Page 48 of Yours for the Season
“Why do I imagine you with a hacky sack?” she asked.
“Ultimate Frisbee,” Tom said. “Andy called me a college stereotype.”
“It sounds like Andy had your back,” Sameera said, and after a moment, Tom nodded.
“What about you? Is Bee your bestie?” Tom asked, nudging her shoulder. He had sat down and somehow shifted closer; his friendly gesture sent a shower of sparks through her body. She put some more space between them—for his protection as much as hers.
“Bee is awesome. But to be honest, for a long time I never felt I needed a best friend because I had Nadiya,” Sameera said. “I told her everything. She knew about Hunter from the very start. She didn’t like him, but she doesn’t like most people. We’re so different. I floated through school, but Nadiya always knew what she wanted to do.”
“What’s that?” Tom asked. His fingers caressed the edges of the blanket she had drawn up, and she couldn’t look away.
“To save the world.” Sameera smiled wryly. “Her faith is strong, too. She used to call me Kafir. It means ‘unbeliever.’ She meant it as a joke. I think.”
“That’s kind of mean,” Tom said. “Did that bother you?”
Did her sister’s teasing, however threaded with love, bother her? “Yes,” she said, surprising herself. “It’s not that I don’t have faith, exactly. It’s just that the volume is turned way down in my heart. But for Nadiya and my parents, it’s turned way up. She even wears a hijab, the head covering. She started when she was sixteen. My mom tried to talk herout of it. No one in my family wears it, but Nadiya has always been stubborn.” She smiled at the memory of that conversation, her mother’s careful arguments against wearing the hijab and Nadiya’s crossed arms and raised brow, her repeatedThis is what I have decided to do, and I accept the consequences. Stop worrying, Mom. I promise I’ll give you something real to worry about soon enough.
And she had. As soon as she graduated high school, she had taken a gap year and spent it as an aid worker in Pakistan. She had then returned to the United States and attended college, where she majored in political science and international relations, then promptly signed up for the Peace Corps. The sisters remained close throughout, keeping in touch through texts and WhatsApp phone calls. When Hunter left, and Sameera realized the extent of the debt he had left behind like soiled underpants, Nadiya had flown home to be with her. She sat with Sameera while she cried on the kitchen floor of the condo she wasn’t sure she could afford anymore, then helped her come up with a plan to climb out of the mess that was her life.
Nadiya loved her, even when Sameera felt like she wasn’t enough. Her love had been a tether during dark moments; it had helped give her the courage to get back in touch with her parents, and her steady encouragement had made their hard-fought reconciliation possible. Which was why her silence over Tom was so hurtful. She hoped her sister hadn’t finally washed her hands of her. Sameera wasn’t sure what she would do without Nadiya in her life.
Tom absorbed all of this in silence. “I’d love to meet her one day.” He paused. “What does she think about us?”
Sameera shook her head, then shrugged. “She thinks you’re my latest mistake.”
Another beat, another charged moment of silence. “Am I?”
It was close to two in the morning at this point, but she felt more awake than ever. Maybe she should stop overthinking. “I don’t know,” she admitted, and Tom’s face went carefully blank at her response.
If only Nadiya were here to talk her down from her spiral, and remind her that she was here for two reasons only: to charm a billionaire so she could save her job, and talk to her parents. Not to kiss Tom.
She blurted, “Any updates from Andy?” just as Tom said, “Thanks for sharing your story with me.”
He paused, and a strange expression crossed his face. “Not yet. I’ll text again in the morning, and let you know what he says.” Tom paused. “It’s late, and we have a long day ahead. We should get some sleep.”
It was Christmas Eve; no doubt their parents had a full day planned. Still, his quick dismissal, after everything they had shared tonight, stung. Not that it should—she was the one who had yanked the emergency brake at the first sign of things getting complicated.
As she made her way back to the guesthouse, she could feel his gaze burning between her shoulder blades. But when she turned around, he was already gone.
Chapter Seventeen
Sameera was first in the kitchen later, and she stood staring morosely at the Cookes’ fancy coffee machine when Barb joined her. A few moments later, Sameera gripped a fragrant-smelling latte like a life preserver.
“I hope you don’t mind my saying so, dear, but you look as if you really needed that,” Barb said with a smile. “Late night?” Sameera flushed.
“I couldn’t fall asleep,” she admitted. “Tom and I were up talking.” Even after she’d left him on the patio, her thoughts kept doomscrolling between him, Hunter, her job, her parents ... She wanted to text Nadiya again, but part of her knew she couldn’t handle being ignored.
Barb laughed. “Goodness, child, you don’t have to look so guilty. I was young once, too. I remember what it’s like to lose track of time when you’re with someone special. Not that you want to hear about any of that, of course! Why, when Rob and I first found each other, we were on the phone for hours. We were long-distance for the first few years.”
Sameera smiled. “I’d love to hear that story,” she said. She was curious about how Rob and Barb had met.
But Barb changed the subject. “Ancient history,” she said. “What would you like for breakfast?”
Fifteen minutes later, she was seated at the large breakfast counter in Barb’s kitchen, feasting on a pile of fluffy scrambled eggs and orange juice, reaching for toast and accepting a second latte. She looked around the kitchen—as usual for this time of year, the sun had not risen for the day yet, but the warm interior lighting made the house feel welcoming,despite its size. Cooke Place was enormous. Sameera had been in many large homes in her life; her parents’ well-heeled friends had bought sprawling houses in gated communities all across Georgia and other states, but this house was something else. She could feel the history in the walls, and though it had a well-loved and lived-in look, she was pretty sure Cooke Place could host two dozen guests and still feel empty.
“How do you maintain a place like this?” she asked.
Barb laughed. “With a lot of help, and the understanding that you won’t get to everything. I can’t remember when the attic windows last had a good scrub.”
