“I would go to services, and they would tell us that we should just speak to Jesus, and he would enter our hearts. But I never felt anything. My mother thought that was on purpose. My father dismissed it as a rebellion for her leaving us. He practically encouraged it.” He laughed bitterly. “As if a teenage boy would decide to drive a wedge into his family for nothing? For enjoyment?”
I didn’t know what to say, so all I said was, “I’m so sorry. That must have been very painful.”
“I hated all of those people. They thought they were saving us and they were so proud of having converted Muslims. We were treated like trophies. When I went to school, I told her I was an atheist. My mother said she still loved me, but things were never the same. And when she found out that I had a boyfriend...she didn’t speak to me again. We were still estranged when she died.” He put a hand on my shoulder. “I know how it feels to have a parent’s religious beliefs supersede the love they should have for their child. But I don’t think your mother is capable of walking away from you forever.”
“Well, one parent was,” I reminded him. Logically, I knew that he was right. Still, there was that voice in my head that warned if I was easy to discard by one parent, that probably extended to the other one, as well. I pushed my plate away. “I’m not actually very hungry right now.”
“Sophie...” he began as I stood to leave.
“I’m going to go take my shower.” I tried to pass it off like it was no big deal. He didn’t follow me, so maybe I had convinced him.
In the shower, I leaned my forehead against the cold marble while the hot water streamed down my back. Was it selfish of me to want Neil and El-Mudad, if it was going to hurt the people around me?
Why should you hurt yourself to make others more comfortable?
The totally-mean-to-Sophie part of my brain wanted to argue with that, but even it couldn’t think up something that would sound plausible. I hadn’t told my mother about our relationship. I’d done what I could to protect her from the reality of it. The fact that she’d found out had been her own fault.
So, why did I feel so guilty?
Everyone was going to find out at some point. Ten years from now, when our “houseguest” was still with us, people would have a hunch.
Which meant that eventually, Valerie and Laurence would have their suspicions confirmed.
If we hadn’t been able to keep the secret for four months, how could we keep it secret long enough to avoid it affecting Olivia? And would it change her for the worse, really, if she grew up with it being normal?
By the time I’d showered and dressed, I’d worked myself into a frenzy of worry. I’d gone from, “Mom will eventually get over it, but we’ll always have that uncomfortable three-way sex reality hanging between us,” to, “We’re going to lose Olivia forever.” I was on the edge of a panic attack when El-Mudad came into the closet, already dressed.
“I’ve called Neil,” he informed me. “He was leaving as soon as he could.”
“Oh, thank god.” I sank into the firm leather chair in front of Neil’s shoe rack. “Because I’m like, barely holding it together here.”
El-Mudad seemed hurt by that. “I’m here for you, Sophie. I’m always here for you.”
“I know you are!” I hurried to reassure him. “I know. I’m just saying, I need both of you. I’m high maintenance right now.
“Why don’t we go relax?” he suggested. “It’s a lovely, gloomy day. We can sit upstairs and watch the waves.”
“That actually sounds really good right now,” I admitted with a tired laugh.
“Dress in something warmer. And bring a blanket up. I’ll go turn on the heater,” he said, and kissed my forehead.
The cupola balcony was accessible only through our bedroom. A small conservatory adjoined the master suite, and from there, stairs led up to the sprawling deck that wrapped around the turret-like end of the house. In the winter and spring, panels of canvas with flexible plastic windows enclosed the space, but we still rarely used it during those months because they didn’t entirely keep the weather out. When I joined him, El-Mudad had already unbuttoned two of the panels and rolled them up, letting in the sound of the violently tossing ocean across the expanse of sand and beach grass.
“It’s so windy!” I said, hugging the blanket tighter around myself.
“Not back here.” He motioned toward where he’d pulled the wide double lounger back from its usual position. The standing outdoor heater warmed the space already.
We settled onto the lounge and covered ourselves up.
“This reminds me of Venice,” I said with a contented sigh, nuzzling my face against his chest. The sweater he’d chosen was a little scratchy beneath my cheek, but I didn’t care.