I Can't Think Straight by Shamim Sarif Page A

down on her bed. ‘She said she wants to stay in London a while longer.’
    Lamia could feel her mother’s eyes narrow. ‘She did that during her second engagement – or was it the first? And she never came back for the wedding!’
    ‘I’m sure it’s not exactly like that, Mama.’
    But there was no reply. ‘Mama?’ Lamia tried again, a little panicked now, but nothing came except the click of the connection being cut with a soft finality. Tapping her heel up and down as she sat, Lamia felt a sudden suffusion of righteousness rise up inside her – for she was doing the right thing to save Tala from herself. Just as her mother had done for Lamia years before. Lamia could see now that her young, immature passion would have had little chance of lasting – such firecracker emotions rarely did – and that once the love had ceased to consume every part of her being, she would have been left fighting the ancient, wearing battles of Muslim against Christian. Although at the time she had been convinced that she had both the stomach and the armour for this fight, Reema had assured her that she did not, and then gave her no possible chance to try, and in retrospect, there was little Lamia could do for her own peace of mind but believe that her mother’s words were true.
    Tala awoke from dreams suffused with warmth and heat and drowsy intimacy, and into a morning of harsh light and the insistent ring of her cell phone. Gently, she drew her hand away from Leyla’s sleeping form and reached for the phone, sitting up. She knew who it was, and moved quickly towards the bathroom as she answered.
    ‘Hi Hani. Yes, no, I’m fine. No, everything’s fine, I just woke up, that’s all.’
    She heard Leyla shift in the bed, knew she was awake and listening. Swiftly, Tala slipped on her robe.
    ‘Listen, can I call you later? When I’m up?’ She nodded, relieved.
    ‘OK, thanks Hani.’
    And then came the ending to the call that she had been trying to avoid just now. But he loved her, and he couldn’t help saying it and she couldn’t blame him, and when she heard his strong, happy voice, she felt a rush of feeling towards him.
    ‘I love you too,’ she whispered. She hung up, washed over with guilt towards him, but also towards the girl lying in her bed. She rinsed her face, studiously avoiding its reflection in the mirror and brushed her teeth quickly, thinking about the night before. When she emerged from the bathroom, Leyla’s head was still on her pillow, but her eyes, so uncertain, were on her. Tala went to the bed and sat down, leaning to kiss the girl’s shoulder.
    ‘Have you ever done this before?’ Leyla asked her, shifting up in the bed.
    Tala looked away. ‘Slept with a woman while my fiancé makes wedding preparations?’ She considered a moment then shook her head. ‘No. Never done that before.’
    ‘You know what I meant.’
    Tala took in an audible breath. She disliked being forced into a place where she had to remember things, feelings, that she only recollected, infrequently, in the floating suspension of dreams. Things she had never spoken of openly to anyone. But she supposed that if ever there was a person who deserved to hear the things she preferred to keep private, it was this clear-eyed woman lying naked in her hotel room bed.
    ‘When I was eighteen,’ Tala said. ‘I fell madly in love with a girl, my first year in college.’ She could feel her cheeks flush crimson with the force of actually saying the words. ‘It lasted a few, wonderful, months. I never knew I could feel so..alive,’ she stammered. ‘So complete.’
    ‘Until now, obviously,’ said Leyla, dryly. Tala smiled and leaned in to kiss her hair, burying her face there, breathing in the soft scent of it, until her heart should stop racing quite so hard. Leyla’s hand came up to hold her head. She heard Leyla speak, quietly.
    ‘What happened?’
    ‘I broke it off. I was in pieces, but I told myself it was for the best. That I