It's Not That Bad Chapter 3

“I heard you moved.” Badr asked me once he’d started his car. 

The question felt disjointed from our conversation until I realized he'd pull up the GPS on his car’s screen. “Yeah, I'm at 105 Hamilton now.” I told him. I sat quietly while he inputted the address, reversed out of the space, and headed towards my condo. Then, I continued. “Who’d you hear that from?” 

The corners of his mouth twitched ever so slightly as he realized he'd outed himself for stalking me a bit. “From someone I asked.” He admitted, rather boldly in my opinion. 

“Why were you asking?” I pushed. 

He raised his eyebrows, but kept his eyes on the road. Not willing to justify my agitating him with too much attention. “You know why I was asking.” 

Unwilling to justify his dedication to being mysterious, I required more of him. “I want you to say it.” 

He didn't react or reply until we stopped at a red light. “Because I hadn't seen you around in months and I wanted to know where you were.” 

I'd done all that pushing with no thought about what to do once he relented, so I didn't know how to respond. Thanks to my frontal lobe development, I just sat quietly instead of saying something stupid. I looked at his new car. I'd of course never been in it before that day, but I'd noticed when he bought it. It was a luxury car. Not the flashy fuckboy variety though. That's wouldn't be like him to buy. He didn't buy an AMG Mercedes or a BMW 3 series like most, no, he bought a Lincoln Corsair. I know that our parents and grandparents sing the praises of Japanese vehicles and they aren't wrong to. However, in the past 10 years, American car brands have stepped up significantly and are delivering luxury at the same prices as Japanese economy vehicles. American vehicles are also taxed significantly less than Japanese cars. I myself drive a Buick. I've been driving a Buick for 6 years now and I don't think I'll ever return to buying Japanese cars. The luxury that comes standard and the price for the cars is unmatched. I’d like to think that Badr came to the same conclusion in purchasing his Lincoln. The Corsair is the perfect vehicle for him. It's large, sleek, debonair, and reliable. I would describe it as just stylish enough to not be attention seeking, which is where it differs from Badr. Despite his phoniness,his “humble and quiet” act, he is particularly attention seeking. He loves to be obsessed over and adored. When he doesn't feel obsessed over, he is a big brat. He gets insecure, honestly. When he becomes insecure, he becomes intolerable. He whines about being “toyed with”, “used”, and “disrespected” if you stop fawning over him for even 10 seconds. Badr is obsessed with his reputation. He cares so much about what others are saying about him and how he’s perceived. I don't understand that. To me, it doesn't matter, I have nothing to hide. I suppose he feels he has a lot to hide. 

“‘Salima, I'm gonna pick up.” 

In all my thinking, I didn't hear his phone ringing on the CarPlay. Badr’s mother was calling. 

“Okay, I'll be quiet.” I acknowledged the call. 

He frowned. “For what? Haven't we behaved badly enough already? 

“Exactly, so I'm not gonna talk!” 

His eyes shifted, telling me he was only then understanding me. “I'm an adult, I'm not trying to hide this from my parents.” He quickly hit answer. “Hey, it's me and Salima” 

Hearing “me and Salima” nearly made me hurl. I didn't know why at the time. I just reacted, squirmed in my seat and provided a queasy “Salam, auntie.” 

“Hellllooooo!” She said like a wolf in sheep's clothing. She was being a big phony. Pretending not to be furious at Badr and me. Behind her sweetness was a demand for answers. “Headed home?” 

Badr didn't say anything. After 13 seconds went by, he looked at me in the rear view and raised his brows. I furrowed mine in response, confused. “Answer” he mouthed. I opened my eyes real wide at that. Why should I answer? When I didn't answer, Badr became determined to make me. 

“Where are we going, Salima?” He punted his mother’s question to me. 

Years ago, when we last knew each other, this would have angered me. However, I'm now better. I've grown up quite a bit. So, it didn't anger me. It instead made me realize that he just wanted me to answer because he didn't want to impose himself on me. 

“We’re going to my condo,” I replied. 

Despite my knowing that there was nothing wrong and that I didn't need to be nervous. I was. As soon as the words left my mouth, sweat stung my armpits and my heartbeat quickened. 

“Must be nice to have a spare bedroom in this economy. Business is good for you!” She said so sweetly. She was antagonizing us of course. She paused theatrically, as though she was imagining our discomfort and revelling in it. “Unless Badr, you're going home? It's just so late for you to be driving all around the city” 

“No, I'm going to stay with Salima” Badr said without reaction to her attempts to embarrass us. 

We looked at each other before quietly laughing to ourselves. I think we both knew we deserved this. We’d made a fool of her. My mother would have done the same to us if she were there. I'm lucky though, my mother moved to Honduras to open a Bed and Breakfast two years ago. 

“Salima, what do you do with your second bedroom? Do you use it for your art?” She continued. 

“No, auntie, I don't have a second bedroom. I have a small office though and I use that as a writing room.” 

“Oh Badr! You can't sleep on the couch, your back is so bad already.” 

At this point, I think we all found it funny. Badr’s mother sounded like she was about to laugh and we’d already started. After a couple quiet chuckles, Badr did something bananas. 

“I'm going to sleep in the bed with Salima” 

That wasn't very funny of him to say at all. His mother and I both audibly gasped. What a fucking psycho!  I think he thought himself funny for that because he had this conniving glimmer in his eyes and a shit-eating smirk on his face.

“Astagfirallah!” I shouted as I swung my hand across the car and into his chest. 

I didn't hit him that hard, but he decided to make a scene of it by yelling “Domestic!” 

“What's going on?” His mother whispered roughly. 

“Salima hit me!” Badr whined like a little boy. 

I rolled my eyes and kissed my teeth. “Great, now his mother is gonna hate me even more” I internalized. Badr thought it was all very funny. He couldn't stop laughing. His mother, though, caught me by surprise. 

“Good! You've been acting like nobody raised you all night.” She huffed. 

Badr didn't seem to care that either of us were upset. “You clearly wanted to know, now you know.” 

“Don't disrespect your mother like that Badr.” I said; appalled. 

“We’ve talked about this. I'm not going to lie anymore, I'm 33. If you don't want to know, don't ask me.” 

I didn't know what to say. What was already an uncomfortable conversation had just become unbearable. His mother couldn't find words either it seemed. She kept breathing in, then catching a breath as though she was going to speak, then letting the breath go without saying anything. Badr was circling looking for a parking spot near my building. No one spoke for over a minute. Then, his mother sighed loudly and delivered quite the mysterious message. 

“Salima, you looked very beautiful tonight. He’ll be happier if you two can work it out.” 

Badr’s face flushed at that. “Goodnight, I love you.”  He spoke as he reached for the CarPlay screen . 

I caught his wrist before he could hang up. His mother returned his goodnight. I, however, needed more information. “What do you mean?” 

“She doesn't mean anything,” Badr interjected. 

He had found a spot and was too preoccupied with navigating his way in to try to end the call again.

“Goodnight” she replied and hung up.