Believe Me

by Tahereh Mafi

  They find this fundamentally infuriating, and I don’t care.

  I refuse to do anything that would put Ella’s life in jeopardy, and letting our movement fail would be doing exactly that.

  “I want us to try again,” Sam says, steely now as she meets my eyes. “I want us to start over. We’ve been fighting a lot lately, and I think you would agree with me that it’s not sustainable. We should be united right now.”

  “United? Nouria deliberately made me think I couldn’t get married. She willfully manipulated the truth to make the situation seem dire, simply to wound me. How can such petty machinations form any foundation for unity?”

  “She wasn’t trying to wound you. She was trying to protect you.”

  “In what alternate reality could that possibly be true?”

  Sam’s anger flares. “You know what your problem is?”

  “Yes. The list is long.”

  “Oh my God,” she says, her irritation building. “This, this is exactly your problem. You think you know everything. You’re uncooperative, you’re uncompromising, and you’ve already decided you’ve figured everything out. You don’t know how to be part of a team—”

  “You and Nouria don’t know how to take constructive criticism.”

  “Constructive criticism?” Sam gapes at me. “You call your criticism constructive?”

  “You’re free to call it whatever you like,” I say unkindly. “But I refuse to remain silent when I believe you and Nouria are making the wrong choices. You regularly forget that I was raised within The Reestablishment, from its infancy, and that there is a great deal I understand about the mechanics of our enemies’ minds—more than you are even willing to consider—”

  “All okay over here?” Castle asks, striding toward us. His smile is uncertain. “We’re not talking about work right now, are we?”

  “Oh, everything is fine,” Sam says too brightly. “I was just reminding Warner here how much Nouria has done to keep him and Juliette safe on their wedding day. An event I think we all agree would render them both most vulnerable to an outside threat.”

  I go suddenly still.

  “Well—yes,” Castle says, confused. “Of course. You already know that, though, don’t you, Mr. Warner? News of your impending nuptials was beginning to spread, and we feared the possible repercussions for both you and Ms. Ferrars on such a joyous day.”

  I’m still staring at Sam when I say quietly: “That’s why you all lied to me yesterday?”

  “Nouria thought it was imperative that we convince you,” Sam says stiffly, “more than anyone else, that you wouldn’t be getting married today. The supreme kids knew about the wedding before they left, and Nouria worried that even a whiff of an exchange on the subject yesterday might be intercepted in your daily communications, which we wanted to make certain you carried out as normal. The notifications Juliette sent out last night were done in code.”

  “I see,” I say, glancing again at Nouria, who’s now deep in conversation with the girls—Sonya and Sara—both of whom are holding what appear to be small black suitcases.

  I should be touched by this gesture of protection, but the fact that they felt I couldn’t be trusted with such a plan does little to improve my mood.

  “You do realize you could’ve simply asked me to say nothing, don’t you? I’m perfectly capable of discretion—”

  “What is going on between you two?” Castle frowns. “This is not the energy I expected from either of you on—”

  “Sir?” Ian is standing at the sliding screen door—the only access point into the house from the backyard—and motioning Castle forward with an agitated wave. “Can you come here, please? Now?”

  Castle frowns, then glances between myself and Sam. “There will be plenty of time to discuss unpleasant matters later, do you understand? Today is a day of celebration. For all of us.”

  “Oh, don’t worry,” Sam says to Castle. “Everything will be fine—right, Warner?”

  “Perhaps,” I say, holding her gaze.

  Sam and I say nothing else, and Castle shakes his head before stalking off, leaving the two of us alone to enjoy an uncomfortable moment of silence.

  Sam takes a sudden deep breath.

  “Anyway,” she says loudly, looking around now for an exit. “Exciting day. Best wishes and everything.”

  My jaw clenches. I’m saved the need to respond to this limp performance of civility by the abrupt, sharp bark of a dog, accompanied by the timid admonishment of a human.

  Sam and I both spin around toward the sounds.

  An animal I hardly recognize is scratching wildly at the screen door, yapping—at me, specifically—from several feet away. Its once mangy, matted fur is now a healthy brown, with an unexpected smattering of white; this accomplishment is undermined by its bright red collar and ridiculous, matching headband, the undignified accessory crowned with a large crimson bow, which sits atop the animal’s head. The perpetrator of this crime is standing just beyond the dog, a tall, redheaded young woman desperately begging the pup to be calm.

  Kenji had said her name was Yara.

  She struggles in vain; the creature pays her no mind as he barks over and over, all the while pawing anxiously at the screen door—my screen door—which he will no doubt destroy if he does not soon desist.

  “Let him out,” I say to her, my voice carrying.

  The young woman startles at that, quickly fumbling now to unlatch the screen door. When she finally manages to slide the panel open, the animal all but lunges through the doorway, yanking her along with him.

  Beside me, Sam makes a poorly muffled sound of disgust.

  “I didn’t realize you hated animals,” I say without looking at her.

  “Oh, I love animals. Animals are better at being human than people are.”

  “I don’t disagree.”

  “Shocking.”

  I turn to face her, surprised. “Why are you so angry?”

  Sam sighs and nods discreetly at Yara, who waves enthusiastically even as she’s dragged along in our direction.

  I raise my eyebrows at Sam.

  “Oh, don’t look at me like that,” she says, irritated. “You have no idea what Nouria and I have had to deal with since you arrived. It got a hundred times worse after everyone decided you were some kind of a hero. It was a really low moment for us, realizing that so many people we respected were shockingly shallow.”

  “If it makes you feel any better,” I say, taking a breath as I lift a hand in Yara’s direction, “I don’t like it, either.”

  “Bullshit,” Sam says automatically, but I sense her flicker of uncertainty.

  I lower my voice as Yara closes in on us. “Would you enjoy being reduced to nothing but your physical footprint, forced all the while to absorb the weight of strangers’ indecent emotions as they assess and undress you?”

  Sam stiffens beside me. She turns to look at me, her feelings scattered and confused. I feel her reexamining me.

  “Hi!” Yara says, coming to a stop in front of us.

  She is an objectively kind young woman; I recognize this even as I fight back a wave of revulsion. Yara has done the animal—and me, by extension—a great courtesy, which she needn’t have done for a stranger on such short notice. Still, her feelings are both generous and disconcerting, some of them loud enough to make me physically uncomfortable.

  The dog is wise enough to halt at my feet.

  He lifts a tentative paw as if to touch me, and I give him a sharp look, after which the paw retreats. In the intervening silence, the dog stares up at me with big, dark eyes, his tail wagging furiously.

  “It was kind of you to wash the animal,” I say to Yara, still staring at the dog. “He looks much better now.”

  “Oh, it was my pleasure,” she says, hesitating before adding: “You look—you look really, really nice today.”

  My smile is tight.

  I don’t want to feel what she’s feeling right now. I don’t want to know these th
ings—not ever—but especially not on my wedding day.

  I bend down to look the dog in the eye and draw a gentle hand over his head, into which he eagerly leans. He sniffs me, nosing the palm of my hand, and I pull away before the beast decides to lick me. I decide instead to check his collar; there is a single metal coin hanging from the red strap, and I pinch it between two fingers, the better to examine it.

  It reads: DOG.

  “That’s what you said you wanted to call him, right?” Yara is still smiling. “Dog?”

  I look up at her then, meeting the young woman’s eyes against my better judgment, and her smile trembles.

  Sam stifles a laugh.

  “Yes,” I say slowly. “I suppose I did say something like that.”

  Yara beams. “Well, he’s all yours now. Happy wedding and everything.”

  I stand up sharply. “What?”

  “Oh, and it looks like he’s already been neutered, so I think he’s had a family before. You made a great choice. I’m not sure what kind of dog he is—he’s definitely some kind of mixed breed—but he’s not totally wild, and I think he’ll be a good—

  “I’m afraid you’ve gravely misunderstood the situation. I don’t want a dog. I merely wanted you to wash the animal, and maybe feed it—”

  Sam is laughing openly now, and I pivot to face her.

  “You think this is funny? What am I supposed to do with a dog?”

  “Um, I don’t know”—she shoots me an incredulous look—“give it a loving home?”

  “Don’t be ridiculous.”

  “I’m—I’m so sorry,” Yara says, her eyes widening now with panic. “I thought he was your dog—I didn’t think he was— I mean he doesn’t obey anyone else, and he seems really attached to you—”

  “Don’t worry, Yara,” Sam says gently. “You did great. Warner just wasn’t expecting you to be so generous, and he’s kind of, um, overwhelmed with gratitude right now. Isn’t that right, Warner?” She turns to me. “Yara was so kind to get . . . Dog here all washed and ready for your wedding day. Wasn’t she?”

  “Very kind,” I say, my jaw tensing.

  Yara looks nervously in my direction. “Really?”

  Briefly, I meet her eyes. “Really.”

  She flushes.

  “Yara, why don’t you hold on to”—she fights back a smile—“Dog until the end of the ceremony? Maybe make sure he gets something to eat.”

  “Oh, sure.” Yara shoots me one last furtive look before tugging gently on the animal’s leash. The dog whines at that, then barks as she coaxes him, one foot at a time, back toward the house.

  I turn my eyes skyward. “This is unforgivable.”

  “Why?” I can hear practically hear Sam smile. “I bet Juliette would love to have a dog.”

  I look at Sam. “Did you know, I once watched a dog vomit—and then proceed to eat its own vomit.”

  “Okay, but—”

  “And then vomit. Again.”

  Sam crosses her arms. “That was one dog.”

  “Another dog once defecated right in front of me while I was patrolling a compound.”

  “That’s perfectly norm—”

  “After which it promptly ate its own feces.”

  Sam crosses her arms. “All right. Well. That’s still better than the awful things I’ve seen humans do.”

  I’m prevented from responding by a sudden swell of commotion. People are starting to rush around, pushing past us to scatter wildflowers in the grassy aisle. Sonya and Sara, clad in identical green gowns, take positions adjacent to the wedding arch, their black suitcases gone. In their hands they hold matching violins and bows, the sight of which paralyzes me anew. I feel that familiar pain in my chest, something like fear.

  It’s beginning.

  “You’re right, though,” I say quietly to Sam, wondering, for the hundredth time, what Ella might be doing inside the house. “She’d love to have a dog.”

  “Wait— I’m sorry, did you just say I was right about something?”

  I release a sharp breath. It sounds almost like a laugh.

  “You know,” Sam says thoughtfully. “I think this might be the most pleasant conversation you and I have ever had.”

  “Your standards are very low, then.”

  “When it comes to you, Warner, my standards have to be low.”

  I manage to smile at that, but I’m still distracted. Castle is walking toward the arch now, a small leather-bound notebook in his hand, a sprig of lavender pinned to his lapel. He nods at me as he goes, and I can only stare, feeling suddenly like I can’t breathe.

  “I’ve seen her, by the way,” Sam says softly.

  I turn to face her.

  “Juliette.” Sam smiles. “She looks beautiful.”

  I’m struggling to formulate a response to this when I sense the approach of a familiar presence; his hand lands on my arm, and for the first time, I don’t flinch.

  “Hey, man,” Kenji says, materializing at my side in a surprisingly sharp suit. “You ready? There’s not much of a wedding party, so we’re not doing a processional, which means J will be walking down the aisle pretty soon. Nazeera just gave us the ten-minute . . .”

  Kenji trails off, distracted as if on cue, by Nazeera herself. She saunters toward the wedding arch, tall and steady in a gauzy, blush-colored gown. She grins at Castle, who acknowledges her with a smile of his own; Nazeera takes a position just off to the side of the arch, adjusting her skirts as she settles in place.

  It becomes terrifyingly clear to me then exactly where Ella is expected to soon stand. Where I am expected to soon stand.

  “But I haven’t finished with the tablecloths,” I say, “or the seating inside—”

  “Yeah. I noticed.” Kenji takes a sharp breath, tearing his gaze away from Nazeera to look me in the eye. “Anyway, don’t worry. We took care of it. You seemed really busy standing still for half an hour, staring at nothing. We didn’t want to interrupt.”

  “All right, I think I should get going,” Sam says, offering me a real, genuine smile. “Nouria is saving me a seat. Good luck out there.”

  I nod at her as she goes, surprised to discover that, despite the long road ahead, there might be hope of a truce between us after all.

  “Okay.” Kenji claps his hands together. “First things first: do you need to go to the bathroom or anything before we start? Personally, I think you should go even if you don’t think you have to, because it would be really awkward if you suddenly had t—”

  “Stop.”

  “Oh—right!” Kenji says, slapping his hand to his forehead. “My bad, bro, I forgot—you never have to use the bathroom, do you?”

  “No.”

  “No, of course not. Because that would be human, and we both know you’re secretly a robot.”

  I sigh, resisting the urge to run my hands through my hair.

  “Seriously, though—anything you need to do before you go up there? You’ve got the ring, right?”

  “No.” My heart is pounding furiously in my chest now. “And yes.”

  “Okay, then.” Kenji nods toward the wedding arch. “Go ahead and get into position under that flower thing. Castle will show you exactly where to stand—”

  I turn sharply to face him. “You’re not coming with me?”

  Kenji goes stock-still at that, his mouth slightly agape. I realize, a moment too late, exactly what I’ve just suggested— and still I can’t bring myself to retract the question, and I can’t explain why.

  Right now, it doesn’t seem to matter.

  Right now, I can’t quite feel my legs.

  Kenji, to his credit, does not laugh in my face. Instead, his expression relaxes by micrometers, his dark eyes assessing me in that careful way I detest.

  “Yeah,” he says finally. “Of course I’m coming with you.”

  FOURTEEN

  Sunlight glances off my eyes, the glare shifting, flickering through a webbing of bare branches as a gentle breeze moves through the yard,
fluttering leaves and skirts and flower petals. The scent of the gardenia affixed to my lapel wafts upward, filling my head with a heady perfume as the sharp collar of my shirt scrapes against my neck, my tie too tight; I clasp my hands in front of me to keep from adjusting it, my palms brushing against the wool of my suit, the fabric soft and lightweight and still somehow abrasive, suffocating me as I stand here in stiff shoes sinking slowly into dead grass, staring out at a sea of people come to bear witness to what might be one of the most publicly vulnerable moments of my life.

  I can’t seem to breathe.

  I can’t seem to make out their faces, but I can feel them, the individual emotional capsules that make up the members of this audience, the collective frenzy of their thoughts and feelings overwhelming me in a breathtaking crush that crowds my already chaotic thoughts. I feel myself begin to panic—my heart rate increasing rapidly—as I try to digest this noise, to tune out the barrage of other people’s nervousness and excitement. It’s a struggle even to hear myself think, to unearth my own consciousness. I try, desperately, to find an anchor in this madness.

  It is nearly impossible.

  Sonya and Sara lift their violins, sharing a glance before one of the sisters, Sonya, takes the lead, launching into the opening of Pachelbel’s Canon in D. Sara soon accompanies her, and the evocative, heart-wrenching notes fill the air, igniting in my chest a flare of emotion that only intensifies my apprehension, pulling my nerves taut to a painful degree. I swallow, hard, my pulse racing dangerously fast. My hands seem to spark and fade with feeling, prickling hot and cold, and I flex them into fists.

  “Hey, man,” Kenji whispers beside me. “You all right?”

  I shake my head an inch.

  “What’s wrong?”

  I can feel Kenji studying my face.

  “Oh—shit—are you having a panic attack?”

  “Not yet,” I manage to say. I close my eyes, try to breathe. “It’s too loud in here.”

  “The music?”

  “The people.”

  “Okay. Okay. Shit. So you can, like, feel everything they’re feeling right now? Right. Shit. Of course you can. Okay. All right, what should I do? You want me to talk to you? How about I just talk to you? Why don’t you just focus on me, on the sound of my voice. Fade everything else out.”