Page 17 of Exquisite Things

Shams has a surprise of his own up his sleeve. On our first evening on the Cape, as we stare out at the ocean quietly, I hear

footsteps and turn to see him there, on the deck of our inn, holding a cup of tea. Thankfully, Mother is so lost in the flow

of the water that she takes no notice of him. We’ve seen other guests wander by and said no more than a quick hello. Mother,

it turns out, doesn’t want adventurous conversation with strangers. She just wants peace.

I open my eyes wide in shock, hoping to communicate an alarmed what-in-the-world-are-you-doing-here look to Shams. He just

smiles coolly and addresses us like we’re strangers. “Would it bother you terribly if I sat here? It’s the best view and I

don’t want to miss the sunset.”

“I—” I find myself unable to answer. My throat goes suddenly dry, like one of those mops Mother uses to clean after she’s

wrung it out.

Mother turns toward Shams, her eyes warm and serene. “Of course you can sit here,” she says. “The sunset belongs to everyone.”

“I couldn’t agree more.” Shams sits next to me on an Adirondack chair.

Mother and I are on a bench. I’m in the middle, nervously turning my gaze from one to the other, wondering what will come of this moment.

We sit quietly for what feels like a century to me.

Then Shams says, “I’ve traveled quite a bit in my life, and one thing that’s always given me hope is that no matter where you are on this earth, you’re staring at the same sun, the same moon. ”

Mother turns to him curiously. Like me when I first met him, she must be wondering who this odd creature is, this boy who

speaks like he’s already lived a thousand lives. “What a beautiful observation,” she says. “But I’m curious, why does it give

you hope?”

Shams smiles. I can see he was anticipating this question. “Because it reminds me we are all connected, and that tells me

that someday we might all live in peace with each other.”

Mother leans toward him. “Yes,” she whispers. “And may I add that on Decoration Day weekend, a wish for peace is well-timed.”

She looks out at the ocean longingly. “Nothing fills me with more pain than young lives lost to war. God should take the old

and spare the young.”

“Mother, don’t speak like that,” I plead. “God should take no one.”

She laughs. “And leave us all here forever! No, thank you. When my earthly job is done, I look forward to ascending to heaven.”

Mother was never one of those mothers who imposed religion on the daily rituals of our lives. God was for Sunday mornings,

and then we allowed Him to guide us through the week quietly. Realizing she may have been too morbid, she quickly lightens

her tone. “Apologies. I suppose being here, by this glorious ocean, under this perfect sky, has made me feel closer to God

than I’ve felt in a long time. It’s a good feeling.”

“Nature is God’s truest house of worship,” Shams says, shocking me too. He’s never spoken of God either. I don’t even know if he was raised with religion.

“I like that.” Mother flashes a bright smile toward him. “What brings you here? Are you with your parents?” she asks.

“Oh, no,” he says. “My parents are... far away.”

She nods solemnly. She seems to intuit that far away is a euphemism for dead. “My name is Margaret Doherty, but my friends

call me Maggie.”

“May I call you Maggie?” Shams asks.

“Of course you can. And this is my son Oliver.” She runs a hand through my hair. “His hair is getting unruly, but he’s a beautiful

son.”

“Mother, please.” I feel so embarrassed to be treated like a child in front of Shams. Our times together have been so grown-up.

They’ve given me the illusion that I’m older than I am. A man, not a boy. But here with my doting mother, I worry that whatever

spell I’ve cast that’s made me appear interesting to him will wear off.

“Well, it’s true.” The gin and tonic in her hand is almost empty, but its effects on her are starting to show. Her voice is

brighter than usual. “This son of mine, this boy who sits next to you... he won this weekend getaway for us in a trivia

contest because he’s so smart. And instead of taking his cousin Brendan or this mystery girl he’s falling for, he took me,

his mother.”

“Mystery girl?” Shams raises an eyebrow. There’s no jealousy in his tone. He knows he’s the mystery girl.

“A mother knows these things.” Mother leans her head on my shoulder. This small movement changes everything. Suddenly, it’s

her who feels like the child and me the parent. I hold her close. “He’s been glowing lately. He disappears for long stretches.

Always says he’s studying, but a mother knows....”

“She’s a very lucky girl,” Shams says, his eyes locked on me. “I’m sure wherever she is, she’s thinking of him right now. Thinks of him constantly. And I’m sure that when she’s lucky enough to meet you, Maggie, she’ll be thrilled to know that his mother is as kind and charming as he is.”

Mother doesn’t lift her head from my shoulder, but she does throw a grateful glance his way. “If I’m charming this evening,

it’s the liquor and the breeze.”

“That’s not true, Mother. You are charming. And kind.” I feel her shake her head into the fabric of my wool sweater. “And

beautiful,” I add. It suddenly dawns on me that I hope Mother finds love again. Or perhaps for the first time. Because Father

didn’t know how to love.

“All right now, that’s enough of that,” Mother declares, sitting upright once more. “What brings you here...”

“Shams.” He holds his hand out and they shake. Because I’m between them, their hands grip each other above my heart. I close

my eyes and freeze a mental image of this moment in my mind. “I’m here with a family, but not my own. I’m a tutor.”

“A tutor?” she asks. “But you look like a child.”

“I’m seventeen,” he declares proudly. “Which is a strange age. Not a child. Not not a child.”

“But how did you come to be a tutor at your age?” she asks.

“That’s a long story and the sun is about to set but suffice it to say I was an advanced student who graduated from school

early, and I’ve found tutoring to be a far more exciting learning opportunity than university. As a tutor, I get to travel

with wealthy families to countries all over the world. I get to help young people learn, and as I’ve discovered, young people

prefer learning from people closer to their own age than...”

“Than me!” Mother laughs.

“I didn’t mean it that way,” Shams says.

“Oh, I didn’t take it that way,” Mother assures him. Turning her focus back to the sky, she gasps. “Look at that.”

The setting sun has turned the sky a devastatingly beautiful orange. Like the color of a calm fire, not the kind of flames

that could ever burn or hurt you, simply the kind that will warm and heal you. I suppose all beautiful things are like that.

They can be used to heal or to destroy. That is, perhaps, the magic behind their beauty.

Mother doesn’t take her eyes off the sky. I can’t help but look at Shams. I find his eyes already directed toward me. His

eyes, they’re the color of the sunset right now. Glowing. Warming me. This moment, the two of us sitting with my mother, becoming

the three of us... It’s the happiest moment I’ve known in my life. I feel, perhaps for the first time, that someday, she

might accept him as more than a stranger on a deck. She’ll accept him as part of our family.

When the sun sets, when Mother has drifted off into the deep sleep this day has gifted her, I creep out of our room and find

Shams still staring out at the sky. It’s darker now, but the stars shine in glorious patterns of constellations. “I can’t

believe you did this,” I say.

“Are you angry with me?” he asks.

“Perhaps I should be.” I smile to assure him I’m not. “Perhaps I would be if it hadn’t gone so swimmingly. She adored you.”

“And I adore her.” He looks around. No one is on the deck. He grazes his finger against mine. Just that wisp of a touch creates

constellations of light inside me. “I had to meet her, and this felt like the only way.”

“Why did you have to meet her?” I ask.

“Because you love her,” he says. “And the best way to know a person is to know the things they love. I know you love your cousin Brendan, and I’ve met him.

I know you love music, and I’ve listened to nothing but your favorite composers since we met.

But your mother, I do believe she may be your greatest love.

How can I claim to know you, to love you, without knowing her? ”

I feel my heart race around my body. “But I don’t know any of the things you love.”

“Yes you do,” he declares. He taps my chest gently, the piece of it that houses my heart. “You know yourself.”

And there, under the night sky, we kiss for what I hope is only the first time. I don’t feel afraid in this moment. I feel

empowered, like we’re one with the nature all around us. Like we are nature. God’s truest house of worship is our very bodies.

Shams is gone the next morning when we wake up. Mother asks the innkeeper after him at breakfast, and she’s informed he checked

out early. I think he wanted me to have this last day alone with Mother, and also, perhaps, he wanted to leave a perfect night

alone. Mother and I explore the town during the day. We eat a whole lobster, laughing as we shuck its claws, its tail, its

legs. Juice flies at us. She drinks two beers and lets me have a tiny sip. A waiter tells us that this part of the Cape has

been an arts colony for two decades. Painters and playwrights and poets flock here, searching for inspiration in the dunes

and shores. Mother asks if musicians come here too, and the answer is yes. She seems to love this place even more when she

hears that.