The Badboy, the Catfish & Me

Fifteen

I was frying an egg for breakfast the following day with one fist on my hip and the other hand waving a spatula as I tapped my foot to an unknown rhythm. My mom walked into the kitchen and raised an eyebrow.

"You're up early," she said, heading to the fridge to retrieve a jug of apple juice.

"Mhm."

I didn't want to admit I couldn't sleep after listening to Valentino's voice. I was too tingly all over. I wondered if God would forgive me since Valentino and I played so late that I was able to pray the predawn prayer.

"Oh," I said, "Did you talk to Baba about making me late the other day?"

"Yes." My mom poured the juice into two ceramic mugs. "He got an earful from me."

I frowned at the solidifying yolk. "I was so close!" I gestured dramatically with the spatula. "I could've gotten one for all four years of school."

"Maybe I need to give your baba another earful," Mama returned the apple juice to the fridge and sat at the table with an unopened yogurt cup.

I sighed. "Yelling at Baba isn't going to get me that award. I'm just frustrated and need to vent it out."

"Okay, I won't yell at him again," Mama said, walking over to rub my arm. "And I'm sorry you couldn't get that award." I turned off the stove, plated the egg, and nodded to accept the gesture. "But I know you'll be valedictorian. Inaya, are you getting enough sleep?"

My heart skipped a beat. "You know, sometimes I don't sleep. My grades are okay." I walked away from my mom, hiding my unease by pretending to look extra hard for a fork.

"You don't need an award to know you're great," Mama continued, pushing aside one of a few strands of silver-streaked hair. "Which you are."

"Thanks, Mama."

"Also, I'm going shopping today, too," she added. "You wanna come?"

I hid my hesitation by shoveling a piece of egg into my mouth. I planned to reach level 38 before Valentino went completely MIA due to soccer practice.

"Another time?" I suggested after swallowing. "I want to stay in. But you could buy some car freshener, though. The car had a weird smell."

"Really?" Mama furrowed her brows, frowning at the complaint. "It could be the air conditioning. I'll ask your baba to look at it."

"Okay."

My mom stood to place the yogurt cup in the recycling bin and the foil lid in the trash. "I can help with your precalc tomorrow, too."

"Okay, tomorrow morning then."

While I finished my breakfast, Mama left to sit in the living room with her laptop. I washed my plate and then went back to my room. I squatted beside one of my shelves and pulled out my senior year scrapbook. A quick rundown showed Valentino on many occasions. I brushed my thumb over the latest one. I didn't want to hide my feelings, and I didn't want to be a bad Muslim, either. Putting the scrapbook back, I walked to the living room.

"Hey, Mama, I have a serious question."

My mom pushed her laptop screen down to give her attention.

I dug my heels into the carpet, knowing my next words would embarrass me.

"What if a Muslim likes a non-Muslim?"

"Wow," she started, furrowing her brows a little. She was quiet for several moments after. "That's how it started with me and your baba. But that relationship was difficult, Inaya. Really difficult."

I tilted her head in confusion. I had only seen love and cooperation between her parents. Of course, there had been some tense days between them, but nothing a cuddle on the couch couldn't fix. Hadn't it always been like that?

Seeing my reaction, Mama placed her laptop on the table and patted the seat next to her. I quickly settled in.

"In the beginning, your baba was...different. He had a lot of bad habits. They were 'normal' for most but weren't good habits for Muslims."

"Oh." I pursed my lips. So, when my dad had said he'd 'gone out with the boys' for prom, it probably meant more than just having a fun dinner, as I imagined.

"When we first met in college," Mama continued, "I was constantly overstepping our classmate relationship. You could probably describe me as giving 'mixed signals' since every time I did something that showed I liked him, I backed off very quickly because I felt guilty for doing something haram. And it'd be like that over and over until I decided to confess. I knew the only way I'd get over him was if he rejected me. The only thing was, he didn't."

"Happily ever after?" I suggested.

Mama laughed a little. "Not yet. You see, your nana and nanu were very traditional, but they understood the concept of being in love. So, I knew if I'd brought someone home, they'd consider him if he was a good Muslim. But your baba wasn't ready for that. For a while, after we confessed our feelings, he never brought up making us marriage-serious. I'd spend so many nights crying that he could just break it off when he got tired of using me. That's how terrible it was."

"That does sound terrible," I agreed. Would Valentino have done the same after he asked me to prom? Like me enough to hang out and dance, but not enough to want to be with me?

"Yeah, and you know why? Because he wasn't a Muslim. I put myself in a situation where I wanted to be a wife and think about children and having our own home, but I couldn't because the man I chose wasn't Muslim to understand that about my faith. Please don't fall in love with a non-Muslim."

My face suddenly went red, but my mama didn't sound accusatory at all. Her words were a plea coming from the scars in her heart.

"It wasn't like you chose to fall in love with Baba, right? You didn't think he'd hurt you."

"That's right." My mom inhaled and exhaled softly. "When your Aunt Naomi made me choose between my peace and your baba, it was a struggle in here." Mama put a hand over my heart. "It's where the greatest battle any Muslim faces. Always is."

"Inner struggle," I said.

"Jihad, yes." She brought her hand back to her lap. "I guess I'm trying to say: be in control of what you do when you can't control how you feel. It was only by some miracle that your baba changed. He dropped those bad habits so that we could get married as Muslims, and he hasn't done them since. A miracle," Mama repeated to herself. She then looked at me, and her voice went soft again. "Inaya, miracles are called miracles for a reason. They don't happen often, and you never see them coming when they do happen."

I pursed my lips and watched Mama's face in earnest. "Why do you think Baba made the change?"

"Hm, I can't say for sure. Maybe Allah saw that I would let go of the one thing I desired most for His sake," Mama added with a light smile. "Your baba was raised with completely different morals, unlike the one we taught you. But the outcome for you and him is the same. That's kind of special to have Allah choose you, don't you think?"

I nodded. "Were Baba's parents okay with it?"

"There are reasons we don't talk withthem...religion is part of it." Mama pushed up her glasses. "I'm speaking aboutyour baba's habits, too. After everything, Ireally do hope it never comes back to that." I didn'tunderstand what she meant, but Mama opened her arms for a hug. I met her tightembrace. "He still gave me everything I could have ever wanted."