by Trish Doller
“I have never met so many people from so many different countries,” Aya gushes. “I am probably not the best player, but I am very glad to be here.”
It is really cool that all of these women have come to Cairo and found a way to make it feel like home, to create their own little clan. I am happy to meet them and even more happy to be back on a soccer field.
“I’m hoping to make the team at the American school in September,” I explain to the group. “But if that happens, I wouldn’t mind playing for two teams.”
“You seem comfortable at forward,” Jessica says, tightening her light brown ponytail as we take the field for drills. “Is that where you like to play?”
“Ideally, but I can play midfield, too. Whatever you need.”
“We lost our scoring forward when she graduated from college. We can use the strength up front.”
“I can’t promise goals.”
Jessica smiles and aims her thumb at Karin. “You got past her once. That’s a good start.”
“So I have to ask . . . what’s up with the Daffodils?”
Karin’s face dimples as she shakes her head. Clearly this is a question she’s gotten before. “Since we’re based in Garden City, we wanted a name that reflected that. I suggested we call ourselves Nightshade because it’s deadly, you know?”
“That would make sense.”
“Exactly, but Jess decided that because daffodil bulbs are poisonous, the flower is both beautiful and deadly. Great in concept. Not so much in execution because most people just think our name is cute.”
“But we know the truth,” Jessica insists. “That’s all that matters.”
Karin’s indulgent smile makes it clear that their friendship is more important than the name of the team. “Okay,” Karin says. “Let’s get to work.”
She puts us through some agility drills, and before the two-hour practice is over, we run another scrimmage. She positions me at right forward and Aya on the bench.
“Don’t read anything into it,” Karin assures her as we gather up our gear bags after practice. “I’ll do a lot of shuffling around until I find the best combination. And you will play.”
“I have never been a member of a team before,” Aya says. “So it doesn’t matter if I play only a little or not at all.”
“Practices are Monday, Wednesday, and Thursday.” Jessica hands us a printed sheet of all the players’ names and phone numbers. “Games are on Sunday evenings when most of the Christian religious services are over and the sun is low. Hope to see you next time.”
A dark-haired toddler runs to Karin and hugs her legs. She scoops him up and as she blows raspberries on his chubby cheek, her whole demeanor softens. He giggles and she leans forward to kiss a man who has the same dark hair as the little boy.
“This is my husband, Mohammed,” she introduces. “And our son, Isaac. Caroline and Aya are new players and I have high hopes we might actually win a game with Caroline as striker.”
“That’s high praise,” Mohammed says, his accent an adorable mix of Australian and Arabic. “Good luck to you, Caroline. Nice to meet you, Aya.” He takes Isaac from her. “I’ll meet you at the car, love.”
“Is he, um—is he Muslim?” I ask.
“Yeah,” Karin says. “Originally from Jordan.”
“How . . . ?” I trail off, leaving the question unfinished. It’s too forward to ask her if she converted to Islam for him. Or how they make their relationship work.
“I’m not easily offended,” she says. “So if you’ve got a question, get on with it.”
“Has it been hard?”
Karin’s laugh rings out. “It’s been a bloody nightmare. Mo’s mother spent the better part of his life laying the foundation for an arranged marriage to the daughter of one of their neighbors. Then he came home from college with a blond, agnostic, big-mouth Australian wife, and to say it didn’t go over well would be an understatement.”
“Did she get over it?”
“Well, it helps that I’ve converted,” she says. “So now she tolerates me. Fortunately, we only visit Jordan once a year. The rest of the time we are blissfully happy and trying for baby number two, which is too much information, isn’t it?”
“A little, but that’s okay. Did you, um—did you convert for him?”
“Actually, my husband encouraged me to study and decide if Islam was for me. Some of my extended family members back home think he forced the conversion, but Mo said I should want it for myself. Not for him.”
I try to imagine myself in Karin’s place, married to a Muslim (okay, I picture Adam), living in Cairo for the rest of my life. Converting to Islam. That’s the hardest piece to envision. Catholicism has been a part of my life since baptism. I struggle to wake up on Sunday mornings for Mass, but once we’re at church, I don’t mind being there. I like listening to the Scripture readings. I like the off-key way our parish priest performs the singing parts. I like what I believe and can’t see myself ever giving that up.
“I’m guessing you’ve got yourself an Egyptian boyfriend then?” Karin says.
“No. I mean, not really.”
She laughs. “It’s a yes-or-no question.”
“It’s complicated.”
Karin slings her bag over her shoulder and pats mine. “Welcome to real life.”
• • •
Dad goes back to the States again and real life moves on. I go down to the street each morning to buy bread, exchanging salaams and piastres with the bread seller. Mr. Elhadad drives Aya and me to soccer practice.
My parents put the kibosh on the trip to Hurghada, so instead Vivian and I create a game called “Elhadad Says” in which we ask Mr. Elhadad to drop us off somewhere in the city he thinks will be interesting. On our first day out, he takes us to Cairo Tower for a panoramic view of the entire city at 614 feet. The next time he takes us to the Egyptian Museum, where we overdose on pharaonic mummies.
I teach Stevie G. to sit in my hand and let me stroke his belly. I send Hannah’s box with the hieroglyph bracelet and a postcard filled with Xs and Os but get an e-mail in return telling me she’s been so busy with work and Vlad that she didn’t have time to send a box for me.
I try not to think about Adam, but he is always somewhere in my head.
It’s a Monday afternoon when I go downstairs to Mr. Elhadad’s car and find Aya sitting in the passenger’s seat—and Adam behind the wheel.
“Surprise!” she shouts.
“What’s going on here?” I get in the backseat and close the door because nosy Masoud is watching. Adam looks at me in the rearview mirror with such longing that I want to wrap him in the fiercest hug and never let go. “Where’s your dad?”
“I convinced him to let Adam drive me to practice,” Aya says, her smile huge and proud. “I told him you were at Vivian’s house and would be meeting us at the soccer field.”
“You lied?”
“It had to be done,” she insists. “My brother’s unhappiness makes me sad. He misses cooking and he misses you. At a wedding in Helwan last week, the aunties were conspiring to match him with an Egyptian girl.”
My heart constricts at the thought of Adam with someone who is not me. “Were they, um—did they succeed?”
He looks relieved as he shakes his head. “No.”
“The two of you must be together,” Aya says.
I love her dedication to romance, but I also know how difficult this is for her brother. As happy I am to see him, I don’t want to get my hopes up.
“I cannot sneak around like Magdi,” he says.
She shrugs. “Don’t sneak. Just decide being together is more important than anyone who says you can’t be happy—even if it is our parents who are saying it.”
“It’s not that simple,” I say.
“Karin and Mohammed have done it. She said they are blissful.”
“They’re married.”
“True,” she says. “Your timing is too soon, but that does not mean you cannot be t
ogether. Fight for her, Adam.”
“Would you be able to do this?” he asks finally. “To tell our mother that love is more important than her opinion and that you do not care what she thinks?”
Aya slumps back in her seat. “No.”
I look out the window at a blurry Cairo as we drive silently to the soccer field, wishing we lived in a world where religions didn’t matter and being with the person you love was easy. At practice I am distracted by his presence, until Karin comes over. “What the hell is wrong with you today?”
“He’s here. Sitting over on the stands, watching me suck.”
“Then stop sucking. This”—she gestures at the field, at the women around us—“has nothing to do with him. This realm belongs to you.” Karin touches the center of my forehead. “If you can’t put him out of your mind, at least show him that in your realm you are the queen.”
Laughing, I wipe my nose on my sleeve. “Okay. Let’s do this.”
She benches me as we start scrimmaging, and as I stand on the sidelines, I do some juggling tricks with my feet and knees. Total showboat moves. When I look over at the metal bleachers, Adam’s attention is on me. I throw a smile over my shoulder, then do a rainbow flick, a move that sends the ball back, up, and over my head. It lands on the ground in front of me. It’s a trick that’s taken me years to perfect, but the payoff is worth it. Adam is smiling as he shakes his head.
“Caroline, you’re up,” Sophie says as she jogs to the sidelines.
I run onto the field and spend the next ten minutes playing as hard as I can, scoring on Karin. I do a cartwheel and she puts both hands up for high fives. “The queen.”
When practice is over, Adam comes down to the field. I kick the ball in his direction and he stops it with his foot, pinning it to the ground as I approach. I’m not sure what to say now that we have a chance to talk. “I named my lovebird Stevie G.”
His shoulders quake as he laughs at how I named my bird after Liverpool’s former captain. “Hopefully he will be worthy of the name.”
“He lets me hold him without biting.”
“Give him time and I am certain he will love you.” Adam rolls the ball back to me. I trap it with my foot.
“How’s your new job?”
“Waiting tables is not so bad, but it’s very difficult to be so near the kitchen in a fine hotel and not be cooking.”
“I’m sorry.”
“I want to believe this is not my final fate. But sometimes I fear I will spend my life standing beside what I desire and not be allowed to have it,” he says. “Geddo called it a dreaming disease and said I should gratefully accept whatever Allah gives me, but I cannot turn off my dreams. It is like asking me not to breathe.”
“Your dreams will happen, Adam,” I say, but the only thing I have any certainty about is my faith in him. His reality may never live up to his expectations, even with both of us rooting him on.
He reaches out as if he’s going to touch me, then drops his hand away. “You are better at football than I imagined. And in my imagination, you are always better than me.”
I kick the ball to him. “Show me.”
He rolls it back and forth beneath his shoe, hesitating. I sweep out with my left foot, taking it from him and running toward the goal. Adam gives chase—I can hear his footsteps pounding in the grass behind me—and comes up level, but when he tries to steal the ball, I step over it, protecting it, and keep moving forward. As we close in on the goal, Adam runs forward to guard the net. I launch the ball. He dives to block. He misses.
He laughs from down there on the ground. “It is a very good thing my esteem is not tied to my ability to play football.”
I help him to stand and there, in front of the team, in front of his sister, I kiss him. My hands on his face. My hands in his hair. My toes skim the ground as he lifts me nearly off my feet, kissing me back.
“Next year I’ll go home and someday you’ll marry someone else,” I say. “If I’m only meant to be a footnote in the history of Adam Elhadad, then maybe we should make it a really good footnote.”
He strokes my cheek with his thumb. “I have tried to put you out of my mind, but you are always there.”
Despite having known each other most of our lives, Owen and I took a long time to use the word “love.” Adam and I could be mistaking what we feel for something else. Except my parents eloped after knowing each other for only a month and they’re still together. Maybe it’s possible that what Adam and I have is real.
I rest my forehead against his. “Bahebik.”
“Caroline.” He bites his lower lip, trying to keep a smile from overtaking his face. “To me you would say bahebak.”
“Save the language lesson for another day, Elhadad. I love you, too.”
CHAPTER 29
Whoa. What?” Hannah says after I fill her in on everything that has gone down since the last time we had a video chat. “Why didn’t you tell me any of this?”
“You were busy with Vlad.”
“The bracelet is so beautiful, by the way.” She holds up her wrist so I can see it. “Thank you. And I’m sorry I’ve been such a crappy friend.”
“It’s okay. I’ve been busy too.”
“Obviously.”
I laugh. “I meant that I’m playing on a soccer team with Aya and hanging out with Vivian, a girl from my new school. Oh, and I almost forgot! Adam bought me a lovebird that I’ve been training to do tricks. Hang on.”
I bring Stevie G. out of his cage and Hannah squeals when she sees him. The bird climbs from my hand up to my shoulder, where he plays with my earring and chatters softly in my ear.
“So what happened with Adam’s family?” Hannah asks.
“They attempted another family intervention, but Adam basically told them he’d be making his own decisions about his relationship from now on, which—well, match meet gasoline. His uncle blamed Adam’s dad, saying that if Mr. Elhadad wasn’t so obsessed with westerners his children wouldn’t be behaving like them. And now every time I’m in the car with him, I feel like he’s up there in the front seat thinking about how I’ve corrupted his son. Mr. Elhadad used to be kind of . . . fatherly . . . and now he’s not. And Adam’s mother feels pretty disrespected. My mom invited the family for dinner, hoping maybe we could talk through the whole mess, and Mrs. Elhadad said no.”
“Seems like it would be easier not to date Adam.”
“Sure. Break up with Vlad and tell me how easy it is.”
Hannah’s eyes go wide. “Wow. You really like him.”
“I really do.”
“What about when you come home?”
“Remember how you said you were trying not to think about the end of the summer? It’s like that.”
“Then I probably shouldn’t tell you this, but . . . Vlad is staying in the United States,” Hannah says. “He’s going to graduate school at the University of Michigan, so with me at Toledo . . .”
“I officially hate you.”
Hannah’s laugh fades to a thoughtful silence. “Things have changed so much,” she says. “New friends. New boyfriends. Sometimes I worry you’ll come home and I won’t know you anymore.”
“I worry you’re going to forget about me.”
“I’m really sorry about the box.”
“It might be hard to sustain anyway,” I say. “But you aren’t allowed to bail on our next chat. And as much as I like him, no Vlad.”
She holds up three Girl Scout fingers. “I promise.”
“Love you to the moon,” I say.
Hannah blows me a kiss with those same three fingers. “And back.”
CHAPTER 30
My mother is angry,” Adam says when we talk about his family. He calls from his bedroom and the sound of his voice in my ear is a new intimacy. “She is against me having a girlfriend, especially one who is not Muslim, and she thinks you will change me into someone who is unsatisfied with the gifts Allah has given me. She thinks you make me want things that are not mea
nt for a poor Egyptian boy.”
My memory casts back to our first day in Cairo when Mom accused Dad of giving Adam too much money, of raising his expectations to an unreachable level. “My mom worries about the same thing. She’s afraid I’ll break your heart.”
“You will,” he says. “But I am not afraid.”
The next new intimacy is on his next day off work, when Adam comes over to the apartment just to hang out. It feels good to sit close together on the couch, watching Liverpool highlight videos from games past. We take Stevie G. out of his cage and watch him chase his plastic ball around the living room floor. And having a boyfriend who cooks pays off in a big way at lunchtime, when Adam makes hummus grilled cheese sandwiches with feta and sliced olives. We eat them on the balcony as feluccas sail past on the river. As easy as it could be to get carried away, we keep our hormones in check. But it is nice to be able to kiss each other without worrying who might be watching. We kiss a lot.
We don’t see each other as frequently as we did when he was my stand-in driver—Adam works long hours and spends time trying to repair his relationship with his family—but we go to the movies, sometimes in English, sometimes in Arabic. I ask him not to translate the Arabic movies so I can figure out on my own what’s happening, and he laughs when I get the plot completely wrong. I don’t tell him that sometimes I get the plot wrong on purpose, just to make him smile.
We see concerts at the Culture Wheel with his friends. Bahar doesn’t always show up, but when he does, he doesn’t acknowledge me. I am sad on Adam’s behalf that their friendship is broken, but I don’t know how to fix it. Other times we hang out with my American friends and I have to remind them to slow down when they’re talking so Adam can keep up with the conversation. Once, he comes for dinner with my mom and me at our apartment. But my favorite thing is being alone with him, driving up to Mokattam, where we talk. Kiss. Dream.