very evening.

  My eggs perfectly fried and the toast popped up, I make an egg sandwich, then retreat to my bedroom to eat it and get a bit of skyping in.

  Gabe’s face fills my screen, and my heart flutters.

  “Ready for the big day?” he asks.

  “As I’ll ever be. Closely shaved. Supremely hot shower. Deodorant generously applied. Tux fresh from the rental, pressed and waiting. Brother of the bride, reporting for duty.”

  “I can’t wait to see you all spiffed up in that tux. But I have to say, I’ll miss that baby goatee you’ve been sporting.” He leers at me. He’s been teasing me unmercifully ever since I sprouted a wayward hair or two on my chin. “Mom was super excited this morning.”

  “I missed seeing her. After morning prayers, I slipped back under the covers for an extra hour of shuteye. I need my strength.”

  “Mom couldn’t stop babbling. She, I guess you know, was taking Aysel and your mom to the salon to get their makeup done. She said that, and I added, ‘and hair too.’ She shook her head. Then she went on and on about the hijab your mom was wearing to the wedding. I’ve never seen your mother in a hijab. What’s up with that?”

  “Muslim women must cover their heads at mosque. Mama always wears a simple scarf. But she shopped and shopped and shopped for the perfect hijab to go with her mother of the bride’s dress. Big deal.”

  “I’m aware. Mom said she almost wished she were Muslim so she could wear a gorgeous hijab too.” He laughs.

  “She could wear one. And Hasan’s people wouldn’t blink an eye. At weddings, especially, we Muslims, orthodox or not, are very welcoming to you heathens—er, I mean non-Muslims.” He chuckles at the joke he’s made at my expense. “No, if Hasan’s family shows any resentment, it will be at the fact they’re compromising their principles, somewhat, showing up at our mosque for the wedding. If it had been at theirs, Aysel and the women would have been in one room, while Hasan and the men were in another. Aysel was having none of that.”

  “I’d bet. So are we driving together? I don’t have a tux, but I clean up right nice. I don’t th
ink you’d be ashamed arriving with me on your arm, babe.”

  “I can’t believe we haven’t discussed this before—our riding together.”

  “This has been the fastest wedding prep in the history of the world, or at least for one this elaborate. I guess we just assumed we’d be going together, or at least I did.”

  “Yes, we are going together. You’re chauffeuring me since both our family cars are being used. You can drive me, can’t you?”

  “You bet.”

  “Good. I guess I’d have had to Uber over if you’d balked. I have no doubt you’ll clean up right nice, as you put it, but there will be no ‘on my arm’ part. This is a semiorthodox day, you know. We don’t want to offend the new in-laws.”

  “I’ll be on my best behavior. Ready to roll in two hours?”

  “Yeah.”

  Time creeps when you have nothing to do, and waiting for this momentous occasion takes its toll on me. I’m apprehensive for Aysel’s sake, wanting it to go well for her, and I’m anxious for it to be all over, wondering if I’ll find the time and courage to talk to Baba tonight.

  Gabe leans over and pecks a kiss on my cheek after I’m settled into the passenger seat. I quiver, from the sweetness of his kiss and from the tiny terror of discovery.

  “You look mighty fine in the penguin suit, babe. Is this a preview of our prom night?”

  I hadn’t even thought about prom. A new terror sweeps over me at the thought of being out and open at school. “You look pretty good yourself.”

  “You like? Off the sale rack at Nordstrom’s. I haven’t bought a suit in years, but I figured this event demanded it.”

  We pull up to the mosque, and Timur is standing outside, acting impatient. He, too, is all tuxed-out. He must have changed at the mosque, because when he left this morning, he was dressed normally.

  “You’re late.” Tim’s attitude’s showing.