Other Side

19 | History and Hindrances

Teta Salma stole Talia the next day.

They ended up in Back Bay again, strolling through an upscale shopping mall mostly for the sights. Boston was a city for seeing, as Talia had learned over the years, but much more so on a warm June day than a blustery January afternoon. A summer day could take you from the scenic water views of the Seaport to the old cultural charms of the North End and through the myriad of 3-D American history lessons scattered in between.

A good three years ago now she'd pondered sending a couple applications to some of the many colleges that dotted every corner of this city, but she'd chickened out at the last minute, choosing to venture a solid fifty-five minutes north of her house instead. Never had she regretted—heck, even thought about—her decision more than today.

But it was too late. She had no choice but to finish the rest of her college years (well, year) back home, and then it was off to the land of uncertainty: post-grad.

"Don't you think it's time we got a late lunch?" Teta asked, linking their arms.

Their four shopping bags nestled themselves between their bodies, as they had somehow convinced themselves they needed Massachusetts' entire supply of wool and cashmere, material that would be borderline useless for Talia back home. She was probably going to end up giving a few sweaters to her grandmother while trying to shove them all in her suitcase, having realized her grandmother's petite frame meant they almost wore the same size.

Either that, or she needed to lose a few pounds.

Talia pulled her toward the earthy Italian restaurant she knew was around the corner. "It's never not time for lunch, Teta."

"Is this where Zaid took you out to the other week?" Teta asked, diving straight in.

Talia could tell she had been itching to steer the conversation towards him all afternoon, but every time a mere gasp had escaped her mouth that could have led to the word Z-a-i-d, she had stopped her. Or really, shoved another sweater into her arms. Come to think of it, the damage to her grandfather's bank account was more her fault than her grandmother's, as apparently, it took a lot of cashmere to avoid the topic of a certain devastatingly handsome and lamentably charming housemate.

"No," Talia said, hiding her smile with her fingertips. "He went the traditional route. You know, mezze. Lots of academic conversation. Mostly respectful boundaries."

Like shoving his tongue into my mouth once we got home that night...

A confused wince crossed Teta's face at the last phrase, but she said nothing, nodding to herself and grabbing her glass of water. "Well, Zaid is a bright one. I've never met anyone who can first talk to you about classical poetry, then civil engineering, and somehow end the entire conversation in perfect French."

She blinked. "Zaid speaks French?"

Teta nodded. "Oui, moi aussi."

"You speak French?"

There she was thinking her two semesters of college Spanish was a feat.

"Well, it's been many, many years since getting yelled at by nuns in Latin and French class, but the trauma let the languages stick more than I thought they would." Sighing, she added, "I only wish I learned English before those other two."

Talia noticed the downward movement of her lips and those downcast eyes. "Oh, come on, Teta, your English isn't bad at all. You've been living here for half a century at this point."

"Thank you, ya rohi, but apparently some people do not agree." Ah yes, patriotic Chad and monolingual Karen who believe the official language of the US is American. After a brief pause, her lips parted again, and Talia could swear they were forming into a Zai—