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"Then why me?"

"Because you're persistent and I have a difficult time denying you anything."

"Why?" I smiled at her from over my shoulder and she tossed me a playful glare. I snickered as I leaned against the bedroom door. "I love you, too."

She made to swat me with her sweater, and I squeaked before bustling off down the hall toward the bathroom.

Sam didn't advise me on how to dress, so I followed her lead and chose a pair of jeans and a long-sleeve button-down shirt from my overnight bag. I understood enough about the Muslim faith to know that modesty was important. Anything to make today less painful for Sam, I would do it. Despite getting what I wanted, it didn't mean that my anxiety cooled at all. My heart pounded, and I wrung my hands together in the car on the way to Sam's mother's home.

"What's your mother's name?" I asked her.

"Rima," she said, her knuckles tightening on the steering wheel. "I hate seeing you in hijab. I hate it."

"I know, baby. It's a temporary discomfort. Did you tell her I was coming?"

Sam nodded and continued to stare straight ahead despite the traffic light.

"What'd she say?"

"Nothing."

"At all?"

Sam shook her head, and I worried she might tear the steering wheel off the column. "Can we talk about something else?"

"Of course, baby. Like what?"

"I don't know. Anything. Read me the dictionary if you like," she said, gulping down her last word.

"Is this what one of your panic attacks looks like?" I leaned forward in my seat and she nodded, her bottom lip ending up between her teeth. "Okay. Let's put on some music. Want to hear a song?" She nodded and I pulled out my phone to connect the music app to her Bluetooth. "Ready?"

"Yes," she said, and I pressed play. It took her a few seconds before she glanced at me. "Is this Against The Machine?"

"Yup." I laughed and she smirked. "Like it?"

"What else have you got on there?"

"Korn. Pantera. Nirvana."

"You're a nineties metal head? Were you even born in the nineties?" Sam laughed hard, and I swatted her arm.

"Yes, I was, in fact." I joined her laughter and switched to Teen Spirit by Nirvana. "Hush up and enjoy it."

"My dainty little fairy is an inner psychopath. I knew it." She snapped her fingers and I cracked up.

"You're just now realizing this? I watch serial killer documentaries for fun and have an obsession with horror movies."

Sam laughed, a small smile settling on her lips. "It's charming."

"Well, glad to know you appreciate my inner demons," I said, and gave her thigh a pat.

"Don't mention to my mom that I drink alcohol." The sentence burst from her lips while her grip on the steering wheel tightened again, though she didn't seem to return to panicking. "Or eat bacon."

"I'll make sure to steer clear of any conversations regarding bacon or alcohol, honey. What else should I know?"

"Um...Sharia Law was active in Syria when my mom escaped. She doesn't believe in it, but my uncles still hold some of the viewpoints as they were older than her."

"Even while living in America and Canada?" My eyes widened and she nodded.