Page 23 of No Strings Attached
“Still, hearing you talk about your traditions… it doesn’t sound overwhelming. It sounds like joy.”
Her eyes drop to her lap. “Not everyone thinks so. My ex didn’t. He always made me feel like I had to ignore that part of my culture to fit into his boxed traditions and his family’s strict expectations. He wanted turkey, all the trimmings, and nothing… different.”
“That’s bullshit.” It comes out sharper than I meant to.
“His parents never accepted me, and he knew mine would struggle to accept him. The difference is, I was willing to fight for us. And I did,” she explains, fidgeting with her glass. “My parents are open-minded, kind-hearted people who embrace everyone. But even they had a hard time with Chad. Not because he was white or non-Arab, but because he never showed the slightest interest in my culture. He didn’t try to understand it, let alone respect it. Instead, he wanted to mold me into someone who fit intohisworld.”
“No one should ever make you feel like you have to shrinkyourself to belong,” I say, jaw ticking. “If anything, they should be trying to understand what matters to you. And if they can’t do that, they don’t deserve a seat at the table.”
Amira looks up at me, vulnerability shining in her eyes. She stares at me, like my words caught her off guard. I wasn’t planning to say all that, but something about this situation and her asshole of an ex makes it impossible to keep my mouth shut.
Her fingers curl around the mimosa glass. “Yeah. Well, my parents weren’t impressed. Still, I begged them to see the good in him, to trust that he was worth it. I convinced them. Turns out, they were right all along. He was an asshole.”
I put my hand over hers and hold her gaze. “I know sometimes it’s just easier pretending things don’t matter as much as they do, but easier doesn’t always meanbetter.”
For a second, we just look at each other. Then, I smirk. “That said, if we continue trauma-dumping before takeoff, this flight is gonna feel like a therapy session.”
That earns a real laugh from her. “What, you don’t want to unpack your baggage over champagne and bagels?”
She’s loosening up again, piece by piece, and I don’t realize how tense I’ve been until my shoulders relax.
Before I can deliver a comeback, a chime over the speakers announces boarding for our flight has started. Amira glances away, then back at me, and I wonder if she’s going to pull away again.
8
NO STRINGS ATTACHED
AMIRA
Istare out the window as the plane taxis toward the runway, the sky a dull gray, typical for Seattle this time of year.
I pull out my phone, thumbing through my notifications without much thought. A text from my mom lights up the screen.
Mama: Safe travels, habibti. Let us know when you land.
I smile and quickly type back.
Me: Thank you. Kiss Baba for me. I’ll call you tonight xx
Then, out of habit, I open my email and find one from my new employer. I had told them I’d be a day late due to weather and they were very understanding.
Subject: Florist Meeting - Time Sensitive
Hi Amira, hope you’re well! I know your travel day is packed, but the florist is only available this evening. Would you be able to meet them around 6PM at the shop?
I glance at the time and do the math. If everything goes smoothly, I’ll barely have time to shower, change, and get over there. I reply with a polite confirmation, then close my phone and exhale slowly.
Beside me, Henson sips his water, reading something on his tablet. He hasn’t said much since we boarded, though not in a cold or distant way.
We talk in spurts throughout the flight. Nothing deep. No more confessions or flirty tension. It’s not awkward. It’s… nice.
And that’s the problem.
Because when the pilot comes over the speaker and announces our descent into Nantucket, my heart sinks.
This is it: the end.
I should be relieved. It was supposed to be one night, one flight,goodbye.
