Gently, Tala closed the door to her room, and sat on the edge of her bed, in the dark, and thought about the evening that had begun so well and with such promise. She tried to trace the weaving line of the conversation, to pinpoint what had broken the delicate thread of their flirtation and she came back once more to her own words: 'I told them it wouldn't be fair to Hani.'
It had seemed like the truth at the time, at the apex of the wedding crisis. It had contained the correct amount of self-blame, and even held the suggestion that splintering the engagement would be more beneficial to him than to her. But now it felt like only a glossy-surfaced excuse that did not touch the reasons beneath. Leyla's insistence had stirred up in Tala a new kind of guilt towards her ex-fiance.
Resolutely, without switching on lights, she reached for the phone and tapped in the familiar number.
Hello?'
'Hani? It's me. Is this a bad time?'
She meant the question in the most practical way. To ask if he was in the middle of a meal, or asleep. But the length of his silence reminded her that there could never be a good time for him to hear again the voice he had been in love with
'No, it's fine,' Hani said at last. 'Is everything okay?'
'Yes.'
He waited for more, for the reason why she was calling, but only a soft silence hung between them, as fragile as a spider's web
'Hani, I have to tell you something,' Tala began. She swallowed and held her hand to her forehead as she spoke, for her palm felt cool and calming on the hot skin. She could feel him waiting for her to speak, and she opened her mouth to try but she couldn't.
'Tala, you don't owe me anything,' he said, and his tone was not harsh, but was not kind either. There was a weariness to his voice that pierced her. She looked up to the windows, where thin slats of yellow light from the street poked in through the shutters and threw long slashes of brightness across the wooden floor.
'I never told you why I didn't marry you, Hani. Not exactly. And I'd like to.'
'Go ahead,' he replied and she closed her eyes against even the shards of light from outside. Perhaps if it was so dark that she could not even catch the shadow of herself, she would be able to say it.
'Hani, I've always been more attracted to women than men. Always. And so, even though I loved you, I wasn't in love with you, not the way I am with...' Tala cut herself off and took a breath. 'What I mean is, I realised I did feel that way about someone, and it was Leyla. But I was too scared to admit it to myself, never mind to anyone else.'
She knew he was listening because she could hear him breathing, could hear him clear his throat.
'Wow,' he said. Then, after a long pause and a cough, a touch of irony: 'So it really wasn't my fault?'
She laughed, a little, and the release of the breath brought up tears, and to her chagrin, she could not find a way to stop them this time, they pooled up without concern for propriety or form and she cried, as silently as she could, while Hani listened without speaking. When she had finished, and was fumbling in the dark for the tissues that were next to her bed, she tried to apologise but he interrupted.
'You should be proud of yourself, Tala,' he said. 'For admitting it eventually. Not many people do. Especially from our part of the world. And...I'm glad you told me. It helps. Really, it does.'
The lightness that he tried for could not rise above the heaviness of his tone, but she was grateful for his kindness, so grateful for his friendship.
'Tala, you can count on me to be totally discreet about this. You know that, don't you? I won't tell a soul.'
She wiped her nose and smiled. 'Well, maybe not for a day or two. I need to talk to my parents first,' she said, and he laughed, a throaty, happy sound this time.
'Good for you. And good luck,' Hani said. 'Because trust me, habibti, you are going to need it.'
Tala walked into the dining room at ten the following morning to find her parents in an expansive mood after a good dinner the night before and an excellent end to the evening for Reema in the casino. They greeted her with enthusiasm and ushered her in to join them for breakfast - a platter of tropical fruits which Reema steered solicitously towards her daughter.
'Have some papaya, mama,' Reema advised as she lit up a cigarette. 'It's anti-cancer.'
Tala considered whether she should point out the obvious irony as she watched the recommended fruit suffer under the pall of Reema's exhaled smoke, but her mother pre-empted her.
'Don't complain,' she said. 'I need a cigarette to get my system going in the morning.'
'I wanted to talk to you both,' Tala said quickly, composing herself. Reema inhaled deeply, narrowing her eyes to regard her daughter.
'Whatever you have to tell us can't be good, or you would be smiling.'
There would be no need for small talk, Tala realised. The gate had been opened to her, and she had only to march through it
'It is good,' she started boldly, determined not only to unload the basic premise, but to actively present it in a way that might possibly influence their reaction. 'I'm in love with a wonderful person.'
Omar frowned, while Reema bit on her cigarette holder. She prided herself that she always looked on the bright side of life, that she could find hope even where there seemed only to be despair - it was how she had gotten through life with two such disappointing children as Tala and Zina. But she knew in her heart that this opening was not good.
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