In a Perfect World

by Trish Doller

  “The people live in the mausoleums? With the dead bodies?”

  “Some were forced out of the city by the rising costs,” he says. “Some stay to be with their ancestors.”

  I shudder a little. Although I don’t believe in ghosts, I’m not sure I would want to live among the dead.

  “Muslim families are very close,” Adam says as we get out of the car. “My grandmother lives in the next apartment, my father’s sister and her family lives down the hall, and my mother’s brother lives on a nearby street with his wife. Always someone is visiting and life is not too private. The best thing about the dead”—he makes a sweeping gesture toward el-Arafa—“is that they keep their opinions to themselves.”

  We sit together on the hood of the car, and Adam takes my hand once more. His thumb grazes the back of my hand, raising the tiny hairs on my arms. Our shoulders press together. Knees. Even our feet touch as they rest on the front bumper. We’ve come a long way from our first day at the park when we had an entire bench and a takeaway order of koshary between us.

  The sun has dropped low in the western sky, painting the world gold as it sinks toward the pyramids. “This is—wow.” I push a tear away with my fingers as I try to laugh off the embarrassment of crying. “This is so beautiful.”

  “Caroline.” The way he says my name is different now too. Lower. Softer. With a husky note that makes me want to capture the sound with my mouth, to feel his lips on mine. He says my name again and I hear the question in it, the words he can’t articulate. Except I need Adam to lead the way, even if it means we both stumble a little.

  I turn my head to look at him, smile at him, and my heart is a balloon that could float away, carrying me along with it. “If you do it exactly the way you just said my name, there’s no way to get it wrong.”

  His fingers are featherlight against my skin as he touches my cheek, and then his mouth is against mine, soft and warm. Just a brush, then gone. The word perfect takes shape in my mind but is erased and rewritten when his lips find mine again.

  Our smiles are bashful as we separate, our gazes meeting and skittering away as we adjust to this next new thing. The sky around us has darkened and the sun has spread fire along the edge of the world. The minarets and skyscrapers are black silhouettes, and the windows of the night city are beginning to come alive. Adam kisses me again with lips more confident, and I let my fingers steal up into his curls. We both sigh at the same time and I smile against his mouth.

  “Perhaps—” Adam clears his throat, making me think touching his hair was too much for him to handle. It might have been too much for me to handle. “Would you like to take a walk? There is a café just down the road.”

  “That would be nice.”

  He holds my hand as we walk, as if the rules don’t apply in Mokattam. A few cars are parked off the pavement, and a street vendor has set up a couple of small tables with plastic chairs for people to drink tea as they watch the sunset. Everyone around us seems to be coupled up. “Adam Elhadad, did you bring me to a make-out spot?”

  “Yes,” he says, and I love that he doesn’t even pretend it was accidental. “But my intention was only for you to see the sunset.”

  I’m not sure I believe him, but it doesn’t really matter. “I’m glad we came.”

  “Me too.”

  The café must have been beautiful once, but now it feels like a shabby echo, with faded tile floors and peeling paint. The waiter, who leads us to a table on the terrace overlooking the sparkling city, looks tired. As if the café is taking him with it as it fades. Beer is on the menu, which surprises me. “This whole mountain is like a little pocket of scandal, isn’t it?”

  “My downfall.” Adam’s tone is serious, but a smile threatens the corners of his mouth.

  “Ooh, have I ruined you?”

  He shakes his head no, curls bobbling, as he gives into the smile. “A little bit.”

  The waiter returns, and as we order hummus and bottles of Pepsi, Magdi comes onto the terrace with a girl. Her hair is long and dark, uncovered, and she wears black leggings beneath her tunic-length top. As they approach our table, I see how gorgeous she is. A perfect match for Magdi.

  I stand as Adam stands, not really knowing what to do or say in this situation. Adam greets Magdi with a kiss on each cheek, then offers a salaam to the girl, who responds in kind.

  “Ahlan,” I say to her, and she smiles as she returns the greeting.

  We settle around the table and Magdi introduces me to Hasnah. “She is my girlfriend in secret.”

  Hasnah explains in flawless English that they met in a club. “His family would never approve of me because I’m not devout enough. They have planks in their eyes where Magdi is concerned—they see him as their good Muslim boy—so it’s easier to keep our relationship private.”

  The waiter brings our food and drinks, and Magdi orders shai for himself and Hasnah. As we dip into the hummus, she tells me that she is working on a dual degree in political science and international human rights law at the American University in Cairo. “Everyone has an opinion on what Muslim women should or shouldn’t do,” she says. “But very few ask us what we want. We need a louder voice in the world. We need defenders.”

  “I am your defender.” Magdi flexes his biceps and Hasnah gives his shoulder a playful push.

  “This is what I love about Magdi,” she says to me, then kisses his cheek in front of everyone. “He is good-looking, uncomplicated, and I like spending time with him. That’s enough for now. We both know it’s unlikely we’ll have a future together, but we’re not hurting anyone.”

  Adam pulls his lower lip between his teeth, as if he’s holding back a differing viewpoint—a smart move given what she just said about Muslim women and opinions. Magdi and Hasnah make it seem so easy, but is having a secret relationship really such a good thing? Owen used to take me to his family’s annual Fourth of July picnic. And he always came over on Christmas Day, after he opened presents at his house. I loved his family almost as much as I loved him. Then again, Hasnah has made it clear that she and Magdi are a temporary thing. I glance across the table at Adam, and even though I’ll be in Egypt for months, the thought of having to leave him behind already makes my chest hurt.

  “Are you ready to go?” he asks.

  I pull out my phone to check the time and notice two missed texts from my mom. Leaving the clinic, the first one says. Then, Where are you?

  I text her back quickly. On my way.

  Adam is quiet as we head down the mountain, and I worry that he might regret kissing me.

  “Are you okay?” I ask.

  “Kissing you does not feel wrong, but I am not comfortable with keeping secrets.”

  “What is the alternative?”

  The answer is in his silence. If his family is not okay with him dating, it really doesn’t matter if I am white, American, or Catholic. Even under the guise of being my driver, he is pushing up against a belief system that has been a part of his life forever. Still, I feel relieved when he takes my hand, when we are connected again. And when we reach Manial, he parks between the streetlight pools so the car is dark as we say good night. His fingertips rest on the back of my neck, his thumb near my pulse point, and his lips are warm against mine.

  “You’re very good at this,” I whisper, my fingers finding the door handle. I don’t want to get out of the car, because I am afraid Adam will think too much about how I know he is a very good kisser. And that I’ll think too much about him using this newfound skill on his someday wife. But I kiss him one more time, then open the door. “Sweet dreams.”

  Mom is making pancakes when I come into the apartment. “Where ya been?” she asks. “Want some?”

  “Yes, please.” I tell her how Adam and I went to Tahrir Square, and show her the book of revolution graffiti. “We also went up to Mokattam to watch the sunset.”

  “Oh, really?” Her eyebrows climb toward her hairline and I feel like I’ve confessed to something illicit. I rumma
ge through the silverware drawer for knives and forks so I don’t have to look her in the eye.

  “It’s just a really great view of the whole city,” I say, pulling up a photo of the sunset on my phone. “Amazing, right?”

  “You and Adam have been spending a lot of time together.”

  I shrug. “He’s my driver.”

  “I know, but—”

  “You were the one who wanted me out of the house,” I say. “Now I am and it’s a problem?”

  “It’s not a problem. I appreciate that he’s helped you get more comfortable navigating the city, but I worry you’re growing too attached. This is temporary for Adam and I just think—well, it might be healthy for you to make some other friends.”

  There’s no way to tell her that her concern is completely legit, that I’ve already blown past the “getting too” stage of my attachment to Adam Elhadad. “Um, sure. Since there’s a horde of new people out there just waiting to befriend me.”

  “Don’t be sassy,” she warns. “You and Adam’s sister got along well.”

  “Okay. Fine.”

  “Your dad will be home in a couple of days and we’ve been invited to have dinner with the Elhadads.” Mom hands me a plate of pancakes and the finality of her tone says the book is closed on this subject. “You can make plans with Aya then.”

  CHAPTER 20

  Masoud gives me the stink eye as I come out of the elevator the next day and I am glad he doesn’t know enough English to tell me exactly what’s on his mind. I can probably guess, though. Especially when I see Adam leaning against the car, waiting for me. Everything about him takes my breath away. There’s nothing more I want to do right now than to kiss him, but the bowab’s glare is like a laser beam pointed at my back.

  “Sabah al-khair,” I say instead.

  I must have practiced the words fifty times last night before I said them correctly. Mom shot into my room like a rocket when she overheard, excited by my effort to learn Arabic, and offered me her computer program.

  Adam’s face lights up in a way that makes me want to learn every single word. “Good morning to you.”

  “What are we doing today?”

  “So I want to talk to you about this,” he says. “I have tried to keep the cost of our adventures low because you are always the one to pay, but today—”

  “Nothing has to change, Adam. If I can afford it, let’s do it.”

  “Today I would like to pay.”

  “I really don’t mind.”

  “I would like to pay.” His voice is softer the second time, but there is a firmness in it that wasn’t there before and I take the hint. Clearly this is something he feels strongly about.

  “Okay.”

  Adam smiles. “Shokran.”

  He tells me as we drive that we are doing three things today, and our first stop is at a crowded riverfront café in Maadi where a Liverpool friendly match is showing on TV. Even more significant, though, is that while we are drinking karkadeh and watching the pregame commentary, Magdi and Hasnah show up. This time I am included in cheek kisses and Hasnah pulls her chair beside mine, as if we’ve known each other for more than a day.

  “I’m not a huge football fan,” she confesses. “But it’s not much fun being the only girl in a gang of boys.”

  I’m about to point out that Magdi and Adam are hardly a gang when a couple of guys arrive, wearing track pants and soccer shoes and looking a little damp with sweat. I recognize them as Omar and Bahar, and Adam confirms it when he introduces us.

  “As-salāmu alaykum,” I say, hoping it’s okay to greet them both at the same time.

  Omar’s reply is warm and hearty, but Bahar is more reserved, his voice low as he says, “Wa’alaykum.” And then his attention is gone (kind of like Adam’s on the first day we met) and I wonder if I should feel hurt by his response.

  Adam’s friends all order hookah pipes and before long we have an apple- and cherry-scented cloud hovering above our heads. It doesn’t stink like cigarettes, but the fruity smoke is not really an appealing alternative.

  “Want to try?” Hasnah offers me the hose to her pipe.

  There doesn’t seem to be a huge difference between shisha and cigarettes—aside from fancy flavors and a more complicated delivery system—but I’ve never had much interest in smoking anything. “No, but thanks.”

  She grins. “More for me.”

  Beneath the table, I feel Adam’s pinkie finger hook around mine. I smile at him. “No smoking for you, either?”

  “I do not enjoy it.”

  Watching the soccer game doesn’t exactly lend itself to getting to know his friends, but it’s kind of nice to be part of a group. We high-five each other when Liverpool scores, and during the halftime break, Magdi tells me a story about how he and Adam used to steal mangoes from a street vendor in their neighborhood until Adam’s father caught them. “First he says he will chop off our hands as punishment.”

  “Really?” I turn to Adam. “That doesn’t sound like your dad at all. He’s so nice.”

  “He wanted only to frighten us.”

  “We cry and drop to our knees, begging him to spare us,” Magdi adds.

  “He paid the vendor for all the mangoes we had stolen but made us repay him,” Adam says. “On my next birthday, Teta gave me a small sum of money and my father took it as payment of the debt.”

  There are tears in Magdi’s eyes as he laughs and Adam goes on, “He kept record of the payments in a book like we were businessmen instead of small boys, but that was the last time I ever stole anything.”

  “What about Magdi?”

  Adam’s friend winks at me as Hasnah rolls her eyes. “I may yet steal you away from him,” Magdi says.

  Omar opens up during the second half of the game, asking—through Adam since Omar speaks very little English—about my home and how it compares to living in Egypt. I pass my phone around the table so Adam’s friends can see the pictures of Sandusky and Cedar Point. Adam explains that my town is small and that the population is only about twenty-five thousand people.

  All of them laugh, as if the number is incomprehensible—probably because there are about twenty million people living in Cairo—and Adam translates for Omar, who says, “Twenty-five thousand is the population of our apartment building, and they all need to use the lift at the same time.”

  Despite laughing at his brother’s joke, Bahar doesn’t warm up to me at all. He spends most of the game with his eyes glued to the television, engaging only to speak in Arabic to Omar or Magdi. Bahar ignores Hasnah and ignores me, and I hear the shortness in his responses whenever Adam tries to say something to him. I feel guilty for causing bad blood between friends, and this is one gap I don’t think I can bridge.

  Disappointment radiates off Adam like heat, until the referee blows the final whistle on the game, ending both Adam’s and Liverpool’s misery. Bahar practically jumps out of his chair, as if he can’t wait to escape, and throws a good-bye over his shoulder as he bolts for the door. Omar offers an apologetic smile, then follows his brother out of the café. I catch a glimpse of sadness in Adam’s eyes as he watches them leave. He’s subdued when he asks me if I am hungry.

  “I could eat.”

  “Good. Because it is time for the next thing.”

  “We’ll see you later,” Hasnah says, then covers her mouth with her hand as if she’s spoiled a secret. “Maybe. Maybe we’ll see you later.”

  Leaving the others behind, Adam and I walk down the road to a small marina filled with feluccas—wooden sailboats with canvas-shaded decks and large, curved sails mounted on angled masts. Our captain is a dark-skinned man named Osama, who takes my hand to help me aboard the boat. Adam and I sprawl beside each other on soft, colorful cushions, and when the boat is away from the dock, he puts his arm around my shoulders and brushes his lips against my temple.

  “What made you decide to introduce me to Omar and Bahar?” I ask.

  “I thought perhaps if they knew you, they woul
d understand why I want to be with you.”

  “I don’t think it worked.”

  “Omar likes you.”

  “Bahar doesn’t.”

  “No.” Adam sighs. “He says he expects this from Magdi but not from me.”

  “Does this change anything? Between us, I mean.”

  “I don’t know.”

  His answer takes me by surprise, not at all what I was expecting. I pull away and sit up. Adam shifts beside me, threading his fingers through mine. “You must understand,” he says. “Bahar has been my friend for a very long time and his opinion is important to me.”

  If Hannah didn’t approve of my boyfriend, I would seriously reconsider my life choices. So I can’t fault Adam for wanting his friend’s blessing. Still, it hurts—both that Bahar doesn’t like me and that his opinion gives Adam room for doubt.

  “So what do we do?”

  The captain produces a cold meze plate with various dips, cheeses, olives, and bread, and I can’t help but think his timing was intentional. Adam’s reply is forgotten and I don’t press because I don’t think either of us has the answer. Instead we eat, watching Cairo drift past. On the water, the temperature feels almost cool and the city almost quiet. Soon our problems seem miles away.

  “A felucca ride on the Nile is very romantic,” I say. “Are you trying to woo me?”

  “What is ‘woo’?”

  “Trying to make me like you.”

  His eyebrows hitch up and he gives me a little smirk. “Already you like me.”

  “Yes, I do.” We look at each other for a long time and even though the temptation to kiss him hangs between us, I don’t reach for it. There’s something so satisfying about just taking in his soft, dark curls and the way his smirk has melted into a shy smile under the weight of my gaze. “I like you very much.”

  He tucks a strand of my hair behind my ear and a shiver follows his fingers, zipping down my spine like an electrical current. “I feel the same.”

  Despite being shielded from the eyes of the city, we don’t kiss. We feed each other bites of hummus and baba ghanoush. We talk until we run out of words and voices to speak them, sharing the small details we don’t know about each other—birthdays, broken bones, and best memories. We fall asleep in the shade, my head against his shoulder and my arm around his waist.