Page 9 of Because of Me

“This is my favourite cousin,” Amira says as she wraps her arm around one of the bridesmaids. Her words slur a little, and she tips on her high shoes, falling against my arm as she speaks.

The woman under Amira’s hold seems younger but shares the same so-dark-it’s-almost-black hair. The silky champagne dress is less flattering on her, but her shoulders and arms are bare. Of all seven bridesmaids, only Amira is covered up with a cardigan.

Even in the deepest heat of summer Amira always wears full-length pants or skirts and long-sleeve tops. I never stopped to wonder why, just accepted it as part of her style and did my best not to think about what her delicate shoulders might look like, or how soft the skin below her collarbone would be. Until now. Until seeing her cousin in the same dress styled so differently.

It’s not my place to wonder though, no matter how curious I might be. And it’s probably inappropriate to be thinking about what’s underneath Amira’s clothes—even if it is only her shoulders on my mind—when we are on afakedate. Maybe, the more I remind myself of that, the less I’ll hope otherwise.

“I’m Ella.” Her voice is high-pitched, overly chipper, and a little loud over the static noise of the crowd and band.

“Noah,” I respond with a nod. As the evening has dragged on, I’ve realised the less I give, the easier. Amira and I came into the evening without anything that resembled a plan. We never discussed things like how long we’ve supposedly been together or who made the first move. Four months, and me, we established on the fly when the groom asked. It’s easier to come across as shy and untalkative, than to fumble my way through the lies.

Ella turns to grab Amira’s shoulders. “Have you spoken to my mum? She is thrilled about this—” she lifts a hand to gesture between me and Amira. “Apparently she had a bet with Aunty Mae that it was just a phase, and now she’s two hundred dollars richer.”

Amira freezes, but Ella doesn’t notice. She turns to me adding, “All thanks to you!”

“Great. Tell her she’s welcome, I guess,” Amira mumbles. Her eyes turn glassy and she chews on the inside of her cheek. “Good to know my sexuality is something to bet on.”

A thick lump forms in my throat and something heavy pounds against my chest. It’s not my business, but after her father’s comment earlier, and now this?

I went into tonight with a little blind hope. I’ve had a crush on Amira for years and I thought maybe this was my chance to show her the kind of date I could be. Granted, I’ve done a pretty shitty job considering all I’ve done is avoid her father, force her to drink water between wines, and fumble my way through conversations. But I wanted it to be … something.

After all this time, I made an assumption about the kind of person Amira might be capable of falling for. And now I think I was wrong.

Ella’s face drops as she watches Amira slowly fall apart. I sweep in, scooping my arm around Amira’s waist and guiding her towards the exit.

“Bye, Ella,” I call over my shoulder. “It was lovely meeting you.”

“Get your hand off my back.” Amira shimmies away from my touch. The party is finally dwindling down, so we don’t have to dodge between guests, but a few still linger. A few watch. Amira’s father has his arms folded across his chest and a deep crease cuts between his brows. He stands with his wife and another couple, who all look equally displeased. I ignore their fierce gaze and focus on steering Amira out the door before she breaks into tears.

They’re coming, the tears. Her eyes still glisten with moisture and now her lower lip trembles. Her shoulders shake.

We’re about three steps from the door when she spins away and takes a step toward the bar. She stumbles and I reach forward to wrap my arm around her waist. For most of the evening, we’ve managed to avoid too much physical touch. The odd hand grazing the other’s arm as we make chit chat, her tiny hand wrapped around my fingers as we wove through guests to mingle. Something sparks between us as I hold her close to me while she steadies herself.

If she feels it too, she ignores it.

“Champagne,” she mutters between shaky breaths.

More alcohol is definitely not what she needs right now. “I can get you real Champagne if you come home now,” I whisper in her ear. I’ve been telling lies all night, but this one stings my lips. Even if I could find somewhere selling French Champagne after midnight, I wouldn’t let her have any right now. She needs water, not wine.

“Promise?” she asks, turning into me.

Her head falls against my chest. For a moment, we hug, and I let her catch her breath. I ignore the eyes that feel like knives on the back of my neck. I ignore how perfect Amira feels pressed against me. I ignore the warmth spreading through my body and settling below my belt.

“Take me home,” Amira says suddenly, stepping back and looking up at me.

We walk out hand in hand, and when she shivers in the night air, I drape my jacket over her shoulders. The silence between us is easy, broken only by the crickets hiding in the nature strip, the beeping as I unlock the car, and the low rumbling of the radio as we drive off. We’re halfway home when Amira speaks with a sob.

“It wasn’t a phase.” Her admission cuts open my chest and all the hope I’d held on to melts away.

I don’t pry, it’s not my place. She didn’t deserve to have her sexuality berated by her father, or bet on by her extended family, and it was unfair their inconsideration forced her out. Me asking questions would only make it worse. The freezing sensation of my hope melting squeezes my heart, but I ignore it.

Amira droops in the passenger seat, resting her head on the window. By the time I pull up to her apartment building, she’s asleep. Her eyelids flutter with dreams and her rosy lips fall open as I turn the engine off.

I place my hand on her shoulder. “Amira?” I whisper, and when she doesn’t respond I repeat her name a little louder.

She doesn’t wake, only grunts, curling in on herself and pulling her hands towards her face. I don’t want to wake her. She looks so … peaceful. So content. Like all the pressure of the evening has fallen from her shoulders.

Reaching to the floor near her feet, I grab the small bag she left there, hoping her keys are easily accessible. I release a breath of relief when I find them with ease, hooked to the inside of the zipper. Stepping out of the car, the breeze is cool against my ears and neck. I grab my jacket from the back seat and make my way around to Amira’s door.

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