The Vow

everyone is telling me. It hasn’t been that long.”

I hate and love her optimism at the same time. “What about Teta and Jido? And are the crazy cousins still crazy?”

“Everyone’s good. Teta and Jido are making a big fuss over us, and the cousins generally ignore me, which is good.”

“Good.”

“I didn’t realize how rich Teta and Jido are,” she continues in a whisper, which is probably unnecessary with her Kentucky-accented English. “Do you remember their house?”

“Sort of.”

“It’s huge. And we have, like, servants. People actually do my laundry and make my bed. Oh, and there’s a cook and a driver. Can you believe that?”

“I’d sort of forgotten, but now that you mention it, I do remember getting in trouble for stealing food from some guy in a uniform with a beard.”

“That would be the cook,” she says. “Amir.”

“Wow. Seven years, same beard. Go, Amir.”

She laughs, but it’s tight and nervous. There’s more. I’m torn between wanting to hear it and hoping she doesn’t tell me everything. “Have you started school yet?”

“It’s summer here too,” she says.

“Right.”

“I went to mosque the other day.”

“Yeah? How was that?” I ask. We only went to mosque in Louisville a few times. I guess people were nice enough, but I always felt like such a fake. We were too far away from everyone to be part of any sort of Muslim community. Nobody else there was the only Muslim in their school.

“It was nice,” she says. “Teta goes all the time, so I go with her. Mom and Dad not so much. And I’ve started wearing a hijab when I go out.”

I try picturing Sarina’s face framed by a head scarf or anything but her light-brown hair, and I’m lost. “Do you hate it?”

“No. Actually, I kind of like it.”

I’m not sure what to say. A few weeks ago I would’ve been disturbed, borderline pissed, but now, not really. She doesn’t sound particularly miserable. Except then I remember who I’m talking to. Sarina would sing on her way to the guillotine. “Is Mom wearing it too?”

“Yeah. Most of the women here do. It isn’t so weird when everyone is doing it. In fact, I stood out more those first few days before I started. So, how’s Duchess?”

“Duchess?” It takes me a moment to realize she’s talking about Satan’s Cat. “Still alive.”

“Tell me you’re being nice to her.”

“She’s getting free room and board at the illustrious Wisper Pines. That’s as much nice as I’ve got in me.”

“Seriously, just pet her every once in a while, okay?”

“That beast nearly clawed my eyes out last time I tried to touch her. Luckily for you, Annie seems to like her.”

“Good.”

She sounds relieved enough that I shelve the comment I was going to make about the rising black market rate of feral cat kidneys.

“So,” I say.

“So.”

But then there’s nothing to talk about. We’re not good at this—scheduled conversations, our noses too big, our words out of sync with our mouths. Even if we do this regularly, I have to assume the talking will just get harder and more unnatural as our worlds shift further and further apart. Until we don’t even know each other.

“So you’re coming over winter break?” she asks.

“Depends. Turns out I need special permission to leave and come back if I’m in the process of becoming a permanent resident.” Another of Sam’s bombshell revelations.

“Oh.”

“So Mom’s not there?” I ask even though Dad already told me.

“Nope.”

“Has she been a total basket case?”

“No. Yes. Both. Yo-yo. How’s Annie?”

“Fine.” I put my feet up on the coffee table, and Satan’s Cat hisses from her lookout. I flip her off.

“Are you giving me the finger? Was that Duchess?”

“No and yes.”

“Can I see her?”

“I couldn’t make that cat come to me if I was wearing a catnip suit.”

“Okay. Parting request, once she calms down, rub her belly for me.”

“Absolutely not.”

“Then ask Annie to.”

I roll my eyes. “If I remember.”

She smiles. “Thanks.

“You’re welcome.”

We hang up, and I stare at the empty Skype window.

Living alone sucks.

I could email Bryce. Yeah, I’ll do that. I open up a new email, ready to tell him the truth—or the lie that Annie and I are in the process of making true—but I can’t. I stare at the white screen and blinking cursor instead. There isn’t a good place to start. And I can’t even concentrate on it because as worried as I am about Bryce’s reaction, it’s not what’s really gnawing at me.

I’m worried about Annie.

She was so stalwart yesterday, a rock, an Amazon warrior, but then she had to go all comatose on me in the car after—how am I supposed to process that? I thought we were in the clear, but the delayed zombie routine means we’re definitely not. Not until she’s actually told her parents. If she’s even going to tell her parents.

Satan’s Cat thumps her tail against the wall.

“Stop it.”

She glares, keeps doing it.

“Seriously. Cut it out.”

It’s hypnotic, the swirly eyes, the rhythmic thump . . . thump . . . thump.

“I swear, I’ll put you in the bathroom.”

She smiles at me. It doesn’t seem like she should be able to, like that’s even anatomically possible for a cat, but I swear, she smiles, and that smile says Go ahead. Try.

I sigh. We both know I can’t put her in the bathroom without sustaining significant lacerations to my face.

I close my laptop, email unsent. Next week Bryce’ll be home for five whole days before he’s off to Greece. I’ll tell him then.

“Happy now?” I growl.

No answer. Just thump . . . thump . . . thump.

* * *

I spend the rest of the afternoon making room for Annie: cramming all of my clothes into the bottom two drawers, pushing my hangers to the left side of the closet, transferring my toiletries into just one of the drawers in the bathroom, clearing my books and retainer case from the bedside table. I strip the sheets and put clean ones on for her.

I’m not sure when I forget how miserable talking to my family made me, but I do. Somewhere between stuffing pillows into fresh pillowcases and scrubbing the toilet, the anger is replaced by a wave of sheer relief.