mean?”
“You’re so— far away. You have been, really, ever since you started college. Haven’t been to PPSYC since high school. You used to love camp.”
“I’m not a kid anymore.”
“Oh, so I am?”
“I didn’t mean it that way.”
“You hardly ever come home. When you do, it’s like you’re not really with us. Everyone’s noticed. Mom and Dad, I mean.”
I had no answer. None that I was free to share. “Has— did Mom say anything about this?” I knew the answer. She’d never raised the subject of the silence that had grown between us since she’d told me the truth. And I’d never told her about meeting Sadiq.
“No. But I know she’s hurt about it. It’s like you’re avoiding us or something.”
“I—I don’t know what you mean, Chris,” I lied.
I was relieved when Zahid came to take our order.
Chris scratched his head doubtfully at all of my suggestions, saying to Zahid, “Not too spicy, okay?”
“Oh, but Pakistani food is spicy, my friend,” said Zahid.
“Well, go easy. I can’t take spicy food.”
“It’s good for you, my friend.”
“Maybe so. But it’s not in my genes.”
Zahid laughed and said, “Your sister. She can eat food so spicy that it would make me cry. Isn’t that so?” It took me a second to rustle up the chuckle he was expecting in response. My mind was still on what Chris had said about his genes.
Zahid left to pass our order on to the kitchen, and I brightened up, forcefully, saying, “So, tell me about the new version of ‘Onward, Christian Soldiers’ that you and the band are working on.”
That kept Chris talking until dinner arrived. I had another little conversation, in Spanish this time, with the Mexican waiter who served us.
As I helped myself to some curry and tikka and naan , Chris said, “I’m proud of you, Jo.”
“Huh?”
“I wish I could be as focused as you are. I mean, you decided what you wanted to study right from the get-go. You stuck with it. And you have something to show for it. Four languages.”
“Five,” I said. “English counts.”
“Well, five then. That’s how many times I’ve changed majors. So far. I have no idea what I’m doing at school. And you’re gonna be done at the end of the year.”
“You have your music.”
“Yeah. But who knows if that’ll go anywhere? And I have no idea what else to do with my life.”
A little later, my plate nearly empty, my belly full, I watched Chris cautiously pop some naan into his mouth. Then he pushed some curry around on his plate.
He said, “So. You really like this stuff?”
I realized that apart from some naan, he hadn’t eaten a bite.
“We’re going to have to stop and get you a burger on the way home, aren’t we?”
He grinned. “Yup.”
I finished my last bites in silence, slightly annoyed with him, and even more with myself for dragging him there.
When Zahid came with the bill, he stopped to chat some more with Chris, teasing him about how little he’d eaten. Then he asked, “Which one of you is older?”
“She is,” Chris said. “But only by a half an hour. We’re twins.”
“Twins?” Zahid stared at both of us more closely.
I asked, “How do you say ‘twins’ in Urdu?”
“ Jurwa . It means ‘joint.’ Half-hour’s difference, eh? But you don’t look like each other! Except for the eyes, of course. Both brown.”
I knew Chris was rolling his at me, the way we always did when people said things like that, not getting the difference between identical and fraternal. But I couldn’t look up to roll mine in response. I studied the bill carefully, hoping that Chris wouldn’t see through the careful blankness of my face.
Suddenly, before I could stop myself, I asked, “Do you know who Mendel is, Chris?”
“Nope. Should I?”
Hesitantly, I asked, “You took biology in high school, didn’t you?”
“Sure.” Grinning, he said, “You know I was never very good at paying attention in science. Or math. Or English
“You’re so— far away. You have been, really, ever since you started college. Haven’t been to PPSYC since high school. You used to love camp.”
“I’m not a kid anymore.”
“Oh, so I am?”
“I didn’t mean it that way.”
“You hardly ever come home. When you do, it’s like you’re not really with us. Everyone’s noticed. Mom and Dad, I mean.”
I had no answer. None that I was free to share. “Has— did Mom say anything about this?” I knew the answer. She’d never raised the subject of the silence that had grown between us since she’d told me the truth. And I’d never told her about meeting Sadiq.
“No. But I know she’s hurt about it. It’s like you’re avoiding us or something.”
“I—I don’t know what you mean, Chris,” I lied.
I was relieved when Zahid came to take our order.
Chris scratched his head doubtfully at all of my suggestions, saying to Zahid, “Not too spicy, okay?”
“Oh, but Pakistani food is spicy, my friend,” said Zahid.
“Well, go easy. I can’t take spicy food.”
“It’s good for you, my friend.”
“Maybe so. But it’s not in my genes.”
Zahid laughed and said, “Your sister. She can eat food so spicy that it would make me cry. Isn’t that so?” It took me a second to rustle up the chuckle he was expecting in response. My mind was still on what Chris had said about his genes.
Zahid left to pass our order on to the kitchen, and I brightened up, forcefully, saying, “So, tell me about the new version of ‘Onward, Christian Soldiers’ that you and the band are working on.”
That kept Chris talking until dinner arrived. I had another little conversation, in Spanish this time, with the Mexican waiter who served us.
As I helped myself to some curry and tikka and naan , Chris said, “I’m proud of you, Jo.”
“Huh?”
“I wish I could be as focused as you are. I mean, you decided what you wanted to study right from the get-go. You stuck with it. And you have something to show for it. Four languages.”
“Five,” I said. “English counts.”
“Well, five then. That’s how many times I’ve changed majors. So far. I have no idea what I’m doing at school. And you’re gonna be done at the end of the year.”
“You have your music.”
“Yeah. But who knows if that’ll go anywhere? And I have no idea what else to do with my life.”
A little later, my plate nearly empty, my belly full, I watched Chris cautiously pop some naan into his mouth. Then he pushed some curry around on his plate.
He said, “So. You really like this stuff?”
I realized that apart from some naan, he hadn’t eaten a bite.
“We’re going to have to stop and get you a burger on the way home, aren’t we?”
He grinned. “Yup.”
I finished my last bites in silence, slightly annoyed with him, and even more with myself for dragging him there.
When Zahid came with the bill, he stopped to chat some more with Chris, teasing him about how little he’d eaten. Then he asked, “Which one of you is older?”
“She is,” Chris said. “But only by a half an hour. We’re twins.”
“Twins?” Zahid stared at both of us more closely.
I asked, “How do you say ‘twins’ in Urdu?”
“ Jurwa . It means ‘joint.’ Half-hour’s difference, eh? But you don’t look like each other! Except for the eyes, of course. Both brown.”
I knew Chris was rolling his at me, the way we always did when people said things like that, not getting the difference between identical and fraternal. But I couldn’t look up to roll mine in response. I studied the bill carefully, hoping that Chris wouldn’t see through the careful blankness of my face.
Suddenly, before I could stop myself, I asked, “Do you know who Mendel is, Chris?”
“Nope. Should I?”
Hesitantly, I asked, “You took biology in high school, didn’t you?”
“Sure.” Grinning, he said, “You know I was never very good at paying attention in science. Or math. Or English
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