Page 14 of Girl Abroad

“Are they friends of yours?” I ask once she’s gone.

“Friends of the family, from back in the old neighborhood. This place got me through my first year at uni,” Lee says. “They gave me a job washing dishes and bussing tables, then line cook. Hager would be in late most nights roasting lamb for the next day. I’d pop over after the library closed at night, and she’d meet me around back with a plate to take home. Took care of me, being my first time living away from home.”

“Your family’s Egyptian?”

“My mum. Dad’s from Manchester. Mum taught my sister and me to speak the language because she said she wanted us to feel connected to the culture. Really I think she didn’t want to feel alone. Dad never much wanted to try. Doesn’t have the patience.”

“Are you tight with your parents?”

“We’re a close family, yes. Our parents threatened to move to London when we applied to university, but we managed to talk them out of it by promising to come home on the weekends. Well, every other weekend maybe.” Lee pushes a green dip at me. It sort of resembles chimichurri in texture and appearance but tastes altogether different. “How about you? Both parents are American?”

“My dad was born in LA. My mom…” I pause, tearing off a piece of flatbread. “Come to think of it, I don’t think I know where my mom’s from.”

“You’re not close?” He clucks sympathetically.

“Something like that. The birthday cards she sends me never even have a return address. If they arrive at all. Which is usually a couple weeks late. At this point, I don’t remember her much.”

“What of your dad?”

“Yeah, he’s having a tough time letting go. He wasn’t much into the parenting thing at first—I sort of got dumped on him full-time when I was two. It took him a few years before he came around to the idea. Since then, it’s like he’s always trying to make up for it. I love him, but that’s a lot of pressure, you know?”

Lee nods. “I reckon.”

When our food arrives, I have trouble not gaping at everything. It seems a lot for lunch. One dish after another Tetrised onto the table.

“They always do this.” Lee sighs, shaking his head in amusement. “Hager’s way of saying I’m too skinny.”

I grin. “I’ve always wanted to order one of everything off a menu.”

As we start eating, I discover that Lee is a dictatorial lunch companion. He insists I try this thing first. Then that. Put this one with this other thing. Now try this sauce on this thing. I appreciate his coaching through the culinary adventure, but at a certain point, I feel like I’m in a time trial. Before long, I’m stuffed and groaning when he asks if I’m ready for dessert. I’m convinced Lee has an incinerator where his stomach should be.

“Sorry I missed you this morning,” he says as we’re finishing our meal. “I meant to ride in with you. Make sure you didn’t end up halfway to Leicester.”

“It’s all good. Gave me a chance to explore a little.”

“Getting on then?”

“So far. Class was good, and I think I made a friend. She didn’t get up and walk away when she heard my accent, so that’s something.”

“Well done.” The check comes, which Lee snatches before I can look at it. “This one’s on me, luv. Call it a welcome gift.”

“Oh, okay. Um…thank you.” I hate letting friends pay for things. It’s sort of a tic of mine, like when someone is embarrassed at receiving compliments. I don’t know how to accept it.

“Well, don’t strain yourself.” He laughs, noticing my discomfort. “You can take me somewhere expensive next time.” He signs the check with a flourish, then flashes me a wink. “And speaking of welcome. My friend’s band is playing in a pub tomorrow night. You’re coming.”

“They any good?”

I mean it as a joke, but Lee considers the question before offering a rueful shrug. “No, not really. But my sister will be there.” His expression lights up at that. “You two have to meet. I justknowyou’re going to love each other.”

5

THE FOLLOWING EVENING, OUR ONCE-PROMISING FRIENDSHIP ISnear shambles. Lee alternates between sighs of disgust and groans of impatience while he surveys my wardrobe, half of which is still crumpled in suitcases. My room is bursting with boxes that arrived from Nashville this afternoon. I barely started cracking them open before it was time to get ready for his friend’s gig.

“Babe, you know this is silk?” He pulls a blue peasant top from one of my crushed packing cubes. “You don’t treat good fabrics this way.” Then he finds one of my favorite vegan leather jackets, which I’d considered wearing tonight. “This, on the other hand…”

He holds it up by the lapel pinched at a distance between two fingers, his nose scrunched as if he’d found the garment stuck belly-up in a storm drain.

“Are these patches ironic?”

---