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you said fiancé. You haven’t even
proposed.” She was confused.
    “I shouldn’t have to. We’ve been together two
years. What else would you be? My girlfriend?” The whole time they
had been together, Mariam never referred to Rashad as her
boyfriend. She knew that term was unacceptable in the Muslim
community, and the last thing she needed was a bunch of people from
her mosque talking about her.
    “I just wasn’t sure. You’ve been acting so
weird lately and I just thought…” She paused. Then she tried to
finish her sentence. “I just thought…” The tears she was fighting
back made it hard to talk. She didn’t know why she was crying.
After all, this was good news. He wanted to marry her. That’s what
she wanted, wasn’t it? Mariam didn’t know what she wanted anymore.
All she knew was that she didn’t like his attitude, and that the
waiter was really cute.
    “You just thought what, Mariam? What did you
think?” he said in a hostile voice.
    “I don’t know what I thought, Rashad. I don’t
know anything right now. I really don’t feel like having this
conversation. I’ll call you later.” She hung up the phone before he
had a chance to respond. She had never hung up on Rashad before,
but she knew he wouldn’t like it. They’d probably have a whole new
argument because of it, but at that moment, she didn’t care. She
saw Isaiah walking towards her table with her food, and she tried
to get herself together. She ran both hands over her facing, trying
to wipe away all signs of the conversation she’d just had.
    She pulled out a mirror and patted on a
little extra makeup to hide the puffiness in her eyes. “Smells
good,” she said as he placed the food on the table.
    “Would you mind if I sat down for a second? I
hurt my knee on the track yesterday, and it’s been bothering me all
morning,” Isaiah asked.
    “No, I don’t mind at all. Have a seat. I
noticed you said the track. You’re a runner?”
    “Yes. It kind of runs in the family. Both my
parents run and my sisters, too. I usually try to do around ten
miles a week. What about you?”
    “I definitely don’t do ten miles a week, but,
yes, I do run. I like to jog in the mornings. It really helps with
stress.”
    “You got that right. I always have to run a
few extra miles around finals week. I’m not the best test
taker.”
    “Oh, you’re in school? Where do you go?”
    “I was going to a community college, but I
just transferred to Smithson.”
    Mariam was shocked. “Really? I go there, too.
I’ve never seen you around.”
    “I’m only taking two classes this semester,
so I don’t spend that much time on campus.” Before they knew it,
the two of them had spent 15 minutes talking. They only stopped
because Isaiah’s boss said he was needed in the back. “Be right
there,” he yelled over his shoulder. “It’s been really nice talking
to you…” he paused, so she could fill in her name.
    “Mariam,” she said sweetly.
    “Here’s my number, Mariam. If you ever want
to go running together sometime, give me a call.” He wrote his
number on a Bertino’s napkin and hurried to the back. “I’m coming,
I’m coming,” he said as he walked briskly. Mariam looked at the
number on the napkin. She wanted to give him hers, but she thought
that wouldn’t be fair to Rashad.
    She went back and forth on whether or not she
should keep Isaiah’s number. “It’s just a number,” she finally
concluded. “What harm can it do?” She copied the number into her
phone and put the napkin in her pocket. There was no real need for
her to keep the napkin, but she wanted to anyway. Every time Isaiah
walked by, she looked at him out of the corner of her eye. She
tried to be as subtle as possible, but he saw her looking, mostly
because he was looking too.
    While she was eating, her cell phone rang.
Another text message from Rashad. She was scared to read it, but
she did:
This better be your first and LAST time going to
another