Other Side

10 | The N in Talia

"Sabah al-khair."

That was one Arabic phrase Talia had down pat. Good morning. Its reply: still a work in progress.

"Sabah al-noor," Teta Salma greeted, smiling. She pulled out the chair next to her at the kitchen table and patted the surface, gesturing for her to sit. "How are you doing, Talia? I feel like I never see you around anymore."

"Why do you say that?" she laughed as she lowered herself to the wooden chair, grabbing the water pitcher from the middle of the table. She poured herself a glass and leaned forward to give her grandmother a kiss on the cheek. "I'm almost always home. Where else is there to go in this weather?"

"No, I know you are in the house, but..." Teta took a sip from her mug of tea, leaving Talia to itch in anticipation. "Someone has been talking to you more than I have been."

Talia kept her glass at her lips, smiling over the rim. "I'm sorry, I don't think I follow."

"Hm," she hummed and took another sip, "I must be hearing things, then."

Talia stood up and walked over to the breadbasket in the middle of the kitchen island. Seeing her grandmother still smiling in her peripheral vision, she changed the subject altogether, worried she'd lose her inhibitions and reveal the totality of her feelings towards a certain dweller of this house.

"Teta, I've always wanted to ask something. Can I?"

"What's wrong, habibti?"

She shook her head and held out a hand, not wanting her to think the conversation would go in a grave direction. "Oh no; it's nothing bad. I've just always wondered if it upset you when Baba stayed in California after college." She adjusted the setting on the toaster and turned around so she could face her again. "I always thought that distance wasn't that big of a deal—until this vacation, of course."

She sighed. "You know what, I'd be lying if I said that I wasn't upset at first, because I knew I would only see him on breaks or holidays, if even. But I immigrated here for a reason: for the opportunities for my children and their children. Like you." She sent her a warm smile, and Talia's heart constricted. Her sacrifice had worked, after all; her father had earned two master's degrees and co-founded a technology start-up that let her family live comfortably in the ever-inflating Bay Area. "Besides, he never cut himself off from us or your uncles. Those phone calls always made feel like I was living right near you all."

"Oh, really?" she asked, having been unaware of how often he called. "Does he always update you on me and Calvin?"

"Of course," she gushed, giving her a funny look. "What grandmother wouldn't want to hear about her smart and hardworking grandchildren?"

She laughed through a bite of toasted bread, finding her too cute for her own good. "Forgive me for asking. I'm just wondering how much I won't have to tell you thanks to Baba."

"Well, there was one thing that surprised me." She froze mid-chew, glancing at her raised finger. "You father once mentioned that...that boy. You know, the American one your mother despises."

"Despised," Talia said, smiling through the pain or the embarrassment—she didn't even know. "He's not in my life anymore."

"Oh no, I'm sure he was a sweet person, Talia. It's just..." They stared into each other's eyes for a few moments, finding identical brown pairs. Talia winced and braced herself, knowing she'd heard this speech before. "What's wrong with a nice, respectful Arab boy?"

There it was.

"You too, Teta?" Talia squeezed her eyes shut, holding back a laugh. "Did Mama force you to tell me this?"