Page 109 of Better Late Than Never

Our guide interjected, “The next shop has lovely Berber and Persian rugs.”

The boys glanced at each other, then at him. Grimacing, Quinn said, “We don’t have a ton of money.”

The guide waved that away. “We’ll find your mother a lovely rug. Come, come.”

We all exchanged looks, then shrugged. The guide had been great about helping us haggle prices down until he felt they were reasonable, and Alex had assured me the guy wouldn’t let anyone screw us over.

“If he says something is worth the price,” he’d told me the other night, “you can take it to the bank.” Then he’d shown me a photo of the Persian prayer rug he’d bought on one of his last trips. It was silk and handmade, and he’d bought it for a song.

So… why the hell not?

First things first, the boys needed to pay for the box they were also buying for Aimee. The shopkeeper only spoke Berber, so as he had all day, our guide interpreted for us, and we were able to settle on a price. I counted out a hundred dirham, paid him, and he lovingly wrapped the box in paper before handing it to me in a plastic bag.

“How much was that?” Landon asked under his breath. “Looked like it was like a hundred bucks!”

“It was a hundred dirham,” I said. “I think it’s about… ten dollars?” I looked to our guide for confirmation.

“About nine euro,” he said.

“Okay, so about ten dollars.”

“Cool,” Quinn said. “I’ll Venmo it to you when we’ve got WiFi again.”

I waved his concern away. “Come on. Let’s go look at rugs.”

With our purchases in hand, we continued to the next shop. A pair of shopkeepers greeted us and led us upstairs, and they offered us mint tea and cookies while they brought out some rugs.

Alex had told me the mint tea was exceptional, and he wasn’t wrong; it didn’t have that “herby” taste that a lot of teas did. It just tasted like mint. A little sweet, and hotter than I’d usually drink in such a sweltering place, but it tasted amazing, especially with the various cookies.

The rugs were mind-blowing. Savannah immediately fell in love with a Berber prayer rug. It was coarse wool, dyed a bright blue with intricate and colorful patterns, and the price—especially after some haggling and then converting from dirham to euro—was surprisingly low.

“Take my money,” she told them as she handed over her card.

While one of the shopkeepers rolled up and bundled her rug, the others continued showing us more. The instant they pulled out a stunning green silk Persian prayer rug, I knew the boys were sold. It was their mother’s favorite color, right down to the specific shade of rich emerald dominating the elaborate pattern, which was a mix of gold, white, black, and a couple other shades of green.

After some haggling, our guide pushed the shopkeepers down to a price that he thought was reasonable. When they converted the euro into dollars, though, both boys balked.

“Mom will like it a lot,” Quinn said to his brother. “But I’ll be almost tapped out on spending money for this trip.”

“Me too.” Landon frowned. “I mean, I don’t know how much I plan to actually buy, but?—”

“Guys.” I held out my card. “Don’t sweat it.”

They both blinked. “You’re—really?”

“When are you going to have another opportunity to buy your mom a rug like that?” I gestured at the shopkeeper and handed over my card.

They stared at me.

“Are you sure, though?” Quinn asked. “You and Mom are…”

“Yes, we’re divorced. But you two are in college and I’ve got a paycheck.” I smiled. “I don’t want you to be pinching pennies for the rest of your trip, okay?”

They still seemed uneasy, but slowly, they relaxed.

The shopkeeper, still holding my card, had hesitated, watching the interplay. I didn’t think he understood English, but he had to have picked up on my sons’ uncertainty. I gave him a smile and a nod, gesturing at the rug at our feet.

He responded with a big smile, then put my card into the reader he was holding.

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