Three's Company

11. Panic

Three months. Three painstakingly long months and she had finally made it. Today commemorated three official months of being a divorcee, and she could not pretend like it was a good day.

Rather, it was ridden with heartache and melancholy. She was left to look back on her life and wonder how she had gotten to such a place.

She never in a million years saw herself being divorced at thirty, and still in love with the man who had left her.

Her mother's warmth generated on her phone screen, causing her to feel everything all at once. It was too intense, but she knew how to hide her true emotions well.

"It is, how you say, uh- bee-utifel."

Scooping more hazelnut ice cream onto her spoon, she popped it into her mouth as she returned her mother's amusement in a short laugh. "No, bee, just bew-tiful. Ana mish fah-meh, Mama. Why do you insist to speak English with me when we can speak shami?"

"How else will I know your husband language, Mama."

She knew to most her mother's response probably raised some eyebrows, though calling her Mama in return was a form of tenderness.

Her smile widened at the mere sentiment. "You don't need to know, he can understand Arabic perfectly well. You know this."

"Shoai, shoai! Mum-ken teh-ki ab-ta' shoai. You say what this understand mean?" Her mother wore thick reading glasses on her beautiful face, a headscarf loosely hung around her head with curls poking out. She was busy jotting down on her little notebook, phone perched up so she could see her clearly whilst she caught moments of her father cooking away in the tiny, cramped kitchen.

"Understand. Erm, it's like to try and know what someone is saying."

"Ma fhe-met, habibti. Slower." The accent only made her grin again, Otto was busy chasing after his own tail as she spoke on the phone.

"Mama! I cannot teach you English like this, it's impossible!"

"Yalla, yalla!" Her mother cried, dropping her pen and staring at her daughter through the screen. She gave her a funny look and shook her head. "A-ra-bey-ya-ti "a ad-di! You cannot help Mama, you are too busy for me? Hm?"

Mona rolled her eyes playfully. "Kan-man marra. I will teach you when Baba stops dying his grey beard. Okay?"

Which meant never. Both of the two women simply laughed as she heard her father cuss her out in the background.

The phone call reminded her of how much she missed her hometown, and how much she missed her family.

Heath had learnt how to understand and speak Shami in the first year of their dating, he said that it was only right since she had learnt his.

Of course, she didn't expect him to be serious but the moment she told her family about him, they wanted to meet him right away. Though this was on video chat, they wouldn't visit her country together until they had gotten engaged.

He had surprisingly impressed them all, including herself, when he was able to hold a conversation with each of her family members well. That was her parents, aunties, her nosy cousins and pretty much everyone in her small village that had heard about her foreign boyfriend.

She found it amusing, warning him beforehand that her culture could be a lot to handle at times. He didn't come from a community of closeness, not like her ethnic group at least.

He spoke to her mother and father in Arabic and had done so for ten years, and yet her mother still wanted to learn English to impress him.

Sinking her body back into the chair, Mona thought of her wonderful mother and their earlier encounter as she played her violin.

She wished she could tell the one person that would understand her the best what she was going through but she didn't want to disappoint her.

They loved him. Almost as much as her.

Anyway, the rest of her three-month anniversary involved staring at the television to drown out the white noise and getting ready for bed early to force herself to sleep.

She was doing her skincare in her bathroom, a fluffy white towel wrapped around her chest and her bare feet on the cold marble floor.

Mona had just put an avocado face mask on, still full from the dinner she had eaten not so long ago when the doorbell went.

Her curls were conditioned in a thick mask and left down her back, she couldn't be more mortified that someone had come to visit her.

Surely, they would leave if she didn't open it, right?

She tried to stay deadly still, not making a sound in case she gave away her whereabouts.

Like everything unfortunate situation in her life, it didn't work. The doorbell continued to chime and she sighed.

She at least managed to wash her face and put her slippers on before she left her room. Running down the stairs, one hand was holding onto the top of the towel, and finally, she unlocked the door.

Not needing to look up, she let out, "I told you not to come here anymore, Heath."

Oh, but it wasn't him. Much to her freaking disappointment.

"Hi, Mona." A sickly, high-pitched voice spoke, the obvious twinge of a country accent made her snap her head up instantly.

What the actual fuck.

She couldn't believe her eyes, staring in shock as a bubble of anxiety started to settle in.

She realised her mouth was gaping open and hoped the unwanted guest hadn't seen the surprised expression, she closed it quickly.

She was broken out of her thoughts violently by a flood of panic and a voice enters her head again.

"I'm Dove Culpo. Your neighbour, but I figure you know that already. We need to talk."

Mona was aware that there was a problem. She could tell by the way her hands trembled and her heart raced. She felt as though her ears would suffocate and that everything was both too loud and too quiet as she grasped at her chest for support.

She couldn't breathe, unable to make sense of the visit before her anxiety heightened tremendously and she was left to have a full-blown panic attack.