Beckham

After last night, I know Sully and I will be moving forward with nothing between us any longer. Well, almost nothing. We love each other, and we’re going to be together, but my parents are still one of the problems between us. No, not a problem, but if I they won’t stand up for Sully, I can’t be around them. I love them, but I love him too, and if I have to choose, I’ll choose my future with him. Always.

“What’s wrong, Habibi?” he asks, kneeling before me, where I sit at my vanity.

I smile at him, because he told me all the things he’s said to me, and this one means “My love”. “I need to go, and see my parents.”

“Have them come here for dinner.”

“You know that won’t solve the problem.”

“We don’t need to go back there again. I know they don’t care about my religion, and I understand why they’re having trouble standing up to their friends. They are afraid, just as I was.”

“It shouldn’t have to be this way.”

“No, it shouldn’t. But, it is.”

“I used to love those block parties, and I want you to be there with me. No one has the right to make you feel uncomfortable.”

“No one else can make me feel something. That is all up to me, and I am strong enough now to take whatever insults they throw at me. I will come by after volunteering.”

“I won’t let them say those things to you again.”

“Yes, you will. You must, Beckham, unless you aren’t planning to be with me forever.”

“You know I want forever.”

“I’ve talked to my imam about this in-depth, and I’m trying to do as he’s taught me. We must learn to ignore what others say, because your old friends will not be the only ones who have a problem with me. With us.”

“I’ll never be okay with it.”

“Nor will I, but we will walk away with our heads held high.”

“You’ll probably have to be the one to teach our children that, as I’ll want to punch anyone who says something to them.”

“Our children, huh? How many beautiful babies are you going to give me, Helo?”

“We’ll negotiate that in a few years,” I tell him, rolling my eyes.

“Fair enough. I have to go now, but we’ll practice the baby-making later,” he promises me with a wink.

“Where are you volunteering today?” I ask, following him out, since I need to get moving myself.

“They haven’t told me. I only know we are re-doing a playground.”

“I know it’s your thing, but would it be okay if I came with you sometime? You can totally say no, and I’ll understand.”

“Why would I say no? I would love for you to come sometime. Anytime. We can always use more volunteers.”

“I just didn’t want to take more of your time.”

He puts down his keys, and turns to me. “You think you only have your allotted time, and nothing more?”

“You need to go. We can talk about this later.”

“I can be a few minutes late. Talk to me, Beckham.”

“It’s just, we have our assigned days, and yeah, I feel like I can’t interact with you on the days that aren’t mine. I love that you have a balance, but what if I want to kiss you on a Tuesday, or if something falls on a Friday?”

“You can kiss me whenever you want. And, as long as it’s not during my prayers on Friday, I’m there with you.”

“I’m not trying to take you from your friends.”

“I know that.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, and now, I’m expecting a kiss at lunch on Tuesday.”

I swat him on the arm. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Completely, but you love me anyway.”

“I do. Now, go do your Zakat, and I’ll see you later.”

“Yes, you will.”

I’m still smiling when I arrive at my parents’ place. The party is just getting started, and I carry the kabobs, rice, and pita bread I picked up over to one of the tables. I know people are looking at me, because I haven’t been here since Nev and Dylan showed up to fly me to Paris. They’re probably wondering who might show up for me this time, but I’m afraid they’ll be disappointed.

“Those look good,” one of the kids says to me, looking at the kabobs.

“They’re super good.”

“Can I have one?”

“Sure. There’s lamb, beef, or chicken.”

He takes a chicken one, along with rice and pita, before joining his parents where they’re sitting. It’s only then that I notice the playground. The swings are broken, and so is the slide.

“Some assholes did that the other night,” my mom says, coming to join me. “We’re trying to get together some money to fix all of it.”

“I’ll donate.”

“Thank you. It’s good to see you.”

“A lot of things have been going on.”

“Sully?”

“I love him, Mom. I know it makes things hard for you, but I won’t apologize for how I feel.”

“You should never apologize for being in love.”

“I want you to accept him.”

“This has never been about accepting him. I saw how much he cared for you when he was here.”

It’s time for some hard truths. “You worry too much about everyone else. He used to do it, too, and that’s why he ran to Paris after he was here. He left, because what everyone said to him hurt him. He’s changing, and learning to ignore what others say about him, because he can’t control that. Can you do the same?”

“I don’t know,” she says, quietly.

“These people have known you for a very long time, and if they think my boyfriend being Muslim makes you a bad person, then maybe you need new friends.”

“This is all we know. It’s our home.”

“It doesn’t have to be. I could move you into an apartment somewhere else, maybe even get you jobs at C&C. But, there will always be people somewhere who will have a problem with Sully. It’s not fair—or right—but it’s what his life is like. I need to know you support us. If you can’t, I’ll still love you, but I don’t know if I can respect you.”

“I don’t know if I’ll be able to respect myself, either. Your father and I have talked about this, and he’s right there with you. I’m trying to be, but it’s hard.”

“It is,” I agree.

“I’m going to try.”

“Thank you.”

“If it safe to come over now?” my dad asks, coming over and hugging me.

“Yes.”

“Good, because that food you brought smells amazing. I think I need one of each.”

“Go for it,” I tell him with a laugh.

I feel so much better now, knowing my parents are on the same page as me. Or, at least getting there. Sully will be here later, and we’ll see how it plays out. Mostly, we’ll see if I can ignore the assholes, like he asked me to. That’s probably going to be the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do, but I’m going to try.

* * *

Sully

I had no idea the playground we’re fixing was part of the park in Beckham’s old neighborhood, until we pull up to it. Everyone just followed each other over, and now, here we are. I see her laughing with her parents as I pull up, which means she worked things out with them. I’m glad, because I know how much they mean to her.

As I help unload the trucks, I catch her eye, and she stands. I need to get this work done, but all I want to do is run to meet her as she walks over. Instead, I watch as she joins us in unloading the playground equipment. We work in silence, sharing secret smiles as we work. Others have come over to help too, and I see my imam greeting them.

“Hello,” he tells Beckham, when he reaches us.

“Asalaamu alaikum,” she says back.

“Ah, you know some Arabic.”

“Just a little. I’m trying to learn more.”

I step in, because I should’ve introduced them myself. “Ya Sheikh, this is Beckham. Beckham, this is my imam.”

“The Beckham? I have heard much about you from Sully. It is an honor to meet you. You must call me Youssef.”

“He’s told you about me?” she asks, and the surprise in her voice slays me.

How could she not know I talk to everyone I know about her, all the time? I’ve failed her in so many ways, and she’s still here, standing with me—loving me. I told her once that she humbles me, and it’s the truth.

“He has. I must thank you for bringing him home, and supporting him.”

“I wasn’t so supportive lately, but I’m trying.”

“You don’t give yourself enough credit. Sully and I have had many talks about his life, and you are mentioned often.”

“I knew he was talking with you, but I had no clue you were discussing me,” she says looking at the ground.

He shares a look with me, and I back up with a nod. “Will you walk with me, Beckham?”

“Of course.”

I watch them go, knowing whatever is said between them will be about me, but not worrying. My nod let him know he could tell her anything he needs to in order to make her understand how important she’s been in my journey. Her anger, and refusal to give me an inch, is nothing she should feel bad about. She was unyielding, but I deserved it.

“Who is that?” one of the teen boys, Abdul, asks me, nodding toward Beckham.

“My girlfriend.”

“Whoa! She’s gorgeous, but not Muslim.”

“Yes, she is, and no, she’s not.”

“Isn’t that hard?”

“Nope.”

“Excuse me.” I turn to find Beckham’s parents behind us.

“Hello,” I say, with a guarded smile. “Beckham should be back here soon.”

“I’ll catch you later, Sully,” Abdul says, practically running away.

“We wanted to talk to you. My wife and I need to apologize for the last time you were here,” Mr. Williams tells me.

“There’s no need for that.”

“Yes, there is. We didn’t stand up for you, and it was wrong.”

“Trust me, I understand why you did what you did.”

“You may understand it, but that doesn’t make it right,” Mrs. Williams says.

“I accept your apology.”

“We want you to know you’re always welcome in our home, and that we fully support you and Beckham. We won’t allow anyone to talk badly about you.”

“Thank you.”

They can’t possibly know how much this means to me, but as they both hug me, I get that last bit of peace I was looking for. I needed for Beckham’s family to not only accept me, but to embrace what we’ve found in each other, and they have.

I introduce them to the others when they insist on helping. Before Imam and Beckham return, several of her neighbors have approached me, offering help and apologies. I don’t know if it’s because of her parents, or because we’re here helping them, but I don’t care either way. It will be safe for me to visit this place with Beckham now, and that’s what’s important.

When Imam and Beckham come back, they jump right in, helping us repair and replace the broken playground. The work takes hours, and we’re all hungry and tired when we’re done. The families insist we eat with them, but I’m not sure we can.

“I kept the big pans of food you brought covered, and warming on this grill,” one of the elderly women tells Beckham.

“Oh, thank you,” she tells her, before turning to everyone else. “It’s kabobs, and rice. There is some pita bread here, too. It’s halal.”

“Of course, it is,” Imam tells her with a smile.

“You’re amazing,” I whisper against her mouth, right before I kiss her.

Everyone eats, and I promise to meet Beckham back home after making sure everyone gets to their homes okay. I also want to speak to Imam about his conversation with her, but he tells me I need to talk to her.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing is ‘wrong’ Sully, but there are things she worries about, and I agree with her.”

“She’s always safe with me.”

“She’s not worried about her safety. All I will tell you is that she’s worried about what her life with you will look like.”

“No one’s pressuring her to convert. I don’t expect her to change for me.”

“It is not that either. Talk to her, Sully.”

“I will.”

When I get home, I’m going to talk to her, because this sounds serious. I’m not afraid of things being hard with her, but I am afraid of them being too hard for her.