As Long as the Lemon Trees Grow (73)

“Salama, I really want to come.” She squeezes my hand. “I would crawl if I could, but I can’t even do that now.”

Guilt washes over me. I can’t be selfish. “I know. It’s just, I didn’t think I’d get married without you at the wedding. It’s weird.”

She grimaces.

“I could ask Kenan to postpone it until we get to Germany. Or tomorrow. I’m okay with that.”

She shakes her head. “No. Today. You get married today. You never know—” She stops. “You’re not putting off your happiness for me. Besides, we’re definitely having a party and another wedding ceremony in Germany. And of course, I’ll be the center of attention then, even if you are the bride.”

I laugh, my sadness lifting at the beautiful image it’s creating in my mind. Being this close to leaving is allowing the suppressed dreams to wake up and grow like ivy between the cracks. Layla and I picking our dresses and a matching smaller one for Little Salama, who will have her mother’s eyes and her father’s hair. Holding her in my arms would make me feel closer to Hamza. Her pudgy hand grabbing my thumb in a tight grip and her little nose breathing in air that isn’t polluted with smoke and death.

Her time in Syria would be a dream she dreamed in the womb. One that exists only in the stories her mother and I tell her. Until one day she can come back to her country and grow the lemon trees.

I massage Layla’s shoulders for a bit. They’re stiff and bony under my hands and it’s an icy bucket of water on my dreams.

“Thank you,” she murmurs, eyes half closed. “Now go.” When I don’t move, she repeats, “Go! I’ll be here.”

She takes my hand in hers, peering at me through her eyelashes. “I’m so happy for you. So proud. Your parents and Hamza would be too. Look how you’ve changed.”

I give her one last squeeze before grabbing my lab coat. Today, this is my wedding dress, but in Germany, I’ll have a real one. With Layla. Safe and sound.





WHEN KENAN ARRIVES AT THE HOSPITAL, HIS SIBLINGS are right beside him. Lama’s eyes are wide with wonder, while Yusuf’s expression is curious and unclouded by sadness, giving me a glimpse of how young he truly is.

“Hey,” Kenan says, his eyes brightening at the sight of me.

“Hey.” I smile, feeling giddy.

“Hey,” Lama says, and I tear my stare away from Kenan to look at the little girl clutching his side.

She looks stronger, life lifting her features.

“How are you, Lama?” I ask.

“Good,” she replies and then glances up at Kenan, who nods at her. “Thank you for saving my life.”

Oh, ya albi. My heart.

I extend my hand and she takes it softly before I pull her into a hug. “Thank you for being strong.”

Her face is pink with shyness and she lets go of me to hide her face in Kenan’s side. He bites back a laugh, but there are stars caught in his irises, and I can’t believe the absolute peace I’m experiencing here, at the hospital of all places.

I peek at Yusuf, who’s staring at the ground, seemingly determined to ignore me.

“Salam, Yusuf,” I say, raising a hand in a wave. He glances at me briefly before looking away, his hands in his pockets and slightly frowning.

I look at Kenan, scared I might have done something wrong, but he shakes his head.

“He’s a bit jealous.” He sighs. “Thinks things are about to change and you’re stealing me away from them.” Then in a louder voice he says, “But I told him things are changing for the better; we just have three extra people as family now.”

Yusuf shrugs, still not making eye contact.

Kenan sighs again. “He’ll come around.”

“It’s okay. He and I will become best friends soon enough.”

I hear Dr. Ziad talking to a patient from the right side of the atrium.

“Let’s get married?” Kenan grins.

I blush. “I don’t have anything planned for today, so sure.”

We walk over to Dr. Ziad, who’s just finishing up with the patient. His hair is in disarray, and his shoulders are hunched from exhaustion. But when he turns around and spots me, he smiles.

“Salama!” he says. “Good morning.”

“Good morning, Doctor,” I reply and glance back at Kenan, who looks as shy as I feel.

Dr. Ziad looks between us. “Is everything all right?”

My palms sweat and nervousness churns in my stomach. “Yes. I—Dr. Ziad, I want to ask you a favor.”

He straightens. “Of course. Anything.”

“I—I mean—what happened—” I stutter, and Kenan steps in.

“I asked Salama to marry me, and we were wondering if you’d be the one to officiate,” he says in a clear voice, but his face and ears are red.

Dr. Ziad glances between us before laughing joyously. The sound turns many heads our way, and I’m afire.

“I—I—” he stutters, caught off guard with happiness. I have never seen Dr. Ziad this way before. He rubs his eyes and laughs again. “This is wonderful news! Salama, when did you two…?”

I fiddle with the ends of my hijab. “It’s a long story, but”—I look up at Kenan—“it was fate.”