London Falling

by Chanel Cleeton

  She beamed.

  “I’ll have to get the recipe from you,” Sara added, patting his hand.

  “Of course, dear. Jay always did love his meatloaf. It was his favorite when he was a little boy.”

  I wondered what he had been like when he was younger. I’d never really asked my grandparents. Had he always wanted to fly? How much did we have in common? Had he joined the Air Force because he’d felt the same nagging restlessness that had made me want to leave South Carolina? Had it been his chance to see the world?

  “Would you like some more wine?” my grandmother asked, holding the bottle toward my dad and Sara.

  I was drinking water. In London, I drank all the time. In the U.S., when I came home on break, I was a kid again. It was just one more thing that made my life at home surreal.

  Everyone was drinking at dinner.... My gaze traveled across the table. Everyone except me and Sara.

  “I probably shouldn’t,” Sara replied, smiling at my grandmother.

  Maybe she was an alcoholic. Maybe she just didn’t drink wine. There could be a hundred explanations for why she wasn’t drinking—but there was something in her smile. Something in the way my dad smiled back at her that had my stomach clenching.

  Because all reason and tact seemed to have fled my body when they’d walked through our front door, I asked the question I knew floated through everyone’s minds—

  “Are you pregnant?”

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  Maggie

  THE LOOK ON MY dad’s face was priceless. It mirrored my own unfortunate deer-in-the-headlights expression. Apparently some traits were inherited.

  Sara didn’t answer me; instead, she looked at my dad. But that was answer enough.

  This was so messed up.

  I stared down at my plate, everyone talking around me. My grandmother was crying, my grandfather patting my father on the back.

  “Another grandbaby...”

  The words floated around me as I fought back tears. I had a minute tops before I too would have to smile and congratulate them. I had a minute to process this—to come to terms with the fact that my father had really and truly moved on. New family, new life.

  Just like my mom.

  Suddenly I felt very small; felt the same helplessness and loss I’d felt that day, sitting on the curb with my ballet teacher, waiting for a mother who’d never come. I felt as if my life were happening to me, as if I were an object people moved around, but never really stopped and noticed.

  I’d never wanted to leave anywhere more than I wanted to leave now. I was stuck. Stuck here in South Carolina with people who didn’t really know me and a life that didn’t fit. And shit, my minute was up.

  “Maggie?”

  My dad’s voice broke through the noise—questioning, surprisingly unsure of himself.

  I jerked my head up and pasted a smile on my face.

  “That’s great news. Congrats.” I turned my attention back to Sara. “Sorry for blurting it out. I just got excited.”

  I didn’t blame her for any of it. It wasn’t her fault that my dad had been absent for most of my life. I didn’t blame her for wanting a baby with the man she loved. But I blamed him.

  “I understand.” She smiled warmly. “I was hoping we could spend some time together during our time here. Maybe go shopping.”

  “Sure.”

  The conversation switched quickly, to baby names and things I didn’t even bother trying to follow. For tonight, we were all playing the role of happy family to perfection. When the dinner ended I excused myself and went back to my room.

  And cried myself to sleep.

  * * *

  THE NEXT MORNING I called Samir. His voicemail picked up immediately.

  I didn’t want to sound needy, but if there was ever a moment when I needed to talk to him, to hear his voice, it was now. Maybe it was pathetic, but he made me feel better. I wanted to talk to him before I had to open my door and go face everyone.

  I shot off a quick text.

  Call me. Caribbean is starting to look pretty good.

  I waited a few minutes. Nothing.

  Finally I called Fleur.

  “Are you dying there?” Fleur answered by way of a greeting.

  I had to laugh. “Pretty much. How did you guess?”

  “Samir told me.”

  “How is he?”

  “Worried about you. He told me about everything with your dad.”

  “She’s pregnant.”

  “Shut up. How old is she? Isn’t your dad old?”

  “She’s in her thirties maybe? I don’t know.”

  “Are you okay?”

  “I don’t know. Last night...” I sighed. “It was bad. But I thought about it a lot, and now I just feel resigned, you know what I mean? Like it’s happening whether I want it to or not.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Yeah, me, too. How’s your break?”

  “I’ve seen my father once, my mother not at all, and I bought seven pairs of shoes at Gucci today.”

  I chuckled. “Retail therapy to the rescue.”

  “It’s better than eating my feelings.”

  What would it would it be like to go through life with Fleur’s confidence? Would it make the bad times easier? Would I be more prepared to deal with shit like last night? Or was Fleur’s nonchalance a façade she slipped on, much like my easygoing approach or Samir’s arrogance? Maybe we were all pretending we lived lives we wanted.

  “So I realize this is super lame, but I have to ask. Have you talked to Samir lately?”

  Fleur was quiet for a moment. “Why?”

  “I just called him and his phone is going straight to voicemail. He hasn’t responded to my text.” I grimaced. “I know I sound like a total loser, but last night was shitty and I just want to talk to him. Do you know how I can reach him?”

  “I think he had plans today. Maybe give it a few hours and try him again.”

  I hated the flash of insecurity that filled me, and yet I couldn’t quite ignore it. “Have you seen much of him during break?”

  “Yeah, a bit. Why?”

  “Please don’t tell him I asked you, but have there been girls around lately? Like is he going to clubs and stuff?”

  Fleur laughed. “Are we seriously having this conversation?”

  “Don’t judge me. I’m feeling a little vulnerable right now. Besides, I seem to remember having a few similar conversations with you.”

  “You guys are driving me nuts. I think Samir went out a couple times. Once I went with him. He spent the whole time hanging out with friends. He’s not talking to other girls or hitting on other girls. In fact, honestly, he spends an awful lot of time talking about you.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes, really. His friends here are giving him massive shit about it. You’re both idiots. He’s into you, really into you. You don’t have anything to worry about. Stop being crazy.”

  I sighed. “I think I’m really bad at this.”

  “I think so, too. You both are. I can’t decide if it’s funny or sad.”

  I laughed. “You’re such a bitch.”

  “And yet you still love me.”

  “It’s a mystery.”

  “Well, as much as I would love to continue playing the ‘does he really like me?’ game, I have some damage to do at Chanel. Check in later, okay?”

  “Will do. Have fun shopping.”

  I ended the call with a smile. That was the thing with Fleur. No matter how much she pretended there wasn’t more there, she always knew exactly what to say to make me feel better.

  The sounds of people waking, my grandmother puttering in the kitchen, filled the house. I wanted to stay in the sanctuary of my room, wanted to hide out here until break was over. But then I thought of Fleur. Apparently I needed to grow a pair, and if anyone faced challenging situations head-on, it was Fleur.

  So I did what she would have done. I put on some makeup, straightened my hair, and picked out my fa
vorite outfit.

  I was ready.

  Samir

  SEEING MAGGIE WAS the only thing that would make this day better. The flight from Paris to Charlotte, North Carolina, was a pain in the ass. A kid screamed in my ear for about six hours and first and business class had been sold out so I’d ended up in the smallest seat known to man, wedged in between two people who had no concept of personal space. I’d gotten drunk for the first half of the flight and then tried to sober up for the second half. When I got to Charlotte, I then had to drive another two hours to get to the town where Maggie lived. The only car they had available was some two-door American insult that looked like a cube and drove slower than a camel.

  I was jet-lagged, pissed off, and so far, not so impressed with America.

  As far as plans went, I could have come up with a better one. There had been a later flight with room in first class that would have arrived at a reasonable hour. It would have given me time to plan the rest of the trip and maybe rent a car that could actually get me there sometime this year. But I’d been impatient, impulsive—one of my father’s chief criticisms—and eager to see her. So here I was, in the cube.

  I turned off the interstate, following the signs for the name of the town Fleur had given me. Somehow it was difficult to picture Maggie living here. I’d seen some grass, trees, a few cows. It wasn’t bad; it was just a world away from the life we lived in London.

  The closer I got to her house, the more I wondered if this had been a bad idea. I didn’t fit here. Maybe she didn’t fit here either, but I definitely didn’t. Somehow I doubted her family was going to welcome me with open arms. Being Arab, or half at least, was likely not a point in my favor.

  I continued driving, passing by run-down buildings and brightly lit restaurants. I’d been to New York a few times during the year I’d lived in Boston and studied English, but the sum total of my knowledge of the U.S. had been limited to major cities. This was like traveling to Mars.

  There were parts of Lebanon that were remote so it wasn’t the space that surprised me as much as it was... I don’t know... the absence of things I thought Maggie would love. She was so excited by London—so in love with the busy streets and the historical landmarks she could talk about for hours. She loved the adventure of it. It was hard to imagine her happy here.

  I followed the GPS’s instructions, turning down a little dirt road, trying to ignore the nerves growing with each mile. I had five miles to go.

  As far as plans went, I didn’t really have one. I’d made reservations at what seemed to be the only hotel in town. I was not looking forward to that experience. I was a little nervous to show up on her doorstep, but Fleur had insisted a surprise was the way to go.

  My phone rang.

  Maggie.

  I hesitated for a moment before answering.

  “Hi, beautiful.”

  “Hi.”

  Her voice sounded stiff, even worse than last night.

  “What’s up?”

  “It’s just been a really shitty day. I’ve been wanting to talk to you.”

  “I’m really sorry. Things have been hectic here.”

  “It’s pretty late, isn’t it?”

  I tried to do a calculation of what time it would be in France. “Yeah, I’m just lying in bed.”

  Maggie laughed. “Wish I could be there with you.”

  “Me, too. What are you doing right now?”

  I turned the car down a tree-lined street. I could just make out the outline of a house in the distance. I knew she was home; I’d had Fleur call her to find out.

  “Just sitting in my room pretending to nap. I needed a break.”

  “Is everyone else there?”

  “Oh, yeah. They’re talking about baby stuff.”

  “What do you mean, baby stuff?”

  “My dad’s wife is pregnant.”

  “Are you serious?”

  “Just found out last night at dinner.”

  “I’m so sorry.”

  “Thanks. It’s not like it’s really going to affect me. They’re moving to Oklahoma in a few months for their next assignment. They’ll have the baby there. I was a mess, but I’m doing better now. I mean, the whole situation sucks, but it kind of is what it is. Things have been fucked up between me and my dad for a really long time. I don’t think the baby is going to make a big difference.”

  Maybe not, but it hurt her. However much of a risk I was taking by coming here, I was glad I had.

  I pulled up in the driveway and stared at the house for a moment. So this was where she’d grown up. It was smaller than I’d anticipated, but so far not much in the U.S. was living up to my expectations. There were a few cars parked out front, and I felt my first twinge of nerves at meeting her family.

  This wasn’t exactly my thing. Best case I could say to hi to everyone quickly and then take Maggie away for a bit. An audience was the last thing I wanted.

  “Samir?”

  “Sorry, I got distracted for a moment.”

  “It’s okay. I should probably let you go anyway.”

  “Why don’t you go outside first?”

  “Why?”

  “Because I sent you a surprise. You sounded down yesterday.”

  “What did you do?”

  “Go outside and see.”

  I got out of the car, feeling a little stupid. I was nervous and excited and hoped I hadn’t gotten this totally wrong.

  Then the door opened and she walked out, and I stopped thinking at all.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  Maggie

  I FELT LIKE I was in a dream I didn’t want to wake up from.

  Samir stood in front of me, impossibly, a smile on his face.

  For a moment I just gaped at him. I blinked, convinced when I opened my eyes again he would be gone. But he wasn’t. He stood in front of me, everything I needed. Part of my brain couldn’t process that this was Samir, my Samir, standing in my grandparents’ yard in South Carolina. The same yard Jo and I had played in when we were kids. The same yard I’d taken my prom photos in. He was here. With me. He’d flown from France. To see me.

  “How are you here?”

  He walked to me, and I felt my feet carrying me toward him, closing the distance between us until I was in his arms, kissing him, his arms wrapped around me like he’d never let me go.

  It had only been a week and yet we kissed like it had been months. I ran my hands over his shoulders, through his hair, reveling in the feel of his body pressed against mine. I wanted him inside me. I wanted his touch, his kiss, his body to make me forget everything that had happened since I’d first come home. I forgot that we were in South Carolina, standing in my grandparents’ front yard, my whole family inside the house. I didn’t care about anything except for the fact that he was here, that he’d cared enough to come, and the part of me that had been holding its breath for a week suddenly felt like it could breathe.

  Samir broke the kiss first. “Surprised?”

  I laughed. “Yes. Shocked. I didn’t... I never expected this.” I shook my head. “Seriously. How did you pull this off?”

  “Fleur helped a bit. I was worried about you.” He reached down, linking our fingers, squeezing my hand. “And I missed you. I didn’t want to be in Paris anymore. I wanted to be here with you.”

  Emotion clogged my throat. I didn’t know what to say. I’d never had a boyfriend before. Never been the recipient of those grand gestures I’d only ever read about. In a month, Samir had changed all of that. He made me feel important. Made me feel like I was worth more than I’d ever imagined.

  “Thank you.” I searched for the words. “No one has ever made me feel as special as you do.”

  “You deserve it. You are special. This was all worth it, just to see the smile on your face.”

  I wrapped my arms around his neck, my lips once more seeking his. “I’ll make it up to you later,” I whispered against his mouth.

  A wicked smile flashed across Samir’s face. “O
h, trust me, I’m going to hold you to it.”

  I ran my hands over his body, loving the feel of his strong muscles against me.

  “Maggie?” Samir stiffened. “I think we have company.”

  I whirled around and came face to face with my dad standing in the doorway, staring at the spot where Samir’s hand rested just above my ass.

  Samir

  I REALIZED I WAS grabbing Maggie’s ass in front of her dad at precisely the same moment the murderous expression came into his eyes. For a moment we all just stood there staring at each other, frozen, a ridiculous parody playing out.

  It occurred to me I maybe should move my hand, but I wasn’t sure if that would call more attention to the fact that it was there in the first place. Judging by the anger that didn’t seem to be fading from her dad’s face, it seemed like the wisest course of action. She also might have told me her dad was a giant.

  “Shit,” Maggie hissed, breaking away from me.

  “I’m guessing that’s your dad,” I whispered. He had her eyes and her hair. Besides the obvious height difference, the resemblance was strong.

  “Yeah.”

  “Are you going to introduce me?” her father asked, walking toward us.

  He definitely had a good three inches on me.

  “This is Samir.” Her voice was strained as she said my name.

  Her father stopped a foot away from us. I waited to see if he would hold out his hand to shake mine, but instead he just stood there, his gaze pinning us.

  No one spoke.

  “How do the two of you know each other?”

  My lips tightened. I got that he was pissed. If some guy were making out with my daughter, I’d probably be pissed, too. But come on. Maggie was at university. He hadn’t exactly been around to be much of a father to her. It seemed ridiculous and unfair for him to act like he had a say in who she dated or what she did.

  “We go to university together,” I answered.

  Maggie’s gaze darted back and forth between us. I waited for her to say something, but she seemed too uncomfortable to speak. I’d gotten so used to the Maggie that she’d become, I’d forgotten the girl she’d been when she’d first come to London. Forgotten there was a part of her that would always feel like she had to play by the rules and live up to everyone’s expectations. She didn’t say it now, but I could practically see the inner workings of her brain, her fear and hesitation. She was angry with her dad, but she also wanted him to be proud of her. She didn’t like disappointing him, and it was easy to see he wasn’t happy about me.