by Holly Rayner
“Just watching you fail, time after time,” he said, tossing his head back. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen it so pronounced before; she’ll hardly look at you.”
“That’s not true,” I told him. “She gave me her name.”
“Oh? That’s step one.” Alim patted the seat beside him in the car. “Come on, buddy. We can’t all get lucky today.”
But I wouldn’t give up. Over the next few days, I found myself drawn to the school—no longer even doing it for the bet, but just for my own, personal drive to succeed. I tried everything. I brought Angie flowers, and wrote her cute little cards. One afternoon, I borrowed Alim’s adorable golden retriever puppy and walked him to the entrance. I watched as Angie crouched down, gave the puppy a kiss. But still she refused a dinner date with me, telling me she had to make a phone call with her parents.
Each day, Alim was in the background laughing at me. “Not today, my friend,” became his catchphrase, as I sank into the front seat of his car and hung my head with anger. I knew my tactics needed to change, but I’d never had to try so hard before.
“I told you. They’re too headstrong,” Alim said, darting the car toward my penthouse apartment and parking in the garage below. “They know what they want, and they certainly know what they don’t want. It kind of sounds like you’re edging on the ‘don’t want’ list. Doesn’t it?”
On the following Monday, I made up my mind to stop screwing around. Donning a black button-up and a pair of jeans, I set my sights on Angie at the end of the school day, marched up to her, and said in a firm-yet-kind voice, “Listen. I’m sorry I’ve been so abrasive this past week.”
Angie’s smile faltered. She looked at me, really looked at me, for the first time in several days. Her pink lips parted, hunting for something to say, but I continued before she could.
“I like you. I think we would have things to talk about, if you wanted to give it a chance.”
“It?” she asked, her eyebrows coming together in the center. “What do you mean, it?”
“I just mean…walking down to the market and letting me buy you something from your favorite street vendor. Surely you like to eat. And if you don’t like anything there, then you just haven’t had the right thing yet. I can show you,” I told her. From where I stood, the air hung heavy with the smells and spices from the market. I knew they filled her nose, too.
After stuttering for a moment, Angie glanced toward the door. For the first time all week, the other woman wasn’t poised there, watching us. After a long, anxious pause, she finally answered.
“I’m kind of hungry, sure,” she sighed. Her smile fluttered, then fell. “I can meet you out here in ten minutes. If you can wait?”
God, could I wait. I felt over the moon.
I tried to play it cool, nodding slowly. But I sensed, as she darted back inside the school, that this was my way in. The beginning of me finding a way to make her fall in love with me. I spun on my heels to find Alim in his car. I gave him the first thumbs up of the week and he drove away, tossing his head back with laughter.
He still thought he was winning. But I felt determination stirring in my stomach. I wouldn’t let myself lose.
Some twenty minutes later, Angie appeared back in the doorway. She was dressed differently, having donned a bright yellow dress and a pair of sandals. She swept delicate fingers through her black hair, then joined me, giving a small nod.
“Sorry. That took a bit longer than I expected,” she said, her eyes shimmering. She was inspecting every inch of me. And I let her, taking a step back. It felt, suddenly, that something big was about to happen. But I allowed the feeling to pass.
As we began our stroll toward the market, I considered all the things I could buy for her. All the things that would show her that falling in love with me could have lucrative benefits. But as we stuttered into the beginning of our conversation, I reminded myself that I wasn’t Rami, the Sheikh. Not right now.
Rather, I was a normal guy, who was smitten with a normal girl. I had to keep my wallet to myself.
Chapter 5
Angie
Rami had finally beaten me down. I found myself agreeing to a trip to the market and now I was walking alongside him, trying to think of something to say. He walked with a dominance that I found alluring, attractive, yet told myself not to. My heart hammered with a few moments of confusion. I remembered that “dating,” or whatever this was, was something I hadn’t done in quite some time. This wasn’t my world.
“So you’ve lived here how long?” I finally asked him, feeling the awkwardness in the space between us.
“All my life,” he told me, flashing that smile again. I felt my stomach lurch with a moment of terror, as if this smile contained everything I needed to know. Whatever that was, I wasn’t sure. “And I can tell you, beyond anything else, that it’s the best place in the world to live.”
“Is that right?” I asked, chuckling. I found myself drawing closer to him. My smile came more easily, more genuinely.
“I can’t imagine you have a better place to be from, do you?” he asked, leaning his head closer.
“A small town in South Dakota,” I finally said, revealing the first of my details beyond my name. “It’s not a place to brag about, really.”
“Tell me about it,” he said, his eyes sparkling.
The heat had begun to blast down on my shoulders. I wasn’t sure if my sweat was from nerves, or from the sun. I swept my hand across my brow, finding an answer.
“As a state it’s pretty barren. A lot of small towns, tucked between the Rocky Mountains and the mountains up north, near Montana.”
“These names. They sound so American,” Rami laughed. “They sound like something out of a cowboy movie.”
“That’s because that’s where the cowboys were, of course!” I said, laughing.
“Home on the plains and all that?” Rami asked, surprising me. “I was obsessed with that stuff when I was a kid. Always wanted to go and see it, to learn to ride a horse, and climb a mountain. Isn’t that what you guys are always doing over there?”
“Something like that,” I said, surprised at the way he made me grin.
The market stretched out before us, a sprawling collection of stalls filled with spiced foods, desserts and drinks. The city people were streaming out from their workplaces, getting together with friends and nibbling at food. Laughter filled the air.
The crowd was tight as we began to maneuver through it, forcing me closer to Rami than I might have liked. But for some reason, I suddenly didn’t mind it: having to follow closely behind this handsome, yet arrogant man. The man who’d appeared at my school’s doorstep every day for a week, on some kind of mission to be with me.
What was I supposed to make of it?
“Have you had this one yet?” Rami asked me, pointing to a cart offering an array of falafel and hummus. The man behind the counter was wearing a jaunty chef’s hat, and it bobbed and weaved as he smashed up the hummus, stirring it with olive oil. “This is one of my favorite vendors.”
I waited as Rami ordered, congratulating the man on a good display and asking him about business. I liked watching him interact with the cook, a much older man, who slowly warmed up to Rami.
After a moment, the chef was passing Rami a sample of hummus, watching his face as he tried it. Rami offered the spoon to me as well, watching closely as I tipped my tongue against the side. The smooth, nutty and garlic flavor was incredible, better than anything I’d experienced, despite the many months I’d spent in the Middle East. I nodded quickly, making large eyes at the vendor.
“My gosh, that’s delicious,” I said.
“I told you,” Rami said.
We ordered a platter of hummus with pita breads and sat along the side of the market. After passing me the plate, Rami swept off to order us two glasses of locally made wine, which shimmered in the light as he approached. I felt my knees tap together, waiting for him to sit beside me. For some reason, I was incredib
ly aware of my body.
I felt electricity spark up and down my spine.
“So, tell me about yourself,” Rami said, lifting a pita bread to his lips and chewing slowly.
“There’s not a lot to say,” I shrugged, taking a piece of pita as well. I grinned at him, making eye contact. I reminded myself that I had to keep my life under wraps. That mention of my mother and father wouldn’t do me any good—it would just bring tears to my eyes. “What about yourself?”
“Ha. I don’t believe that for a second,” Rami said. “You certainly have a life here. A family back home. Hobbies. Interests.”
“Ah. Interests. I can do that,” I said, chuckling. “For one, I like to teach.”
“Obviously,” Rami said in stride. “But that’s your job. What do you do when you’re out of school? What does that little American brain think about?”
“Not so little, thank you very much,” I said, lifting my chin. “But if you must know, I’m an avid reader. I’m on my fifth book this month.”
“Children’s books?” he asked, swatting my shoulder.
“Ha.”
“I know, I know. My humor makes me quite a catch.” Rami’s eyes glittered with a kind of certainty, knowing that I got his humor instantly. His sarcasm rang clearly, much like American guys I was used to. But he had a certain spark to him, as well.
Suddenly, I realized my wine glass was empty. My head spun slightly, from just one glass.
“Do you want another?” Rami asked me.
I gave him a shrug, suddenly ready to dive into more conversation with him. I didn’t want the date to end—if a date was really what I was calling it, in my head. “Sure.”
I followed him to the stall, tossing out the paper plate we’d eaten from. We waited in line, laughing with one another, as Rami told me his interests, his hobbies.
“I actually love basketball,” he told me, after he ordered two more wines. “It gives you this incredible rush, you know? You’re swept up in this sea of people and energy and then, suddenly, the ball’s in the hoop and you’re blasting down the court again. It’s incredible. I can’t believe more people aren’t into it.”
“I’ve never heard it described so eloquently,” I told him, taking the glass of wine. I felt my cheeks grow red. “I mean, everyone in South Dakota plays basketball, but they kind of just grunt about it. Nothing poetic.”
“Those of us from Al-Jarra like a certain level of poetry to everything,” Rami laughed. “I could describe this wine poetically—with a hint of tartness, a wood-like quality. But then I’d be lying, because I don’t know a single thing about wine. Only that I like to drink it.”
“Me too,” I admitted, joining him in laughter.
We strolled through the other side of the market, finding ourselves in front of a dessert station. Rami was speaking about himself in a slightly self-centered way, about his awards in various areas of his university degree. But I found that he was very clearly listening to what I said, that he held my words in his head.
“So that’s why you decided to move over here?” he asked me, after I’d muttered something about the scholarship I’d gotten to work in Al-Jarra. “For the money? Or was it something else that drove you? A desire to see the world?”
The personal question felt bizarre, especially since I hadn’t had a real, fully formed conversation with a man who wasn’t my father in several months. I tilted my head, trying to see what was behind his eyes. Trying to find the reason for the question.
“I was fascinated with your culture,” I told him, truthfully. “And I was only 23 at the time. I wanted to stretch out across the world and discover…I don’t know, what I was meant to be.”
Of course, this was true. But there was so much to it, as well. There was the fact of my mother’s diagnosis. There was the fact going home would necessarily mean that my mother would die. I was latched onto life in Al-Jarra now. And I was unable to return.
Perhaps he saw a flicker of this truth in my eyes. Perhaps he didn’t. But he stopped talking for a moment, thinking about my answer. Above us, a brightly colored bird glided over, casting a shadow across his perfect face.
“All right. If you won’t tell me everything about you, how old are you?” he finally asked, making me laugh.
“I’m 25,” I told him. “That’s the truth all day. At least, until my birthday. Then I’ll have to update you.”
“Keep me updated. It’s a pressing issue,” he said, snickering.
As we walked through the market, Rami began to speak a bit more about himself, about his abilities. With a wave of self-assurance, he appeared more and more cocky. I sensed a darkness in him.
When he yanked me to the side to look at scarves, I tried to read his face. I began to ask myself unnecessary questions, like why he’d asked me to the market at all. Was he trying to sleep with me? Why hadn’t he tried to hold my hand?
Rami began to unwind scarves from their hangers, showing the strength of the stitch, the colors. They featured all sorts, the reds and the purples and the dark greens. And the stitching was so precise, showing a level of commitment to artistry and to the traditional aesthetics of Al-Jarra.
“I can tell how much you like them,” Rami said, eyeing me.
“How could you not appreciate them?” I asked. “Each one is made so uniquely, with such love…” I trailed off, finding myself lost in the stitching of a dark turquoise one. I brought my fingers over it, feeling the texture.
“Let me buy it for you,” Rami finally said, taking the scarf from my hands and lifting it for the salesclerk to see. “We’ll take this one—”
“No, no,” I said, suddenly stricken. I’d just seen the price of the scarf. It was more than I made in a week at the school, and I couldn’t imagine anyone paying for such a present. Especially someone like Rami, who I barely knew. And who was being particularly cagey about who he was, having not opened up about his family or where he lived.
“Why not?” Rami asked me, his eyebrows high. “Don’t you like it?”
“Of course I like it,” I told him, scoffing slightly. “It’s just too much money…”
“Is it?” he asked, incredulous, as if he really couldn’t see the price. He waved his wallet through the air, passing several bills to the salesclerk. With a flourish, he put the scarf around my neck and whipped it over my shoulder, laughing. “See? It suits you. Can you imagine your life without it now?”
I felt suddenly off kilter. Taking a step away from him, I rearranged the scarf around my neck, shaking my head. I felt a strange mix of fear and intrigue. His eyes were fiery with a passion I couldn’t understand. Certainly the passion couldn’t be for me. Could it?
“Thank you?” I said, turning away from him. I bobbed out of the crowd, trying to find a space to stand alone. I felt Rami following behind me, knocking into people as he passed them.
“Hey. Hey!” He reached forward, gripping my elbow. “Where are you going so quickly?”
I sniffed, feeling at the texture of the scarf. I couldn’t meet his eyes, feeling the strength of his glare. “I just can’t stay out much later is all. I have to go home and prep for tomorrow’s lessons.”
“But we only just got here,” Rami said softly.
“It’s been two hours. And I didn’t really even want to come at all,” I heard myself say.
This time, Rami was the one who looked smacked. He drew his hands across his chest, crossing his arms. After a long pause, he said, “Well, at least agree to go out with me again in a few days. Wednesday, we could do dinner at a proper restaurant—”
“I don’t think that’s a good idea, Rami,” I told him, shaking my head. I felt myself crushing him. But it had to be so. I couldn’t link myself with anyone. Not with so much going on at home.
Rami’s face fell. With a rush of sudden anger, he said, “Well, you know, I didn’t buy you all these things for nothing.”
My eyebrows furrowed. “What do you mean?”
He brought his hands thr
ough the scarf, feeling the weight of it. “I could take this off your shoulders right now, you know that?”
I stepped back, aghast. Suddenly, the other side of him was ringing true.
My lips opened, hunting for the right words to say. The right words to sting right back.
“You shouldn’t be so cocky,” I told him, hearing the volatility I’d so far managed to suppress. “You think you’re God’s gift to the world, but you’re nothing.”
Rami didn’t respond. His lips thinned out as color continued to drain from his cheeks.
“I don’t want to see you hovering around the school anymore,” I continued, my voice getting louder. I brought my finger through the air, feeling like I was reprimanding a student. “If you do, I can call someone to have you taken away. I can’t have your cocky sensibilities souring my students. You’re a bad person, Rami. I feel it coming off you in waves.”
Suddenly, I burst to the side of the market, following the trail around the back. I stormed away, the scarf whipping behind me.
I could still feel Rami’s eyes on my back, following me as I skirted through the crowd and back through the entrance. For a moment, I wondered if he was following me. My ears perked up, hunting for the sound of him. But after a few minutes, I knew I’d left him safely behind. I was on my own.
When I got home, I fell into my bed and shuddered, the scarf still wrapped around my chest and shoulders. I could still feel Rami’s eyes on mine, inhaling me. I could still sense him. And I could still feel my laughter on my lips, in memory of his sharp wit.
I wrote it down in my journal that night.
I just met the most perplexing man. And for some reason, I can’t stop thinking about him. Am I doomed? Will I ever fall in love with someone who suits me? Why did he fight so hard to see me—when I’m a literal nobody from South Dakota?
I had a million questions, but I knew that they’d never be answered. Rami was safely a part of my past. I forced myself to fall asleep, tucked in my bed alone. Wondering if I’d ever find happiness, or love.
