Don't Forget Me (34)

One and half years later,

"One pink pasta, and one green salad with no balsamic please," I told the waiter of Chocolate Bar in Alhamra.

"Matabeen balsamic?" my mom asked. I shrugged.

"Wayid 7ami'6," I told her. Plus I was on a healthier lifestyle so I'd been taking care of my body for the past year and a half, and it really paid off. I really felt confident in my new and improved fit body and it was a super great feeling.

I finally was on my Eid break from uni, and I couldn't wait to actually go out with my mom l2ana she's been pestering me the whole semester to go out oo kella ma yamdeeni. Fa al7een metwalyatni.

"Ma6la3aw ilmidterm grades malotich?" my mom asked.

"Yuma m6al3atni 3ashan tes2ileeni 3an ilgrades?" I teased.

"La wallah bas a7ati, shasawi," she said and I smiled.

"Inshallah minimum B+," I promised her, and it was kind of achievable since they were core subjects and not some stupid elective. Electives brought my grades down. I couldn't wait to graduate, just another course left.

"Shakhbar Layal?" my mom asked me. I nodded as I chewed my mouthful of pasta.

"Zaina, al7een ray7a Dubai," I told her.

I told my mom the truth about Lulu, not the Zaid part, but the Ghazi part. However, I also mentioned when Zaid intervened at the chalet.

It didn't really matter if I told her about Zaid or not because it was history, and it was a one-year anniversary to our first and last fight next week. Part of me regretted not texting him that I hadn't meant any of what I said and that I was just frustrated we'd been caught. However, maybe he did deserve better than me. Of course it was not Lulu, but someone better. Someone as kind, wealthy, and beautiful as himself.

So anyway my mom was so upset about Lulu and actually told me to stay away from her since she was trouble herself. I skipped the annual lunch gathering at her grandma's chalet for the first time last year. The food was usually amazing, so part of me was bummed I didn't go. 9ij makan lee khlg ashoufha wala Ghazi "blghala6".

"Mita il3asha malich?" she asked me.

"Ay 3asha?" I asked as I took a sip of my water.

"Malat madristich," she told me.

"Oh, chinna bacher bas mani ray7a," I told her. The waiter arrived with my salad and I was so looking forward to it.

"Haw laish, rou7ay sh3indich?" she asked me. The dinner was at some restaurant by the beach a couple of students from my high school had reserved for a reunion dinner. The dinner invitation came with an envelope and everything, super fancy.

 "Mali khlg ashouf ba3'6 ilnas," I told her as I moved my fork around the lettuce.

"Sh3alaich, wgufat 3ala hal wa7da hathi? Rou7ay istansay," she told me. If she knew it's not just "hal wa7da" I was worried about seeing.

"Umm bas yuma banat oo 9bayan," I told her, being careful.

"Haw a3arfich oo a3arif ili ma3ach, w ilni3im feehum. Rou7ay estansay," she said and I remembered how she greeted almost everyone at our high school graduation ceremony.

Okay my mom was more open-minded right now for some reason.

The waiter arrived with her pasta and my mom couldn't wait to eat, like mother like daughter.

"Meta bita'3adain 3nd ubouch?" my mom suddenly asked me. I shrugged.

"Mt'3adya 3enda gabel esbou3ain 3ala ma a3tiqid," I told her, and she nodded.

"Laish?" I asked her as I poked on a piece of corn.

"La bas as2al," she said. Her voice wasn't that normal.

"Yuma?" I said as I dropped my fork, concerned.

"Blsayara," she told me. My heart began to pound and I kept looking at her face for an explanation but she didn't give anything away. Typical mom move.

/

I think my mom forgot what she was  as she paid for her parking ticket in the parking of Alhamra.

"Yuma shkintay btgouleenli b chocolate bar?" I said bluntly. I was too lazy to dance around it until she figured it out.

"Shinu? Oh ee, la7'6a bas khal a6la3," she said as she maneuvered her car out of the parking lot and onto the main road.

"Ee, bas2ilich kan mawjoud Essa bl '3ada lama re7tay?" she asked.

My brother?

"Umm la2?" I told her.

 "Laish?" I asked her.

"Ubouch 6arda mn ilbait," she said.

I dropped my jaw. What? His favorite kid kicked out of the house?

"Ubai 9ij? Laish? Oo shdarach?" I said, God I could feel my head exploding.

 "Khalta ma3ay bldawam," she said, not answering my other question.

"Inzain oo laish 6rida?" I asked her.

"Wallah ma7adidat bl thab6, bas china ubouch shayif 3nda ashya2 mu zaina," she said.

"Shqa9dich? Drugs wala shnu?" I asked.

"Mn kalamha, ee," she said.

"Allah la yiblana," she said with an exhale.

"Ameen," I said.

God this was so hard to process. I actually felt bad for Essa, with a dad like ours I wasn't surprised he took drugs as a way to relieve pain. Just having lunch with him made me nervous to eat.

"Waina al7een?" I asked her.

"Sakin 3end rifeeja, tgoul khosh wa7id oo gayim fee i7awil ewadi yt3alaj," she said. I nodded. I suddenly felt bad for not knowing him, even if he never gave me the chance.

"Way yumma '6ayagtay khilgi," I told he

"Asfa mu qa9di, bas hatha ili 9ar. 3asa rabbi yahdee," she said.

"Ameen," I said.

It became quiet until my mom tried to change the subject into something I didn't even want to get into.

"Fa rou7ay bacher, '3ayray jaw," she told me.

I nodded.

"Inshallah,"

Well I guessed it didn't hurt to go.