The Mothers(51)

—

THE NIGHT SHADI ARRIVED, Nadia’s father took them out to eat at a restaurant at the harbor called Dominic’s. She’d spent all morning searching through her mother’s prayer book. She turned each page slowly, pausing when she spotted her mother’s loopy handwriting scribbled in the margins. Most times, her mother’s blue pen had underlined a word or phrase in the prayer, random, abstract words like peace or refuge. Occasionally, her mother had written notes but those were impossible to understand—under one psalm, she’d jotted down what looked like a grocery list. Nadia wasn’t exactly sure what she was looking for—a clue, maybe, but a clue that indicated what? Why her mother had wanted to die? What did she expect to find in the prayer book? A suicide note?

“It makes sense,” Shadi had said, on the ride home from the airport. “Don’t most people leave notes?”

Part of her had always felt relieved that her mother had never left one. In Nadia’s mind, her mother’s suicide had always been impulsive and urgent, a need to die that had blinded her until she could see nothing else. If she’d had time to sit down and write a note, then she would have had enough time to realize that she shouldn’t shoot herself. A note would seem selfish, a desire to justify what she’d already known was a hurtful choice. Still, Nadia had searched the prayer book, hoping to find anything that would help her understand her mother.

At dinner, her father ordered shrimp scampi and bought a bottle of merlot for the table. She didn’t tell him that he’d paired his wine wrong. Her father didn’t drink wine and he went out to nice restaurants like Dominic’s even less. He wanted to impress Shadi, and their chumminess only annoyed her. When she’d brought Shadi home, her father had given him a slow tour around the house, the two men standing almost identically, hands in their jeans pockets. They talked easily about things she didn’t care about—golf, Michigan football—and she stood by awkwardly, listening, as if she were the guest meeting the parent for the first time. Worse, at one point during his tour, her father had gestured to the blank walls.

“Sorry,” he told Shadi. “As you can see, we need to do some redecorating around here.”

Both men had laughed. She’d excused herself from the room. But the more she thought about it, the more incensed she grew, until she was silent and surly at dinner.

“You had no right to do that, you know,” she finally said.

Shadi glanced at her. Her father paused, pasta flopping over the prongs of his fork.

“What?” he said.

“Take her pictures down.”

Her father’s jaw clenched. He set his fork on the edge of his plate.

“Nadia,” he said, “it’s been four years—”

“I don’t care. She’s my mother! How do you think that makes me feel? To walk in and she’s just gone?”

“She is gone,” her father said. “And you’ve been gone too but now you want to tell me how to live in my own house? You think everyone’s life just stands still while you’re away?”

He slowly wiped his mouth with a napkin, then pushed away from the table. She watched him disappear around the corner to the bathroom, hating herself for not keeping her mouth shut. She held her head in her hands and felt Shadi massaging her neck. Later that night, he tiptoed into her bedroom, slipping under the covers. She felt crowded with him squeezed onto her twin bed, but she was too miserable to refuse his company.

“I’m such a bitch,” she said.

“You’re not,” he said. “It’s okay to be angry.”

She felt suddenly annoyed by his patience. He was endlessly reasonable in a way she could never be. Just once, she wished he would get upset at her. Just once, she wished he would see her for who she truly was.

“I fucked the groom,” she said.

He was silent so long, she wondered if he’d fallen asleep.

“When?” he finally said.

“Four years ago.”

“Well,” he said evenly, “then that was four years ago.”

“He’s marrying my best friend,” she said. “You wouldn’t give a shit if your best friend had fucked me?”

“Not if you were seventeen then. When you’re seventeen, you fuck everybody.”

He tightened his grip around her waist. Once he’d fallen asleep, she slipped out from under his heavy arm. She sat by the window, falling asleep in the moonlight, cradling the stolen prayer book.

—

NADIA CRIED THREE TIMES at the wedding.

Once, when Aubrey walked down the aisle, smiling and clasping a bouquet of lilies, her white train trailing past like a gulf Nadia would never be able to cross. She’d dabbed her eyes a second time during Luke’s vows. He’d written them himself and his hands shook as he read them aloud. She’d watched his trembling hands, wanting to calm them with her own. Her eyes watered a third time at the reception during the first dance, while Luke and Aubrey swayed to a Brian McKnight song. He was probably singing in her ear, his voice scratchy and out of tune. At the table beside her, her father watched the two spin, Luke’s dancing a little jerky because of his leg. Was her father thinking about her mother, their own wedding day? She’d heard the story, how they’d married with only two hundred dollars between them. Her mother’s friend had sewn the dress, another baked the cake, and they’d served fried chicken and sandwiches for their guests. A cheap wedding for sure, her mother had said, laughing, but people told them for years it had been the most fun wedding they’d attended. She’d never imagined her parents as fun people, but maybe they had been then. Or was her father thinking about her own wedding someday? She glanced at Shadi, who smiled and squeezed her hand. She dabbed her eyes again, aware of a new way she would disappoint her father.