Not the Girls You're Looking For

by Aminah Mae Safi

  “And?” asked James.

  Lulu realized she hadn’t said anything for a long moment. She tried shrugging, but she couldn’t quite pass it off as casual. It was too forced a move. Too strained under the weight of her memories. “And Dane was one of them.”

  She looked over to James. And she could see the recognition in his eyes. In that moment, he knew what Dane was capable of. He knew that Dane was not just one of them. The horrible pity in James’s eyes spoke volumes. Dane had galvanized the troops and led them into battle. He had organized the horrible parade of hate in her honor, and even Lulu underselling his role could not hide this truth.

  A new wave of nausea crashed through Lulu’s body. She took a deep breath, willing the sensation away. It was the weed, the weed, not the terror or the memory. Not the pain in her chest. Not the heavy biting around her eyes. She remembered that the boys had started laughing then, at the end of their torment—razor-sharp-teeth-filled laughter—but she couldn’t hear them for the ringing in her ears. She knew she hadn’t started crying in front of them, but she didn’t quite remember how she’d gotten to the bathroom on the far side of campus by the art rooms.

  They had found her there a few minutes later. Lo and Emma and Audrey.

  Lulu had never thanked them for that. For helping Lulu clean up her face. For being a friend to her when she’d needed it most and probably deserved it the least. That fact always hung around her memory like a guilty conscience. They had taken care of Lulu when so many seemed ready to abandon her. And now they were all splintering apart.

  Lulu closed her eyes. The wave of nausea passed. Her head throbbed. She pressed it against the window, hoping the cool temperature outside would bring relief. “I’d had a crush on him, you know. But that wasn’t it, really. It was something else. Something worse than that.”

  Her whole life, Lulu had been warned that boys would break her heart. That they would destroy her. But no one ever warned her that they would do so in this way. Everyone told her boys would hurt her only if she let them. No one ever told her that boys would break her heart for nothing more than being born as she was. “Make good choices,” was the refrain. But that didn’t apply to being Arab or Muslim. Those had been branded upon her at her birth. She’d inherited her mother’s hair and along with it her father’s religion. She could ignore it, but she carried that mark on her breath, in her skin, in her eyes, everywhere.

  Lulu looked back at James. He was staring, a bit stupidly, at her. She regretted opening her eyes. She couldn’t control the nausea anymore. It was a waiting game now.

  “Do you know what that’s like? To be attracted to someone who hates you for being born as what they see as less than?” Lulu didn’t wait for an answer. “Someone who wants to make you hate yourself? It’s like a nasty poison in a beautiful bottle. And if you are tempted to take it, even a tiny sip—it’s your fault. Everyone’ll say it. Because you know—and everyone knows—there’s a poison in there and you shouldn’t have been tempted in the first place.”

  James opened his mouth, then closed it, like he couldn’t imagine what to say to that. Tears threatened in earnest. She would prefer to vomit in James’s car than cry in front of him again. The car slowed as it made a turn into a new neighborhood. Her neighborhood.

  “And then everywhere: I am Paris. Je suis Paris. But I’m not, am I? Everyone saying I am Paris and they mean themselves but specifically not me. Even though I learned how to pout like a French girl and when to tu and when to vous. I am not their Paris.” Lulu cleared her throat. “Anyways, nobody I know died. Nobody my French teacher knew, either. And those boys kept on for the better part of a year, but nobody hurt me physically. Eventually I told. And somehow, it stopped. The administration believed me, and the boys stopped. I know how lucky I am. But I hate myself a little bit, every time I see him. It feels, I don’t know. It feels like I’ve lost. Like I never had a chance to win in the first place.”

  Lulu looked over and saw what James meant by his silence. She turned back to the window. She hadn’t been able to readily admit to anyone new since that afternoon that she was part Arab and all Muslim. She choked on the words before she could get them out. She wasn’t ashamed. She was deeply afraid. She didn’t know how to counter such a set of terrible assumptions right as she met someone. She’d built a shell around herself, so she couldn’t be hurt, so their prejudice would not be her pain. So only the people she thought she could trust would see her.

  The car stopped in front of her house. Lulu pushed out of it, nausea clawing through her stomach and up her throat. She slammed the door and practically ran to the door. She needed to get inside. But as she clamored through her purse, trying to find her keys, the feeling was too much.

  A hand was at her shoulder. “I don’t want to startle you, but I’m right here.” James swept his hand across her forehead and held back her hair. “Can you stand on your own?”

  Lulu nodded faintly. The nod was a bad idea. The nausea surged again. His hand went lightly to her hip. Lulu thought to laugh; the gesture was nearly romantic. Then she turned to the side and retched in the bushes. Several times.

  “It’s okay.” James kept her hair back in a gentle grip, kept a hand lightly on her hip. He seemed to be waiting for her to indicate if she could stand back up again or not. “It’s gonna be okay.”

  “I’m not sure what your definition of okay is, young man, but this is certainly not mine,” said Lulu’s mother as the door swung open.

  Lulu groaned. She couldn’t believe James hadn’t dropped her. It showed backbone to not be immediately terrified of Aimee Saad when the woman was in such a state. She was like an ancient sorceress turned into a dragon. She was power and wrath; vengeance and fury. She would direct her rage at anything that crossed her path. She wouldn’t think to ask questions later. A righteous Aimee Saad was her worst and best form all at once. “Leila Margot Saad, you are in deep shit.”

  Lulu looked up from the bushes. Her mother stood in perfect silhouette in the doorway. Lulu groaned, before heaving into the bushes again. She felt too ill to think about the irony of finally being caught vomiting when it had fuck all to do with the substances in her body and everything to do with the riotous play of memories across her heart.

  “And you,” said her mother, turning to face James. “Who the flying fuck are you?”

  Again, it was to James’s credit that he did not flee from the premises. “I’m a friend. I was giving Lulu a ride home.”

  “A friend? You expect me to believe that? Do I look like I was born yesterday?”

  “Don’t answer that. ’S’always a trick question.” Lulu coughed and spat into the shrubbery.

  “Thanks for the tip,” he said, as though he and Lulu were in some kind of private joke together.

  “Have you been drinking?”

  “Mom, if you have to ask that, you were born yesterday,” said Lulu, resigning herself to her fate. She would not wail at the unfairness of the world. She’d gotten off scot-free too many times to think this bust wasn’t somehow justified. Lulu heaved again. Then she spat the unpleasant taste of bile out of her mouth and hoped she had vomited her last.

  “You’re in enough trouble as it is, daughter o’ mine. Don’t push your luck.” Her mother used her threatening finger point.

  “Luck.” Lulu laughed ironically at that. This time, the nausea passed without the upchuck reflex. Lulu sighed her relief. At least that part was over. A dizzying spin took over her head. The dehydration was kicking in.

  Aimee turned to James. “I was trying to ask if you had been drinking. Not her.”

  “No, ma’am,” said James. “I have not.”

  Her mother maintained her eagle-eyed gaze on James. “Are you going to release your grip on my daughter?”

  Lulu felt James’s fingers twitch, but he didn’t let go. He did look a bit like a deer caught in the headlights, but he always looked like that to Lulu. “As soon as she tells me to, ma’am. I’m worried she can’t stand by hersel
f.”

  Aimee narrowed her eyes. Lulu felt James’s tension through his gentle hold on her hair and body, but he didn’t let go.

  “Can you stand?” he asked her, leaning close to Lulu’s ear.

  Lulu nodded. James guided her to her feet and released her. Lulu swayed forward—her whole body, drained of adrenaline and fluids, had gone limp.

  James caught her. “I think you need to get to bed.”

  At the mention of bed, Aimee Saad had finally reached her upper limit. She snatched Lulu out of James’s arms. “If you think you’re helping her into bed, young man, you’ve got another think coming. What’s your name?”

  “I—I didn’t think that. I wanted to help. Ma’am. It’s James.” He stumbled through his words. “James Denair.”

  “Get the hell out of here, James Denair.”

  Aimee was about to shut the door when James said, “I’m sorry you found her like this. And I’m sorry you don’t like me. I was trying to get her home. She’s had a really rough night.”

  Aimee shut the door without another word.

  16

  Eidia

  A familiar, worn compact car pulled into the driveway. Lulu heard the engine before double-checking out her bedroom window. She had to squint to see it, as the sunlight pulsed against her tender eyes. She made an approximation of a leap out of bed—stumbling across her floor until she could find her glasses.

  “Rez!” she shouted as she trundled downstairs. She was desperate for company. Her mother was giving her an icy treatment—refusing to punish her, true, but also refusing to acknowledge her.

  Reza Saad was there to give her an enormous hug and swing her in an arc before putting her down. Reza wasn’t tall, but he had an imposing build. He smiled broadly. Reza was the eldest and the best of the Saad siblings. “How’s everybody’s favorite spoiled brat?”

  “She’s all right,” she lied. Emma’s responses to communication were monosyllabic texts. Audrey wasn’t messaging, and Lulu was too proud to beg for Lo’s attention.

  Reza gave her another squeeze and Lulu winced. Reza had yet to learn his own strength. Or perhaps he never thought of Lulu as weak.

  “Rez, don’t encourage her. She’s bad enough as it is.” Ben entered, standing in the frame between the kitchen and the hallway. Where Reza was broad, Ben was skinny, still lanky. His hands hung like great weights at the end of his lean arms, and his face hadn’t quite achieved the hardened edges of manhood. Ben was the middle one and the most reckless among the Saad trio. At least, that’s how the family told it.

  “Ben!” Lulu enveloped her second brother in her significantly shorter arms. Ben was distant with everyone. Lulu learned to never take it personally. “Both of you home at the same time? I thought you weren’t due until tomorrow, crazy!”

  Ben gave Lulu a good-natured pat on her back. “Nah, I decided to change my flight last minute. Rez swung around to the airport before he headed home. Figured I’d score points with the maternal unit.”

  “Does Mom know you’re home? What about Baba? When did you get in? Where’s your suitcases and stuff?”

  “Slow your roll, little sister,” said Ben.

  At this, Reza put his arm protectively around Lulu, who stuck out her tongue at Ben.

  “What a witty comeback.” Ben smirked. “Glad to see that expensive education is paying off for you.”

  “Bite me,” said Lulu.

  “You two.” Reza frowned. “Stop.”

  “He started it!” Lulu pointed at Ben.

  “And you took it to a higher plane,” said Ben, a single eyebrow arched.

  Reza wiped a hand over his face, like he’d seen this scene too many times.

  “Rez isn’t Baba, little sister. He’s not going to automatically take your side. Besides, I’ve got leverage.”

  Lulu stilled. “What leverage?”

  Ben leaned in but then shouted in Lulu’s ear. “A little bird told me you were very, very grounded.”

  Lulu jumped back. “Mom told? She’s not even talking to me.”

  Reza glared at Ben. “Mom told me. She called worried you were going down Ben’s darkened path. Her words, not mine.”

  Lulu sighed a great, burdened sigh.

  Ben pulled Lulu into a headlock and rubbed his knuckles onto the top of her head. It was not done gently. “Well, shit, little sister. You are screwed.”

  “Ben.” Reza used all the authority his older age afforded him. “Leave her alone. She’s suffered enough. Probably.”

  Ben’s expression of innocence was belied by the fact that he doubled down his efforts with his knuckles on Lulu’s head. She yelped.

  “Benyamin Saad, you’re home for less than two minutes and you’re already starting trouble.” The front door swung open and through it came their mother, her arms laden with binders and papers and two laptop cases. She got on her tiptoes to give Ben a kiss on the cheek, then Reza. “Hello, Reza, sweetheart.”

  But there was no greeting for Lulu.

  Ben released Lulu from the headlock instantaneously. He smiled, easygoing and open. “Me? I would never.”

  Lulu found a small but interesting stain on the wall. From the looks of it, it was a smudge of ink. She couldn’t say nothing to her mother, though. “You’re home early.”

  Aimee glanced at Lulu. She looked back to Ben. “Reza called me when he was at the airport waiting for Ben. I thought I’d come home now to see you all before heading back to the office for a late night. Well,” said her mother. “Who wants to grab some lunch?”

  Lulu turned to glare pointedly at Aimee.

  But her mother just set down her work bags. “You know Ben isn’t participating in Ramadan. And you’re clearly playing fast and loose with the rules yourself. You don’t mind, do you, Reza, honey?”

  Reza shook his head. Their mother walked back out the front door to her car. Ben followed her with long strides, catching up to her quickly. Ben was not one to look a gift horse of food in the mouth. Lulu sighed. Ben was their mother’s favorite. Lulu was their father’s. Reza was nobody’s favorite, but he was too good to seem bothered by this.

  Lulu got her phone out of her pocket to message Audrey what a horrible bitch her mother was being, because if anyone could understand, it was Audrey. The time stamp from their messages glared up at Lulu. The ones she’d tried sending to find Audrey. The ones Audrey hadn’t responded to.

  Yesterday Delivered 11:42 p.m. Seen 11:46 p.m.

  At least Audrey was alive. Lo had even confirmed that. Not that Lulu had cooled off enough from Lo abandoning them all for Lulu to respond to Lo, really.

  Lulu put her phone back in her pocket. She’d kept it there today in case it buzzed, but as many times as she imagined it going off, her notifications stayed oddly mute all day.

  Reza put his hand on Lulu’s shoulder. “Come on. We will be able to eat Thanksgiving dinner. Fasting ends tonight. Let’s go have one last miserable nonlunch.”

  Reza smiled. It wasn’t charming. It was earnest. It was comforting. It reminded Lulu of their childhood—the three of them a solid fortress against their parents.

  “Fine.” Lulu threw up her arms for good measure. “Let’s go watch Mom and Ben eat lunch.”

  * * *

  “Bismillaah ar-Rahman ar-Raheem. Alhamdulillaahi rabbil ‘alameen.”

  As her father spoke, Lulu felt the rhythm of his speech reverberate through her body. The words washed her with calmness. She closed her eyes, trying to soak in as much of that feeling as she could. Reza nodded along with his father’s words, mouthing them wordlessly in unison. Ben’s face remained unreadable and placid. Their mother bowed her head respectfully. They were all there to finish Ramadan together.

  At the beginning of their marriage, Aimee wanted to understand her husband’s customs. So, of course, she had blended them with her own by asking how to pray at the table to break a fast. Ahmed explained, quite directly, that he’d never prayed over a meal in his life. Aimee explained, quite calmly, that she didn’
t know of any better place for a Muslim and a Christian to pray together without incident. He laughed. And on the end of that first Ramadan of their marriage, they had made the holiday their own. It was now as solid a tradition as any.

  “Ar-Rahman ar-Raheem Maaliki yaumiddeen,” Lulu’s father continued on in a deep, unyielding voice.

  Lulu’s eyes were still closed. There were so few times in Lulu’s life, so few moments, that the sacred reached out and touched her. Sitting here, she felt it in her bones. It didn’t matter that this was two old customs married together in a strange, new thing that only belonged to her family. That was what made it so special to her in the first place.

  “Iyyaaka na’abudu wa iyyaaka nasta’een. Ihdinas siraatal mustaqeem.” Her father’s voice was both lower and projecting farther than when he started.

  Lulu didn’t know how her father did it. He wasn’t a particularly religious man. He hadn’t even taught his children how to pray properly. As a professor, he cared more for the historical side of his religion than the spiritual. A religion he had given his children more out of duty than faith. But when he spoke the words of the opening surah of the Koran, he made magic.

  “Siraatal ladheena an ‘amta’ ‘alaihim. Ghairil maghduubi’ ‘alaihim waladaaleen.” He was almost finished, and Lulu wished she could trap the serenity this moment gave her. Religiosity or steadfast devotion did not belong to her family, did not belong to her. But this moment did.

  “Aameen,” Ahmed concluded, breaking the spell.

  Ramadan was over. The Eid could begin. There would be a party. And food. And lots and lots of people. But that would be tomorrow. Tonight was for her family. Tonight was theirs.

  The whole Saad family began to speak with rapidity and intensity. A single breath meant another had a space to interject, interrupt, and intercede in the conversation. Reza brandished his fork several times, mostly in the general direction of the potato salad. Ben continued to eat and talk, so his argument held equal parts discursive qualities and bits of food rolling along his mouth. Ahmed shook his head and argued with his sons. Aimee interjected herself when she found the others’ arguments lacking, which happened more often than one might suppose.