In a Perfect World by Trish Doller

Author:Trish Doller
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Simon Pulse

CHAPTER 19

I sit in the front seat of the car for the very first time as Adam drives us to the next somewhere. Somewhere he claims I will like and I believe him because he hasn’t been wrong yet. He drives with his left hand and rubs his right hand down his jeans-covered thigh. I want to reach over and hold his restless hand, but I don’t because all of this is totally new to Adam, and I am not entirely comfortable being the “experienced” person in this relationship.

“So you talked with Magdi about me,” I say. “What about Bahar?”

“Bahar reminded me that becoming a chef is my goal and that one day my family will expect me to marry a Muslim girl,” Adam says. “He says at best you distract me and at worst you are a sin.”

“That’s pretty harsh.”

“The imam at the masjid would say that the devil does not whisper things you do not wish to hear; he tells you a beautiful story that you want to believe.”

“I’m not a devil,” I say. “And I don’t want to be the Western girl who lured the good Muslim boy into the woods. Do you think we should stop this before we even start?”

“No.” He says it quickly and with a certainty that makes me smile.

“Okay, so what do you think?”

“Before you came to Cairo, I had very little interest in girls,” he says. “So why now am I interested? Why do you turn my head?”

“Good questions.”

“At first I think it was because it is impossible not to look at you when you shine like the sun,” he says. “But then—”

“It was Liverpool, wasn’t it?” I deflect with a joke because there is an intensity in his eyes that overwhelms me. Falling in love with Adam would be such a short, easy leap.

He laughs. “If you were a Chelsea fan, I would not have introduced you to koshary.”

“If you were a Chelsea fan, I wouldn’t have let you.”

“This is what draws me to you,” he says. “The things you say make me smile, and you try to understand my language and my culture, even when it frightens you and makes you angry. Since we have met I feel both happy and terrible all of the time.”

“I . . . don’t know what to say to that.”

Adam reaches across the center console and laces his fingers through mine. His palm is a little damp and my heart melts into a puddle. “Never before have I been so confused about what is right or wrong,” he says. “My faith says I should not be with you, but this happiness . . .”

I nod as he trails off. “I feel it too.”

The afternoon sun moves toward the horizon as we drive through the city, beyond Manshiyat Nasr, and up into a low, dun-colored range of hills. Adam keeps hold of my hand and tells me how he used to let Aya play with his hair when they were little. “She would make tiny braids all over my head,” he says.

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