by Hana Sheik
He had three half-sisters—he’d told her himself, after reading the full report from the private investigators. Knowing that she probably wouldn’t have turned out anywhere near as decent without her own brothers, Amal couldn’t fully grasp why he was repelling this opportunity to connect with this extended family of his. Because they were his family—whether he liked it or not.
Despite not wanting to affect his decision-making, Amal heard herself saying, “It’ll be that much harder on you if you go in with that chip on your shoulder.” She spoke softly, gently, hoping he wouldn’t take her advice and twist malice into it. She really was only advising him from the heart.
Mansur understood that she, too, hadn’t had the best of relationships with her father. In fact, Amal didn’t have much of a relationship with him at all. It hadn’t stopped her from trying. And she was fighting the natural pull toward hatred. She didn’t want to hold grudges. It only pushed people away.
She wished he could see that. That it did more damage than good in the long run.
“Give them a chance first, and then judge the experience,” she said with a heavy heart.
He was silent for so long she worried she’d overstepped. But then he raised his head and curled his lips into a ghost of a smile. A shadow of one, really. It disappeared as soon as she saw it.
“I’ll try. No promises.” But then he screwed his brows together and said, “I’m not going there to make friends, Amal. I’ll be doing this for the inheritance.”
“Why do you think your father even put that clause in his will?” She’d thought of asking that question many times since learning about his inheritance.
“To torture me?” he guessed. Shrugging, he shook his head and set his glass of mango juice on the ground. There was a new pair of flashy, expensive-looking kicks on his feet. “I’ve considered it long and hard, and I have yet to think up a good reason.”
“Have you tried putting yourself in his shoes?”
Mansur frowned anew. “I didn’t know him, Amal. Wouldn’t even begin to understand his sadistic thinking.” His eyes narrowed and his jaw hardened, his face chiseled with his rising annoyance.
Seeing that he’d like to change the subject matter, and hoping to lighten the mood, Amal rounded back to his departure. “When are you leaving for Addis Ababa?”
“This evening.”
“We’ll be able to sneak in one more lakeside walk,” she said, happy they’d be making the trip back. She figured it was about time. They couldn’t hide out here forever.
Mansur had had their luggage delivered from Addis Ababa hours after they’d arrived in Bishoftu that first day, but they had unfinished business back in the capital—the both of them. She had to figure out whether she wanted to accept psychotherapy at the hospital, and Mansur had to see his family.
Amal gulped down the rest of her mango juice and, gripping the journal on her lap, beamed. “Okay, I’m ready for our last day in Bishoftu if you are.”
“Amal, I’ll be going back by myself.”
Taken aback by his comment, she blurted, “What? No... I have to go back to Addis, too.”
“Yes, but there’s no rush for you to head back.” He spread out his hands, his tone imploring. “You can stay here. Enjoy the town and the flamingoes and the lakes, and all the services the resort offers.”
Amal shot up, her journal clutched to her pounding chest and her hand grasping her empty glass tightly. She couldn’t believe her ears! Was he truly planning on leaving her behind?
“Let me explain...”
Mansur stood slowly, sighing and raking his fingers through his curls before swiping his palm over his beard. A nervous energy clamored off him. It made her jumpy, too.
“I didn’t bring you to Ethiopia to be bogged down by my problems. I want you to stay here and relax, make the most of your time away from Hargeisa. Treat it as a vacation. Stay, Amal.”
“I won’t,” she snapped, furious suddenly that he’d expect her to want to remain here all alone. Abandoned, she thought sourly.
He couldn’t possibly imagine she’d be happy to stay on in Bishoftu without him. After she’d spent every day with him. She wouldn’t be able to look at the resort or walk through the town without thinking of him. A punishment—that was what it would be.
“I want to come with you,” she said, and stiffened her lip for an argument.
“Why?” Mansur asked, sounding ragged with fatigue.
Amal thought quickly on her feet. “You were with me at the hospital. I’d like to return the favor.”
“That... You don’t need to do that,” he said.
“I do—because I don’t like feeling as though I owe you.”
“You don’t owe me anything,” he stressed, baring some teeth now. Exasperation drew creases around his eyes and frown lines along his forehead.
“Why? Because you’ve done your mother a favor by helping me? By remaining at my side while I’m away from her?” Amal pouted, frustration pouring out of her. She’d had her doubts, and he hadn’t quelled them entirely, and now that incertitude directed her outpouring of emotion. “You can block me from joining you to see your family, but I’m coming to Addis Ababa with you. You can’t refuse me that.”
“They’re not my family,” he said quietly, his scowl making a reappearance. But then he jerked a nod and relented. “All right, we’re going back to Addis together. Now, can we take that walk before we find something new to argue about?”
She didn’t think he was joking. If they remained like this they probably would find a new topic to squabble over. Maybe the fact that he was adamant in not accepting his father’s second family. Amal didn’t want that. She hadn’t liked raising her voice, and Mansur looked troubled by it, too.
“Do you still want to take that walk with me?” he asked.
She did. Nodding, she said, “It sounds better than fighting.”
He managed a smile and turned for the balcony door. “A truce, then?”
“A truce,” she agreed happily, trailing him.
* * *
Amal had expected a walk around the lake, but Mansur had something extra planned.
“A boat?”
She took the hand he offered her when she crested a ditch and climbed down to his level on the thin strip of beach. He didn’t pull his hand away and, like he had with the helicopter, guided her over to the boat awaiting them.
A skinny young man stood in the boat, long paddles in his hands.
“I thought this last visit should be the most memorable.” Mansur guided her to the lakeshore, his eyes hidden by his shades but a smile twitching over his lips. “I promise it won’t be as nerve-racking as the plane and the helicopter.”
“Speak for yourself,” she muttered, queasiness rippling through her at the sight of the murky lake water. It had looked so serene from afar. But knowing she’d be riding a boat over it had changed her pleasant view of it. Gulping, she said, “I don’t know how to swim.”
Mansur gestured to the orange float vests on the beach. “That’s what the life jackets are for. And I’ll jump in and rescue you if you do take a dip in the lake.”
He gave her hand a comforting squeeze, and she tightened her fingers on his and peered up. “Promise?” she asked.
He released her hand, stooped to grab a life jacket and opened it out to her. “Promise.”
Satisfied with his vow, Amal turned her back to him and had his help slipping on the life jacket. A flutter of attraction pulsed through her when his hands brushed her arms. It didn’t last long because he had to get his own life jacket. She watched as he strapped himself into the vest and shrugged out of his sneakers.
Catching her raised brows, he explained, “They’re worth enough that I’d rather not hunt for another limited pair.”
“Should I leave mine, too?” She wiggled a wedge sandal at him,
and burned hotter with desire when his eyes lingered on her feet.
She swore his voice had gotten thicker when he said, “Yeah, probably... Just to be safe.”
Shoes off, they walked barefoot into the lake and he helped her up the boat’s in-built staircase. Once they were inside, the boat operator pushed them from the shallow, grounding waters of the shore to the deeper bowl of the lake.
Amal craned her neck all around for the new perspective of the lake. “Mansur, it’s lovely!”
“I knew you’d like it,” he said, his own gaze sweeping the lake and the valley. “Reminds me of an oasis, or what I would think one would look like.”
“Being here in Bishoftu has me longing for more adventure.” Amal sighed wistfully, knowing her heart would yearn for this special place once they left. “I’m going to miss it,” she said, melancholy wavering in her tone. “It’s going to have a place in my heart forever. As far as memories go, it’s one of the best I’ll have, since my amnesia has yet to gift me any of my adult memories.”
“I’m happy you’ll remember this for a long time.”
He’d switched to Somali. Amal understood why, as the boat operator had to understand English. How else had Mansur booked the trip out on the lake? And especially given what he went on to say.
“It’s my way of thanking you—for being family to my mother in my absence, for coming out to view my potential inheritance, and for reminding me what I’ve missed out on by not returning home sooner.”
Amal absorbed his words, let them rest in her heart for a moment, before she dared to ask, “Will you miss me when you go back to America?”
“I’ll miss our conversations. It’s been nice to have someone to talk to.”
“Just nice?” she asked.
It was more than “nice” for her. She finally felt as if someone understood her. She had told Mansur a lot. About her father. About her fear of not regaining her memories. She’d also nearly kissed him—twice. And he’d looked like he had wanted to do the same to her.
If she’d been braver, she might have tested out the theory one more time. Only this time actually made contact and shared her first kiss with him. But they had an audience. She peeked over at the boat operator and stifled a sigh. Ultimately, she should be happy not to be alone with Mansur. She couldn’t expect him to remain with her much longer. And, if she was being honest with herself, she wouldn’t settle for anything else.
A long-distance relationship was a possibility. They could start chatting over the phone again, and video-calling. Eventually that would run its course, though, and she’d yearn for more. She’d want him beside her, and it wasn’t fair for him to be forced into a position to choose.
Like he’d ever pick you over his career.
And she didn’t want that. Not one bit! He had worked hard for what he had, and he deserved every bit of success and every dollar to his name. She wouldn’t want Mansur to make her choose either, between her job and him. Because she certainly wasn’t willing to pack up and move to America. She loved living in Hargeisa. Hadn’t dreamt of leaving Somaliland or abandoning her company.
And amnesia hadn’t affected her desire to have a family of her own someday. She had childhood memories of longing for that very same thing. But now she felt ready for it. For love, marriage, and raising children.
Sadly, Mansur couldn’t give her that. And she wanted all of him, so she’d best learn to live without him starting now.
“You’re right, though. It is nice,” she said with a tiny smile.
She looked out over the lake again and pulled out her phone, snapping photos. Ribbons of sunlight shimmered on the lake surface as the boat carved its path toward the lake’s center. Like the sunlight, Mansur wasn’t something she could hold on to. And she wouldn’t add to his plate of worries.
With what she hoped was a clear voice, she said, “Whatever happens in Addis, remember that there’s hope and light and positivity in every experience.”
Mansur hummed noncommittally. “Your optimism is nice, too.”
Amal glanced at him. “What’s nice is being here with you and knowing that you’ll consider what I have to say. Just...don’t make any hasty actions. Go in with an open heart, like I did. It wasn’t as though I wanted to come to Addis Ababa in the first place. But I heard you out, and I liked what you said. It’s why I’m here.”
“This is different—” he began sullenly, but stopped when she sucked in a shuddery breath. Pausing, he gave her a thoughtful, warmer look before he added, “I said I would try, didn’t I? And I will. But there’s history I can’t ignore.”
Knowing it was the best she’d get for now, Amal eased off. “That’s good enough,” she remarked.
It was a start. And she hoped that if she couldn’t have Mansur, at least he’d be open to reconnecting with his family. They didn’t both have to have tragic relationships with their fathers. He still had hope. He just had to see that he did.
CHAPTER NINE
“THIS SHOULD BE IT.” Amal paused in front of a florist’s shop.
Mansur dragged his feet, dread slowing him. They were in Addis Ababa again, in the heart of its large and famed open-air marketplace. Addis Mercato was teeming with energy. Stores and stalls were all open for business. Hawkers called out loudly to garner attention to their wares.
After following the directions that the private investigators had emailed to him, Mansur had been able to lead him and Amal to their final destination.
And it was this quaint-looking shop.
Above the entrance was a green-and-white-striped awning, sun-bleached of its original vibrancy and yet clinging to its welcoming charm. At least, his beautiful companion thought so. Amal’s face held an innocent glee while she waited for his slower, hesitant strides to eat up the short distance to her.
The swooping in Manny’s stomach sharpened with every step now. And he’d just about locked every muscle and clamped down on a bile-ridden spasm from his gut when Amal said, “It’s open.”
Of course it was. He couldn’t avoid this any longer, then.
Get this over with. That had been the mantra he’d chanted inwardly as soon as they had parked the car and traversed into the Mercato. His chance for excuses gone, he had no choice but to accomplish what they’d come to do here. Thankfully, he had one recourse—and she was smiling at him, her hope searing blindingly into his embittered core.
Amal.
He was happy she’d talked him into bringing her along. She was friendly support. Someone in his corner, he hoped. And so far he hadn’t gone wrong in allowing her closer to him. Amal had shown nothing but kindness and patience when he’d revealed his indecision about meeting the family he had worked hard to pretend didn’t exist.
One thing was for certain: after this meeting he could no longer disregard his half-siblings and stepmother.
You win. Scowling, Manny aimed his concession to the heavens, where he imagined his father was laughing it up. He closed his eyes and swore he heard the laughter—a brushing memory of the roaring mirth that had often emanated from his father at the smallest of jokes. Funny... He couldn’t recall many memories of his father. Pleasant ones or otherwise. His father hadn’t stuck around long enough for Mansur to hold on to more than a few memories. And time had sanded away the rest.
He opened his eyes and found Amal watching him. What would she be thinking? That he was allowing this meeting to undo him. Was she judging him? He hoped not. Last time she had, she’d left him broken-hearted.
“We could come back,” she said softly, touching her fingertips to the back of his hand.
Mansur relaxed. No, he was wrong. Amal wasn’t judging him. This was different than when he’d proposed to her. She wasn’t pushing him away now.
Not yet—but she will once she realizes you can’t let go of your grudge.
The malicious thought snaked through his
mind but, clenching his jaw, feeling the ticking cheek muscle react to the swell of his agitation, he did what he did best: pretended everything was all right.
As for this “family” of his—a quick hello should suffice in satisfying the clause that blocked him from inheriting the land.
Nothing more, nothing less.
“After you,” Manny said, more brusquely than he’d have liked.
Opening the door for Amal, he watched her hesitate, her eyes tracking his face. Her lips parted slightly, as if she thought to say something, but then, thinking against it, she looked away and walked inside. He trailed her, with weighty unease bearing down on his shoulders.
The shop was slightly warmer than room temperature. An appropriate space for the showy, tropical flowers on display. He imagined the plants requiring cooler climes were housed in the back of the spacious retail area.
“They’re lovely...” Amal breathed her awe, gravitating to the closest shelf of potted flowers. She pulled in close to the flowers, inhaled and sneezed delicately.
“Careful. You might be allergic,” he warned.
She blinked her watering eyes, sneezed once more, and laughed. “Maybe I am. But they smell so good. It’s hard not to take a sniff.”
Manny believed he’d be able to control himself. He was already imagining walking out of the shop, messaging his lawyers, and letting them know he’d done his part in fulfilling the clause blocking his land inheritance.
“Nervous?” Amal whispered.
She’d drifted back to his side, and Manny looked down at her, folding his arms. “I’d like this over with, to be honest.”
Before he could interpret her sad smile, he heard footsteps approaching.
A tall, fair-skinned man pushed through the back door. He had a smile affixed to his youthful, clean-shaven face, and his eyes bounded from Amal to Manny. As he neared them he dried his hands on his black waist apron, where the shop name, Imperial Flowers, was emblazoned alongside a calla lily.