“Thanks,” she whispered when she pulled back.
“Do you still have his cat?” he asked.
“Roscoe? Of course. He turned five last week.” She pulled out her phone and showed him photos of the oversized tabby.
“Hold up.” He paused at the most recent one. “Did you really stick a birthday hat on that poor creature?”
“Of course I did. Five is a milestone year! Nasir would approve. He had a whole collection of hats for Roscoe.”
“Roscoe hated every single one.”
“Too bad he looks adorable in them. Remember the one Nasir got him for his first birthday?”
“The crown?” He laughed. “He had that true-to-life Roscoe cake commissioned too. Poor cat saw it and freaked out. Hid under the bed the rest of the evening.”
“Nasir was so disappointed we couldn’t get a group picture with him.”
Haris’s eyes softened as he scrolled through the photos. It wasn’t easy to think of Nasir, but it was comforting to talk about him with someone who loved him too.
The scent of barbecue-tinged smoke drifted over, and Haris looked toward the resort.
“Time for me to join the festivities,” he said. “I’ll see you at tomorrow’s airboat excursion?”
“I thought tomorrow was the tour of Las Olas?”
“The wedding party is going on an airboat outing. It’s supposed to be some kind of bonding exercise or something.”
“Wonderful.” Hena sighed.
He waved goodbye. As she watched him walk away, something rustled behind her. She turned in time to see a rabbit—scruffy and gray—poke its head from the brush. It bounded across one of the pathways, growing smaller before rounding the bend. She pictured the alligators lurking along the trail and shivered.
Glancing at the path leading back to the bridal shower, she drew in a long breath. She had her own alligators to contend with, didn’t she?
But she had chosen to come. She chose to stay. Icy stares be damned.
6
•
By the time Hena returned to the bridal shower, the patio was crawling with wedding guests. True to their marching orders, the women around her wore frocks, saris, and shalwar kamizes in varying shades of lavender, pink, periwinkle, and baby blue.
In contrast to the sea of pastels, Lulu wore a low-necked cream kurta and matching tights. Her hair was pulled back in a loose, stylish braid, brown strands framing her glowing face. As uncomfortable as Hena felt about the glances cast in her direction, she couldn’t help but brighten at the sight of her sister. Lulu was a beautiful bride.
The bridesmaids ushered guests through the carefully choreographed order of events. Though the bridal shower games were as excruciating as Hena had anticipated—“pass the bridal bouquet” hot potato, toilet paper wedding dresses, and “pin the kiss on the groom”—they kept her distracted. So distracted, in fact, it wasn’t until they broke for food that she realized her mother wasn’t there.
She found Khala by the punch bowl.
“Where’s Ammi?” she asked.
“The morning outing took a lot out of her,” Khala said. “She’s resting.”
“She’s not joining for even a little while?”
“She wanted to, but Gita said she should take it easy. A bit of weakness is all.”
There was no way her mother was feeling just “a bit” of weakness. “Grit your teeth and push through” might as well have been Ammi’s ethos. It’s what she told Hena when she dragged her to tennis practice with a twisted ankle. Insisted Hena deliver the school assembly speech despite a raging fever in seventh grade. She had been so concerned with appearances that the night of Hena’s wedding, when her world had effectively ended at their family boathouse, Ammi had swept past her to comfort Nasir’s mother instead. Hena had understood the gesture—an attempt to placate, to prevent a bigger scene—but it hadn’t worked. It had only made the gossip grow louder.
“I don’t know why Gita cleared her to come to the shop. Anyone could tell it was too much for her,” Hena muttered.