Page 36

"It's okay," she said, her hands closing over my forearms. "It's okay, Rosie." Tears brimmed her eyes and I choked on my breath as I gulped down a sob.

"It isn't. Why didn't you tell me?"

"Because it would upset you. Like you are right now." Though she never made a sound, a lone tear tumbled down her cheek as her thumbs grazed my wrists.

"I'm not upset for me, Sam. I'm upset for you." I cried for her and it only made matters worse. Her facade cracked, and she closed her eyes as she leaned her forehead against mine. She lowered her hands to my waist.

"Be on my lap, please," she whispered as tears salted her lips.

I shifted to kneel over her and she pulled me into a hug. I cupped her head against my chest. "I'm sorry."

"I know. I'm sorry for you, too." She looked up at me and I brushed the tears from her cheeks with my thumbs.

"What happened to you?" I asked, placing a gentle kiss on her forehead like she did to me.

She let out a soft sigh then cleared her throat. "Right before I got divorced. I...um, was leaving my mother's when she lived in Spokane. She lived in a religious community and there were people who targeted them. I left her place while wearing hijab and two men…" She shook her head and placed two fingers over my lips as if to stop me from talking, but it was her that stopped.

I nodded my understanding and kissed her fingers before pulling her to me. Both of us cried quietly against each other.

"This wasn't how I wanted any of this to go, Rose. Telling each other the most terrible things. I wanted us to have a nice night together. Maybe a little romantic," she said, then hiccupped after. "I didn't want you to know any of this."

"It was a romantic time, Samirah. One of the best nights I've ever had, to be honest." I swiped at my eyes and she met my gaze again. "Maybe we were supposed to know these things about each other."

"Maybe." She laughed faintly then nodded to the movie. "You wanted me to stop it because of the sad ending, but we made our own sad ending."

"No—Not an ending. A moment." I sniffled while tucking her hair behind her ears like she did to me. "Everything we've been through were horrible moments. We can't give it so much power that it ruins our lives. That's what Rebecca always told me when I was upset. It helped me a lot."

"It does help," she said, drawing in a slow breath. "That was the real reason I chose to be an anesthesiologist. So I could help people through their pain. It happened when I was a resident. And why Marita and I became friends. She understood hate crimes. She's the nurse I mentioned."

"It makes sense to me. I became a criminal intelligence analyst to help predict and prevent future crimes. We do what we do because of who we are. We are who we are because of our experiences. And how we handle them."

"Yeah." She cupped my face in her hands again and brushed her thumbs over my lips. "I've only ever told Marita."

"No one else ever?"

"The police, but no one else."

"Did they catch the men who hurt you?"

"They killed them. They were armed and planned a mass shooting at the community center. That's what brought them there. I was a crime of convenience beforehand. Two white boys who weren't even twenty-five. So much hate."

"Your mom doesn't know?"

"No." She shook her head. "I saw a counselor for a while. Marita encouraged me to."

"Was it helpful?" I ran my fingers through her hair and she shrugged.

"Maybe. Did you?"

"Psychiatrist." I nodded. "But not often anymore. She moved her practice to Olympia so I see her once a month."

"Are you on meds?" she asked, clearing her throat when she began asking me questions back.

"Just one now. One for anxiety when I need it. I used to be on Zoloft, but it made me feel flat. Prozac was worse."

"Yeah." She chuckled and blinked away her remaining tears. "I tried a few after it happened. I really enjoy my libido and they killed it."

"Same." I laughed and pressed my forehead to hers again. "Better without."