1 Hena sat by her kitchen window, finishing her morning coffee as fog rolled in over the Golden Gate Bridge. As she reached for an envelope from a stack of mail, her phone buzzed. Her book club, she guessed. They were still pinning down logistics for tonight’s meetup.
But the number flashing on the screen wasn’t anyone from book club. It was her little sister. She was calling. Lulu never called.
Hena’s throat caught as she stared at Lulu’s goofy grin, lit up on her phone. Her brown eyes partially obscured by a curtain of bangs from her blue-hair phase when she was eighteen. It was when Hena had seen her last. When they were inseparable. When Lulu still loved her.
“I wanted you to hear it from me,” Lulu said when Hena answered, sliding past pleasantries. “I’m getting married.”
Married? Hena winced as her finger sliced against the edge of the envelope she had been opening. Blood pooled on the tip of her index finger. She pressed a napkin against it to stem the bleeding. Lulu was twenty-one. Nine years her junior. Far too young. But her sister hadn’t called for Hena’s opinion.
“Who’s the lucky guy?” she asked instead, as her tabby, Roscoe, brushed against her leg.
“You know him. Khaled.”
Wait. What? Hena sat up straighter.
“Haris’s cousin?” she asked. “Did Ammi set this up?”
“This isn’t an arranged marriage.” Lulu scoffed. “We’ve known each other forever. I ran into him at Auntie Hanifa’s anniversary party last year. One thing led to another . . .”
She filled Hena in on how Khaled had accompanied his parents to their family home for a formal marriage proposal, complete with laddus, gulab jamun, and other desi sweets.
Hena’s chest constricted. She knew Khaled. He was the pale-faced kid who’d played football with the other boys at the auntie- and uncle-filled desi potlucks of her youth. His cousin Haris—her first kiss—was best friends with Nasir, the man she’d nearly married.
Hena fled to the other side of the country to escape that world. Her kid sister was hitching herself to it for life?
Lulu had stopped talking. She was waiting for a response.
“Congratulations,” Hena managed to say. “When’s the big day?”
“Saturday.”
“As in three days from now?” she said, half joking.
“Two days, actually. The welcome party is Friday evening. Can you come?”
Hena’s cheeks warmed. Why was she surprised? Sure, they exchanged the occasional birthday text, but this was the first time she’d heard Lulu’s voice in three years. Why wouldn’t she be the last to know about her wedding?
“Thanks for keeping me in the loop,” Hena said.
“Don’t do that,” Lulu warned. “It came together faster than we expected, but it’s not like you’d have wanted to come. I can’t remember the last time you’ve been home.”
Hena remembered. The last time she’d been in Pembroke Pines was three years, two weeks, and five days ago. Lulu knew why she hadn’t been back. Hena was not welcome.
“Why bother inviting me now?” Hena asked.
“Ammi wants you there.”
“Good one.” They both knew how their mother felt about Hena.
We’ll just pretend you’re dead—verbatim the last words she’d spoken to her.
“I’m as surprised as you are.”
“Well, thanks for the invite. Work is busy, so I won’t be able to make it.” Boundaries—she was good at those now. “I wish you and Khaled all the happiness in the world. I mean that.”
“Hena—”
“Lulu, I’m in the middle of a major renovation. I can’t just drop everything last minute. Honestly, I’m offended you’d ask.”
There was a long pause on the other line. Then her sister spoke again.
“Ammi’s dying,” she said.
Hena gripped the phone tighter.
I misunderstood. I must have.“It’s lung cancer. Stage four,” Lulu explained, to fill the silence. “The doctors said we’ve run out of treatment options. It’s why we rushed the wedding.”
She knew people died all the time, but her mother couldn’t die. She was a force of nature, her presence and absence in Hena’s life equally haunting. She was also her last living parent.
Blood seeped through the napkin. Hena collected herself. Drew in a deep breath.
“I’m . . . I’m sorry to hear,” she finally said. “But she doesn’t want to see me.”
“She does.”
“Lulu—”
“Look, she’ll never say it to you, okay? But she’s been calling out your name in her sleep for days. When I caught her going through your baby album this morning, she admitted it. She wants to see you. She said she wants closure. Regardless of all the shit between the two of you, you’re her daughter. She loves you, Hena.”
Ammi loved no one. Least of all Hena. She remembered the night in her bridal suite. Her hands and arms adorned in henna. Ancestral gold around her neck. When she told Ammi there would be no wedding. When Ammi took everyone’s side except her own.
“I don’t think my being there is a good idea,” Hena said. “Having the ‘killer bride’ in attendance might overshadow your big day.”
“Don’t say that. Everyone knows you would never hurt Nasir. Look, if anyone so much as whispers about you, tell me. I will personally have them booted off the premises.”
Lulu fell silent for a moment. When she spoke again, her voice trembled.
“Hena, Ammi’s really sick. It’s rough. She insisted on sending me off with a proper wedding, so I’m going along with it, but it’s a lot to handle. You have to come. Please. I need you.”
Hena’s eyes welled. Just like that, she was Jell-O. Because Lulu was her baby sister. Hena had changed her diapers. Pureed her applesauce. Walked her to school for her first day of kindergarten. Watched her skip into the fluorescent-lit classroom with the alphabet rug.
She couldn’t say no to Lulu’s plea. Not when she had already let her down so much.
Copyright © 2026 by Aisha Saeed. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
