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“I just don’t think you should get involved with an Arab boy. They’re chauvinistic and old-school.”

“I’m an Arab.”

“You’re half,” she says as she dries her hands with a paper towel.

“Don’t diminish my identity,” I respond, taking Axel’s words from the first night we DM’d to heart. “Are you telling me that you don’t want me to date Axel because he’s an Arab?”

“You don’t know Arab guys. Look at my father. He was furious with me when I got pregnant. He wouldn’t know what a feminist was if I smacked him in the face with Gloria Steinem and her fabulous hair.”

“What about Amo Eli? He’s an Arab man.”

“That’s different. He’s my brother and he’s gay, and,” she says, her voice rising slightly, “he barely has a relationship with our parents.”

“I don’t choose who I’m going to date based on their background. That’s racist, Mother.”

“It’s not racist. I just want you to be informed about what you’re getting yourself into.”

“Maybe Iwantto be informed,” I say, my hands gripping the ledge of the island. “Maybe I want to surround myself with Axel’s big, loud, Arab family and connect with my roots. Maybe I don’t want to grow up to be a self-hating Arab.”

“Jamie.” My mom’s face hardens. I went low and definitely hit a nerve while I was down there.

“What?”

“I am not…I just wanted to…” She picks up her knife and begins chopping vegetables. “I was trying to spare you from having to learn the hard way like me.”

A sharp pang twists through my lower abdomen.Not again.I’m already stressed enough about tonight as it is. I don’t need to add another fight with Mom to the list of stressors. Or another stomach attack. Instead of snapping back with the harsh words I want to say, I’m going to be the bigger person here and let this go.

“I have to get ready,” I say, running a hand over my stomach. Mom nods in understanding as some of the tension leaves the room like a slow-leaking balloon.

“Make sure to use the bathroom before you go tonight. And try not to eat anything too greasy. You know how your body reacts.” Her eyes flit to my hand, still absentmindedly rubbing my stomach. “And Jamie,” she starts.

“Yeah,” I say, exhaling a deep breath.

“Promise me you’ll think about what I’ve said.”

“I always do,” I say as I pick up my laptop and make my way to my room.

If Amo Eli and Mom thought my room was a disaster before, they’d have an aneurysm at the sight of it now. But the stakes are high. If I’m going to get Ben’s attention, I need to stand out. I’d never admit to this juvenile/typical teenaged-girl behavior to another living soul, but I studied Olivia’s Insta trying to figure out her style. Not to copy it but to elevate it. Tonight, I’m going to do everything I can to make sure I stay within Ben’s sight line. With one last satisfied look in my bedroom mirror, I head downstairs.

My hope for a swift getaway is derailed by Amo Eli, who comes out of his dining room with napkin rings.

“Gold or silver?” he asks, holding them up.

“Silver. To match the Camerons’ platter Ben dropped off earlier.”

“Ooh, do I hear some snarky undertones in your response?”

I glance around. Mom’s in the kitchen and the Camerons haven’t arrived yet. I lean in and say in a quiet but disappointed tone, “How could you invite Ben’s parents over?”

“Because they’re our friends.” He responds as if I asked both the simplest and stupidest question ever.

“Blood is thicker than neighbors,” I say, placing my hands on my hips.

“And I’ve known Benjamin’s mom since before you were born, so you can see how this complicates things. Listen, Jam-e,” he says, with that fake Arab accent again. “Benjamin’s mom was there for me in high school. She was also there for me after your mom took off to marry your dad. Her son breaking up with my niece isn’t going to destroy a decades-old friendship. Sorry, babe.”

“Doesn’t mean I have to like it.”

“No. It doesn’t. And I can respect that. But I hope you can return that respect to me. So,” he says, releasing a breath, “you and your mom fighting again?” He cocks his head to the kitchen. “She’s been in a mood all afternoon.”