Page 133 of Whisper
For not seeing each other in over a decade, and for only talking twice a year, it went better than he’d expected.
David spent a week gearing up to call his mother. Kris caught him pacing in front of the phone, staring at it and mentally composing what he was going to say. When he finally decided to call, they sat outside on their porch, David’s favorite spot, and Kris held his hand.
“Mama,as-salaam-alaikum. It’s me.”
“Wa alaikum as-salaam! Dawood!” Her voice, warm and rich, erupted from the phone. “How are you, my son? Where are you? It’s been so long since we spoke.” Her voice held a gentle reprimand.
“I’m sorry, Mama. I’m outside Washington DC now. I’ve left the Army. I work for a contractor.”
“Oh.” She didn’t say much about that. Contractors’ reputations had been hit hard, especially in Arab communities. Most Americans called contractors mercenaries. Most Arab communities called them murderers.
“Mama...” David took a deep breath. “Mama, you’ve always wanted me to be happy, right?”
“In shaa Allah, it is what I pray for, Dawood. That you find your way to happiness, and to Allah, again. They are one and the same,habibi.”
David flinched. “Mama… Why did you not remarry? After…”
She didn’t speak, not for a moment. “Because I married your Baba for this life and the next. We were two souls meant to be together,habibi.” She paused. “Why do you ask me this now?In shaa Allah, is there a reason…”
“There is, Mama.” David’s voice shook. “I’ve met someone. Someone who, I believe, is the same for me. Part of my soul is theirs. And I am so happy, Mama. So happy.”
“Allahu Akbar! Dawood! This is a blessing from Allah!Bismillah, I have prayed for you to find a loving wife, a woman who can calm your soul! Dawood!Allahu Akbar!”
David squeezed his eyes closed and clenched Kris’s hands. “Hisname is Kris.” He held his breath.
His mother stopped. Stopped everything. Stopped cheering. Stopped praying, praising Allah. Stopped celebrating. Stopped breathing. “You mean… you have found a friend? Not a wife? This is like the friendship of the Prophet,salla Allahu alayhi wa sallam, and Abu Bakr?”
Abu Bakr, the Prophet Muhammad’s best and closest friend, and the father of Aisha, Muhammad’s most influential wife. The two men had been inseparable, brothers in arms and in faith, a model of friendship for over a millennium to Muslims.
Kris bowed his head. She wasn’t getting it. She waschoosingnot to get it.
Cringing, David trembled in Kris’s handhold. His expression crumpled, and he curled forward, dragging one hand over his face. “Mybestfriend, Mama. My best and closest friend. Kris will be with meforever. In this life and the next.”
Silence.
“Do you understand what I’m telling you, Mama?”
“Dawood, I am grateful you have found such a deep friendship. I am. But,habibi, do not let this friendship take the place of what you need. The love of a wife, and a family. I will continue to pray for your heart to find its match in a wife.In shaa Allah, your wife is waiting for you. It will happen,habibi. I know it. You will find your love.”
“Mama…”
“I can ask my friends about their daughters. If you would like help? I thought you wanted to do things the Western way, but I can help you,habibi.”
“No, Mama.” Tears trickled down David’s cheeks, rivers that turned to waterfalls at his jawline. Kris squeezed his hand until it hurt, until he thought all his bones would break. “No, Mama.In shaa Allah, I will find my soul mate.” David squeezed back.
“Ana bahibak, habibi.” His mother’s love flowed over the phone line. “I pray for you every day.”
“Mama.Ana bahibak.”
He hung up before she could say anything else, cutting the line and dropping the cordless phone on the porch. He pitched forward, burying his face in both hands as sobs tore through him. Kris kneeled, holding him as David’s tears soaked his shirt. “I’m sorry.”
“She’ll never accept it. She’ll never understand. Even if I brought you to her, showed her how much I love you…” He sniffed, tried to wipe his tears away. More fell. “I wish I could introduce you to my father.”
Kris shook his head, unable to speak, and his tears joined David’s in a puddle on the porch beneath them. David clung to him, crying as the sun set and the stars peeked through, as the day turned to night, until Kris guided him to their bed and held him for the rest of the night.
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