It's Not That Bad Chapter 3 1/4

“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. 

Badr- 

“What does Salima’s new apartment look like?” 

“Does she still have that insane poster?” 

“Does she need me even less now that she bought her own place?” 

That's what I was thinking about while we were in the elevator. Salima was looking at me, waiting for me to say something. She's always waiting for me to say something. She's impatient. I didn't have anything to say that could be said out loud in that moment. So, I kept my mouth shut. In all the time I've known Salima, the most important thing I've learned is that it's better to say nothing to her than to say something I haven't fully thought through. I spent an entire year struggling to get out of bed because I worded something poorly when I said it to her. She's so many wonderful things, Salima. She's beautiful, she's kind, she's fun, and loving, and even forgiving… if you apologize to her. However, she's also furious and wrathful if you get on the wrong side of her. 

“Take of your shoes, Badr! What the hell? Have you decided to be a White person?” She teased me. 

When did we get inside her house? I wasn't sure. I'd been in my head. We were inside of her house though; and I was halfway to her living room wearing my shoes. 

“Shit, I'm sorry.” I mumbled. 

“It's okay, I know we’re both tired.” She smiled. 

That response was…unlike her. She'd usually have some smart comment to make about it and walk away. I took off my shoes and walked them to the door. When I came back to the living room, she was gone. I thought about it for a moment, realized she couldn't have left because I was by the door, and decided that if it were pressing, she would have told me. So, I sat down on her couch and switched on the TV. She's kind of stingy, so it came at no surprise to me that she had a Roku remote. Not only is she stingy, but she's also obsessed with Old Hollywood and claims that expensive TV’s are “too HD”, she “likes the picture a little grainy”. When I first met her, I thought she was doing it to seem different from other people. Now I know that she’s genuinely a strange and slightly offputting person that does a good job of pretending that she’s not for short periods of time. I prefer her that way. I hate to see her run around fooling people. It disgusts me. I bite my tongue and keep it to myself, but I really hate who she’s become. I understand why she does it and I know she’s done great things by doing it, but every time I see her smile that fake smile, it disgusts me. She smiles her way through everything, she doesn’t let herself feel anything. She is neutral to everyone, she’s like a politician. Sure, she’s built a successful brand and business for herself, but she didn’t need to do that. She could have just been herself. She was herself for the first time in years tonight. When she pushed Faiza. I love the girl that pushed Faiza. I’ve been trying to explain that to my mother and Hamza for years. I do not love Salima when she sterilizes herself. I hate her when she does that. 

“Do you want to wear this?” Salima startled me. 

I’m not sure how long she was gone because I got sucked into watching Game of Thrones. I looked up to see what she was showing me. In her hands was a grey t-shirt and sweatpants. I looked past them and at her. She’d taken off her gown, washed off her makeup, and let her hair loose. She’d replaced her gown with a nightie that was just a step below lingerie. It was short and low cut, but it wasn’t see through. So, I wouldn’t call it lingerie. It was silk. Her hair looked very beautiful down. Whatever she’d done to it earlier left it in loose waves that framed her face elegantly. I guess I got really enamored by her and it made me emotional. She pushed the clothes at me again and I got very disgruntled at them. At the thought of where the came from really…

“You want me to wear one of your little situationship’s clothes?” I sort of snapped at her. 

“There are your’s, asshat” she snapped back at me and threw them onto the couch. “There’s a towel in the bathroom for you if you want to shower and some shampoo to wash all that pomade out of your hair. I don’t want it on my pillows.” 

“You want me to stay here?” I asked quietly. 

I don’t know why it upset her that I asked that, but it did. It greatly upset her. She frowned and her jaw clenched, then she sashayed over to the couch, snatched the clothes up and said “fine, if you don’t want to stay, then leave!” 

A younger version of me would have reacted badly to this. I would have left. I wanted to leave at first. My ego wanted to leave. I thought about how easy it was when I had been with other women. How they never talked back to me. Never questioned me. Were always just grateful to be in my presence. My therapist did a lot of work to help me understand that I sought that out because of my own insecurities though. I had to talk to someone about it because I was constantly in relationships with women that I didn't really like for any reason other than that they thought highly of me and expected nothing of me. Salima is not that. Which is, I suppose, why I could never shake my feelings for her. I was with her because I genuinely loved her. I wasn't with her because she drove me up the wall. She is rude to me, she chastises me, and is always pushing me to give her more. In therapy, I realized that I need that to grow, so I didn't listen to my ego when she told me to leave. Instead I calmly walked over to her, took the cloths from her hands, raked my fingers through her hair, and said “I felt a little jealous, thank you for the clothes.” 

“You're welcome. I'm sorry I got so upset. I guess I'm just feeling nervous.” She replied. 

I felt older, like really older in a way I'd never felt before when she said that. For the first time ever, I didn't feel threatened by her anger. I cannot say I was surprised not to feel that way; I'd been working on it for years. I can, however, say that I felt this sense of accomplishment. 

“I feel nervous too.” She replied. 

She didn't show me her face when she said that. She looked down. She's always been shy about her feelings. It used to deeply offend me. Like honestly it used to make me resent her. I felt resentment for her when she did it this time too. I didn't act on it though. 

“How can you be mad at her for being afraid?” 

Everyone asked me that when my mother told anyone she thought could influence me, to talk to me about my feelings for Salima. She was nagging me about not being married yet and her “intuition told her I was harboring feelings for someone”. Was it her intuition or someone that had kept quiet about seeing Salima and me out one day and decided my 34th birthday would be a good time to share it with my mother? I don't know.