"Wow." My brows lifted, and my interest in her story increased with all the disclosures. "That's a lot of conflicting experiences. Culturally, sexuality."
"Oh yeah." She laughed, her eyes twinkling with delight. "But eventually, I found my way."
"I'm glad. Where in the Middle East is your mom from?"
"Syria, though some of our family was in Iran. She came to Canada as a refugee in her teens and met my dad. He was an American citizen. They married in Canada then moved to Washington for his work. He worked at a multinational corporation so they moved him around a lot," she said, finishing off most of her plate by then. "My mom stayed at home with me all my life. Taught me about her culture and language, but always allowed me to explore both sides of my heritage. We even took a trip to Ireland one year. Not Syria though. It's still a war zone."
"She had to leave her family?"
"She was one of the few survivors in her family." She took out her phone and showed me a picture of her mom in traditional dress.
"She's just as beautiful as you, Samirah," I said while smiling at the two of them in the picture. "Was this your medical school graduation?" I asked, noting her cap and gown.
"It was and thank you." Her smile broadened and she swiped the screen to show me a photo of the two of them wearing similar hijab. "She makes me wear a headscarf when I visit."
"Do you speak Arabic?" I asked, and she nodded.
"I do. And Spanish, Italian, and French," she said, setting her phone down on the table. "And to boot, imagine being raised to follow Islam and Catholicism at the same time. My life has always been a ball of confusion filled with mixed messages."
"I can't imagine that. Did you favor one over the other?"
"I favored Atheism in the end. I can understand culture and community, from all sides. A god, however, never made it into my own belief system."
"Same. When the world is terrible at times, forming a belief in an all-knowing, all-powerful being is really hard when you're suffering," I said, and she tossed me a satisfied smile.
"What about your family? Have you always lived here?" She gestured in my direction.
"In Seattle?" I nodded, setting down my fork for a sip of wine. "Yes. But I don't have any blood relatives. My foster mother is my closest connection and some friends."
"You were in foster care?" Samirah's expression dimmed and she paused eating.
I nodded, dropping my gaze to poke around the stem of the wine glass. "Since I was about twelve."
"That must've been hard," she said, setting down her fork. "What happened? If you don't mind me asking."
A small laugh escaped me as I propped my elbow on my bent knee. I met her gaze, and her soft, warm, hazel eyes soothed me for some reason. "Are you really asking?"
"Of course, Rose. If you're not comfortable telling me, it's all right," she said, scooting around the side of the coffee table so that she sat closer to me, her hip by the toe of my boot.
"You can call me Rosie," I said, glancing down to the way her hand fell on her thigh. With her relaxed posture, and overall calming presence, she didn't make me feel out of place or like I shouldn't be there. "Everyone does."
"What's your middle name?" she asked, a soft smile curving her maroon-hued lips.
"Leigh. Why?"
"Rosie Leigh is a very pretty name." She reached toward my face, and I flinched before she stroked her knuckle down my cheek once. "Sorry. Was that okay?"
My entire face burned with heat that tumbled down the center of my chest to swirl in my stomach. I nodded while tucking my arm across my lap. "It's okay."
"You don't have to tell me about your family, Rosie."
"I want to. You've shared so much about yourself."
"I shared the surface. There's always something more, isn't there?" Her eyes flickered to the table then back to me.
I nodded, and drew in a slow breath. "Both of my parents had drug problems. My dad died of a drug overdose while he was in prison for drug smuggling across the U.S. and Canadian border. And my mother is currently in prison serving a thirty-year sentence for trafficking."
Samirah's eyes widened as if she didn't expect any of that. No one ever expects that. "Shit. I'm sorry. Were they both drug traffickers?"
I shook my head. "No. Not my mother."
"What did she traffic?" Her brow furrowed as her gaze seemed to dart all over my face.
"Me."
"What?" The way the question left her lips, the harshness and fury, caused my gut to twist with nerves. I wrapped my arms around my leg, and watched her as she rolled to her knees. A war broke out inside me, setting my heart to pounding and the burn of threatened tears to my eyes.
"I shouldn't have said that." My voice came out on a whisper. "This is not first date material."
Samirah waved her hands in front of me before she gripped my elbows, her eyes wild and glassy as she leaned down so that we were eye-level. "What do you mean she trafficked you?"
"Sold me to men for money or drugs." Every inch of me trembled with the intensity of her response. "You're scaring me."
"I'm sorry." Her voice hitched and she released my arms as tears suddenly brimmed her eyes. The way she looked at me, the horror and rage that tangled with shock, reminded me of only one other person in my life.
My throat tightened and I choked on a sob. No one had made me cry in years, from their reaction and its intensity. All the interviews, all the lawyers, everyone with their stone faces and sad eyes, they all looked at me with pity or disgust. Except Rebecca and her colleagues. Seattle P.D. detectives and cops, they saved me from everything. My parents, the foster homes, everything.
"I'm so sorry, Rosie." Samirah's hands shook as she clawed at the carpet beneath us. Her calm, reasonable demeanor faded into her despair. My tears didn't only belong to my own story, but for hers as well. Her reaction seemed extreme at best, and I blinked away my tears to watch her. She covered her face with one hand, the other lingered on the floor in the small space that separated us.
"I shouldn't have told you like that. I'm sorry." I reached out a shaking hand and gave her shoulder a squeeze. "Samirah?"
She shook her head, a few sobs catching her as she placed her hand on top of mine. "No, I'm sorry. I'm sorry that happened to you. I shouldn't have asked that way."
I sniffled and wiped my eyes on my sleeve to clear away the smeared eyeliner. "It's not your fault. I just...I wanted you to know what happened to me. Why I'm this way."
"Why you are what way?" She met my gaze again, her eyes shimmering with dampness as she lowered my hand to her lap. I held on to her like an anchor in the sand.
"Why I got angry after our hike. Why I don't like being in public. Why I get anxious around people." I shrugged and sniffled. "I don't know why you like me, Samirah. I don't know why I even agreed to come here tonight."
She stopped talking at that point, and only soft sobs left her as she watched me. She stroked my cheek in a barely-there touch while holding my hand just as tightly as I held hers. Her cries broke my heart, and my facade crumbled there on the carpet. I dropped my head down on my bent knee while holding the hand of a stranger. The fact that I wanted her to touch me, to make me feel better, made me cry almost as much as the reason for my initial tears. I listened to her soft sniffles, and felt the heat of her body in front of me. The moment her hand made it to my head, my entire body shuddered. She ran her fingers through my hair, her nails grazing my scalp, and luscious tingles of pleasure poured down my body like a sun-warmed vat of nectar. Goosebumps coated my skin and my breath left me on a shaky exhale. The gesture soothed me more than anything had in my whole life. More than any superficial hug, more than any civil shoulder pat.
She repeated the movement, and I closed my eyes, allowing myself to melt into her affection. The world faded away from me. The pain from my memories, and the discomfort of ghosts invading my body no longer existed. Samirah gathered my hair over my shoulder, and continued to stroke from my ear, around my head, then down my back. A quaking breath
escaped my lips and a wave of calmness settled my screaming insides.
I peeked up to look at her, and tears still dampened her cheeks, though her calmness returned. She held my hand in her lap against her belly, and I gave her a squeeze of acknowledgement. In that moment, she gave me something I never even knew I craved. Never knew I could want so much. She was some kind of magic person. A witch or sorcerer who tapped a wand of serenity against my forehead. I couldn't fathom the thought of moving away from her, or of breaking from this indulgent tangle.
We must've stayed like that for a long time, because when I opened my eyes again, darkness covered the windows and only the dim light from the kitchen illuminated us. Samirah released my hair, and almost immediately I mourned the disconnection.
"Can I hug you?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
I nodded, and lowered my leg to return her embrace. Our arms wrapped around each other and I stroked her back in a firm circle.
"Thank you for dinner," I said, taking in the scent of her sweet perfume. "And for caring about me."
"Thank you for letting me," she said when we leaned back. "I'm sure your story doesn't end there."
"I don't think yours does either…" I swiped at my cheeks and she shook her head. "I should go."
"Are you sure? We could watch a movie or I can make some coffee." Samirah stood up with me, both of us slightly wobbly on our feet.
"I really should go." My mind screamed its disdain for my statement, and my body churned with nausea over my forced separation.
"All right," she said, taking a deep breath after.
I picked up my purse and she walked me to the door. Once in the hall, I turned to look back at her while she leaned against the doorframe. All the hope and playfulness drained from her eyes, and I blamed myself for the loss of her light.
"Will I see you again?" she asked, her voice soft.
"Do you really want to?"
"More than anything." A small smile tugged at the corner of her mouth.
A lump rose in my throat, and I found myself rushing back toward her. She didn't miss a beat in catching me in a hug so firm that my feet nearly left the ground. I buried my face against her shoulder and she cupped the back of my head for a moment.
When I leaned back, I gazed up at her and brushed my knuckles over her cheek. She smiled and turned to kiss my fingers. The tender gesture brought a smile to my forlorn lips and I pressed my palm to her face.
Her gaze flickered from my eyes to my mouth, and in the boldest move to ever come from my life, I pressed up on my tiptoes and caught her in a delicate kiss. My body exploded with sensations, awakened from the numbness I often carried. Samirah's arms wrapped around my waist, then slid up my back as our kiss deepened with my sudden life-filled fury. I cupped her face in my hands and indulged in her, and the sensations our connection brought. Before we parted, she stroked my cheeks then ran her fingers through my hair, and my gasp ended our connection. An achy burn thrashed in my core, and I bit my bottom lip.
"Good night, Rosie," she whispered against my lips before kissing me again. Her heart slammed against my palm that she held to her chest and the ruckus matched the pulse beating in my ears.
"G'night, Sam," I broke our kiss to say.
"See you tomorrow?" She gripped my hand as I slowly backed away from her. I nodded, holding on to her until our fingers couldn't reach anymore.
"See you tomorrow."
The image of her standing there in the doorway, biting her lip as she smiled at me, burned into my brain as I made for the elevator.
Chapter Five
"Tell me more about this girl, Rosie," implored Rebecca as we walked down the street. Both of us indulged in towering ice cream cones after our lunch spent together. "What is she like?"
"Different. Intense. She's a doctor."
"You mentioned the latter. How'd you meet?"
"From Ainsley and her group of friends." I couldn't help the smile that made it to my lips while I crunched on a piece of cone.
Rebecca stopped walking and we turned to face each other. She chuckled, her brown eyes wide when she looked at me. "You're glowing."
"I'm not."
"You are, Rosie girl. Look at that grin."
My face heated almost immediately. "We kissed last night."
"When are you seeing her again?" She reached forward and brushed something off my cheek. Her endless smile gave me a boost of confidence.
"Tonight. I'm going over to her place again to watch a movie," I said as Rebecca urged me to sit with her at the picnic tables in the park. We sat across from each other and she gave my hand a squeeze.
"Good for you, sweetie. It's been awhile since you've dated someone that you were seriously interested in," she said, finishing off her strawberry cone in two bites. I laughed at the funny face she made while chomping on it.
"Yeah. I've dated, but more just hook-ups and such. Samirah doesn't feel like a hook-up."
"Nope. It doesn't seem that way. I'm glad you're branching out, Rosie. Maybe the timing is right."
"Yeah. Maybe." I drew a deep breath before I said, "I told her what my mother did to me. She got really upset."
"It's a really upsetting thing to hear about when you care for someone." Rebecca reached across the table to hold my hand. "But it's important for them to know where we're coming from."
I turned my palm up to grip her hand. "Yeah. Have you ever tried contacting my mother?"
"Years ago when you were a teenager after she lost her parental rights, I gave her a piece of my mind. Other than that, no." She shook her head. "Are you considering it?"
"No. I was curious. I haven't talked about her in a long time and it made me wonder."
"It's okay to wonder, Rosie. Even though she did terrible things, she's still your mother and whatever you feel for her is valid." Rebecca brought my hand to her lips for a quick smooch. "I got your back no matter what."
"I know you do." My eyes welled with tears at both her words and the gesture. "You're my real mom, Rebecca. You always have been. Even though I'm thirty-three, you're still the mom I need."
She stood from her seat and scurried around the table to capture me in a hug. I leaned into her and rested my chin on her shoulder as she held me. I couldn't help the smile that found its way to my face when she leaned me back and kissed my forehead.
"I'm happy to be your mom. Not many people get to pick their children, but I'm so glad that I picked you." She sat beside me, holding both my hands in hers. "Wouldn't have it any other way."
"Me either. Thank you." I drew in a deep breath as we shared an unusually emotional moment.
"Thank you right back."
"You know if you actually gave birth to me, you'd have been like twelve, right?" I laughed around my teasing and she flicked my knee in response.
"Are you calling me old, squirt?" She snickered and pulled me up to stand.
"I'm actually calling you young." I linked my elbow with hers and we headed off back down the street.
"Acceptable." She grinned and tugged me closer to her. "Let's head back and get this work day wrapped up so you can rush home to get ready for your date."
"Okay." I leaned my head on her shoulder, and let her lead the way back to work.
Rebecca's importance in my life remained the only constant in the near-seventeen years that she'd been a part of it. She lifted me up from the pits of foster care and my own personal hell, to provide me with safety and love. If it wasn't for her, I would be nothing.
Or a drug addict in jail with my mother.
I spent the rest of the day sorting work files while my computer processed the reports I set it to track before heading out to Samirah's. She opened the door at the first knock when I headed there after a quick stop home. Her smile, coupled with her pretty silk top, lifted my spirits even higher. She kissed my cheek when we hugged and I set my bag down by the front door. Savory scents met my nose and I glanced to the kitchen where she had something cooking on the stove, an
d ingredients laid out on the counter top.
"Hi," I said, sounding way more breathless than I intended.
"Hello. You smell delicious," she said, tucking my hair behind her ear. "I really like your perfume."
"Thanks." My face heated as usual. "Rebecca gave it to me for my birthday. I don't even know what it is. Versace something."
"Well, it's definitely you."
"I brought some pastries." I held up the white box with a pink stamp on top.
"A woman of my own heart." She accepted the box and sighed dramatically. "I've been craving sweets."
I chuckled and followed her to the kitchen to store the desserts in the fridge. "You have less boxes." I pointed at the empty walkway by the stairs.
"I'm off this week to transition so I've put some stuff away. I found my underwear this morning, thankfully, because I was running out."
I chuckled and shook my head, then paused beside the island counter. "You cooked?"
"Simple stuff. Just tacos. I was craving them, too." Her hand fell to the small of my back before I sat on a stool at the counter. "What can I get you to drink?"
"Um...anything. What goes with tacos?" In front of me, all the fixings for a perfect taco night sprawled across the table. Cheese, sour cream, veggies and olives, and most importantly, both hard and soft shells.
"A giant glass of soda with ice." Her laughter set off mine and I nodded.
"Truth. You can always splash some rum in it and call it a night."
"Oh, I would, too. The night will be called with me passed out topless on the carpet," she said, cracking up as she pulled two glass bottles out of the fridge. Her hair, thick and long, touched the waist of her pants. I admired its shine, and the way it cradled her heart-shaped face when she turned back to me.
"I wouldn't complain about that," I said, snickering at her cute laugh.
"I mean, you might complain about the puke though." She popped the caps with a bottle opener and handed me one. "Sure you don't want wine?"
"I'm good to start with this. We can end with wine," I suggested and she winked at me. It set off a series of flutters in my stomach while I watched her lift the lid of the crock pot.
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