Page 12 of Not the Plan

“She was.” Karim shrugged.

“She works here; you live around the corner. Maybe—”

“Maybe nothing,” Karim said. “Even if I were interested, like you said. Sheworkshere, Ilivearound the corner. Let’s say things don’t…” Out in the parking lot, Karim caught a glimpse of a woman walking toward the grocery store. Her silhouette reminded him of Isadora-from-the-airplane. His breath caught,and he shifted in his seat, waiting for her to appear again as she passed between the rows of cars.

“Things don’t…?” Khalil looked up from his phone and followed Karim’s gaze. “What’s wrong?”

Karim leaned over in his seat, catching sight of her sandal-wrapped feet as she wove around a large truck. Something clattered to the ground beside her, and she stopped short, then her hand swooped to the ground to retrieve it.

“Bro? You all right?” Khalil’s voice registered, but it was distant. What were the odds he’d run into her again? She kept walking, and Karim sat upright, repositioning himself to get a view when she rounded the last two cars.

“Karim?” Khalil shifted into his line of sight, brow furrowed.

“Shhh!” Karim swatted a hand at him but didn’t say anything else, too focused on waiting for her to appear. Khalil followed his gaze.

The woman reached the sidewalk. She was very attractive, but not Isadora-from-the-airplane attractive. Karim slumped back into his seat. Then his face caught fire. Khalil’s grin was a mile wide.

“Okay, little brother!” he said, nodding. He glanced back at the woman again. “Want me to step inside for a minute? I’ll intercept the waitress, can’t let her disturb you.”

Karim shook his head. “Nah, cut it out. It’s nothing.”

“Dude. That wasnotnothing. When did you start looking again? Doesn’t matter. Go talk to her. It’s been way too long.”

“No,” Karim said. “She just reminded me of someone.” The words were barely past his lips before he regretted it. Khalil’s face lit up.

“Reminded you of who?”

—

The waitress brought their food, but there was no distracting Khalil. He wouldn’t let up until Karim told him everything. Spilling his guts was a little embarrassing, but he felt lighter once he’d done it. And his guess had been right, Khalil was proud of him,and he encouraged him to see the situation as a positive, not a failure to ask for her number. Halfway through the meal, their mother called Khalil, and he was more than happy to tell her that yes, Karim was eating his vegetables, and he’d met a girl. Khalil and their mom carried on like he was bringing Isadora home to meet her that afternoon.

—

That night, after dinner with Marcus, an old fraternity brother of Khalil’s, and his partner, Gabriel, Karim was organizing his books when Khalil called out to him from the bedroom.

“What is it? Gonna admit you introduced me to Marcus and Gabriel so I won’t be all by my lonesome in California?” The look on Khalil’s face shut Karim up as he crossed the threshold. “Shit, man. What is it?”

“I’m not trying to tell you how to live your life,” Khalil said, waiting for him in front of the dresser, hands on hips. “But I have to say I’m surprised you brought this with you.” He gestured to Karim’s watch case. “I dumped everything onto your bed to get rid of the last box. Didn’t notice it until I tried to find a good spot for your case.” Karim’s wedding band glinted back at him from the gap between the cushion and the frame of the last compartment. The one he never used.

“I’m surprised too,” he said. “Didn’t know where it was. Sure didn’t mean to bring it with me.”

Khalil nodded. “You wanna keep it?”

Karim’s “no” rushed out with his next breath.

“You want me to take it back for you?” Khalil asked. He pulled it out of the box, holding it between his thumb and forefinger, keeping the others outstretched, avoiding any unnecessary contact. “I could sell it,” he said.

There was a lot locked up in that curved platinum. Karim took a deep breath and Khalil turned his hand, getting the ring out of sight.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t think. Maybe it’s still difficult to—”

“Actually…” Karim put a hand on Khalil’s shoulder. “It’s okay. That’s the first time I’ve seen it in at least a year, and…” He paused, making a quick assessment of his emotions. “I’m good. Seeing it doesn’t bother me like it used to.”

Khalil shot him an enthusiastic smile.

“That is some damned good news,” he said.

Karim returned to the living room, assessing his feelings again. The hurt was still there. He’d come to terms with the fact that in a way, it always would be. But that pain was growth. When Laila had first left, the pain of abandonment had subsumed him. He’d known things had beenofffor years, but it had taken that break, that time alone, and working with his therapist, to understand that his wife had been actively abusive, not just difficult. He grabbed a handful of books from the box he’d been emptying and tried to focus on where they should go. His mind wasn’t in it, though. It was rehashing—but with distance—the fact, the actualfactthat he’d been an abused man, a victim of domestic violence. She’d never laid a hand on him, though there had been things in the apartment that had made physical contact when she’d thrown them. One of the very books in his hand, he realized. He put them quickly on the shelf and reached for a few more. During his therapy sessions, he’d come to terms with the fact that the emotional abuse had been worse; the emotional blackmail, the gaslighting, the successful attempts at shaming him for being a human with reasonable needs for respect and his own agency. He put some more books on the shelf.

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