Malik and Jade

Chapter 37 (Jade): His Gesture

Copyright © 2024 by GroveltoHEA

"He's building me a porch," I told my mother one morning during my week-long visit to see her and my father. Nour was in his high chair, eating some pieces of banana.

"I know," she said. "He told me why he wanted to get you out here for a little break this week."

"He's been confusing me," I sighed.

Nour took one of the banana pieces from his tray and put it into his mouth, making happy baby noises that clearly were meant to convey I like bananas!

"It's hard to believe that somewhere along the way, an adorable little baby boy can become a confusing man." My mother shook her head. "I always worry about you, Jade, but you don't want to talk about it very often."

"I was doing fine with us being friends. I'd accepted that was all we'd have. We were making it work, it was close to being what it was before but...with me knowing that it's all that it was."

"You'd accepted it, you say. But somewhere inside, were you still hoping for more?"

Leave it to a mom to ask the difficult, uncomfortable question.

"I didn't think so. I honestly didn't think so. Then he told me he was falling in love with me."

Other than her eyes widening, my mother didn't give away much at that little bombshell.

"Why now?"

"That's what I asked him," I laughed. "I wasn't doing anything. Wasn't trying to attract his attention, win his heart; I wasn't going out of my way to be nice to him. I was just being calm and nice like you would be to a roommate. We were getting along fine. So I have no idea why he'd suddenly say that."

"You shouldn't have to be doing anything to make someone love you," she said. 

"I guess not. But it's still confusing. If he didn't love me before, why now?"

Giving a delicate shrug, my mother shook her head. "Why did you fall in love with Malik when you did? What did he do to make you fall in love with him?"

Opening my mouth, I realized I didn't have a good answer. 

"I just did," I said lamely. "He wasn't doing anything special. He was just being himself. Funny. Serious. Smart. Interesting."

"And there's the mystery of love, Jade, of why we fall for one person and not another. Why some love is seemingly instant and why some love can take its sweet time to grow. We can't explain it. There isn't a reason for it. If there was a formula we could follow, we could control it and direct it and ensure love always had the outcome we wanted."

"That'd be nice to control it," I said, watching as Nour smashed his hand on top of the remaining banana, then looked at the mess curiously as if he was beginning to connect actions and consequences.

"That would be a mistake," she said decisively. "It would take so much of the magic away."

"I don't feel like it's very magical. I feel like it's more painful."

"And who could blame you for feeling like that after what happened with Malik? But that doesn't mean it can't ever be magical for you."

"He called me hayete one night. We were both sleepy, and I think he slipped, but that kind of started things."

"Hayete," she repeated. "That's serious."

"I was surprised. He was surprised."

"I'm sure you both were. And then he told you he was falling in love with you."

"Yes." I took a napkin and wiped Nour's mushy banana mouth and his sticky little paw.

"And what'd you say?"

"Nothing, really. I just asked him how he could expect me to believe that. And I asked him why now, too."

"Well, I suspect life's about to get more interesting for you."

I couldn't deny that, and she was right.

Every night I'd been at my parents' house, Malik called me, and I took his calls because that's what friends did. He refused to send me work-in-progress pictures for the porch, laughing at my not-so-subtle attempts to get a sneak peek from him.

"You'll see it when you get home," he said, not giving an inch. "I'll show you the in-progress pictures once you're home, sitting on your porch. I did send you some pictures of the furniture I need you to make decisions on for the porch."

Malik had stayed on the phone with me as I looked through the options he'd sent to me. We discussed the pros and cons of each rocking chair and finally decided on the rockers that were most similar to the ones at the bed and breakfast.

"See?" he'd teased me. "Now you practically know what the porch looks like."

I'd laughed. "That in no way tells me what the porch looks like," I protested.

"You're just going to have to trust me that you'll love it," Malik said.

Then, realizing what he'd implied, we both were quiet, thinking about the bigger ramifications of his statement. Trust was a difficult concept between us, but in this limited circumstance, he was asking for me to believe in him. Knowing that Malik had wonderful aesthetic sense, I found that I was certain it would be beautiful.

"I have no doubt I'll love it," I said firmly.

For a moment, Malik didn't say anything, and then he said quietly, "Thank you."

He asked about Nour and that shifted the conversation back to easy while I filled him in on our boy's day and all the funny things he'd done.

At the end of the week, the night before I was due to come home, Malik called to tell me the porch was done, right down to the furniture being in place.

"You staged it?" I asked him.

"What?"

"Did you stage the porch? You know, lemonade pitcher, seeded-glass glasses with a blue rim, pots of red geraniums, hanging baskets of petunias...you know, did you set the stage?"

He was silent. "Say all of that again," he demanded.

Laughing, I repeated it, picturing him writing down everything I'd dictated and him rushing around Saturday morning to try to find everything I wanted. I'd be more than happy to do it, but it seemed like he wanted to do everything for this porch.

The next afternoon, I drove up our driveway, stunned at the porch that now graced the front of our home. The architect Malik had hired had done an amazing job of making the wide porch look as if it'd always been there. It added the same type of quaintness to our house that had charmed me at the bed and breakfast.

Malik came out to the car, absolutely beaming, and I realized it wasn't because of the porch surprise, but because he'd missed Nour and me. He was genuinely happy to see us, and he unhooked Nour from his car seat and  gave him hugs and kisses. Then, holding our son in his arms, he stepped to me, leaning slowly down me to press a quick kiss to my lips.

"I missed you," he said.

It was said so simply and sincerely that I believed him.

Taking my hand, he led me up the steps to the new porch, just watching me for my reaction. He had somehow managed to find everything I'd mentioned to stage it, right down to the lemonade in the pitcher.

"The pitcher and cups are plastic, not glass," he explained earnestly, "just because I thought that was safer with Nour at this age. And you didn't say anything about cushions, but I found some blue ones that I thought looked good with the white rockers."

"It's all so perfect," I said. "Thank you."

Sinking into one of the chairs, I held out my arms for Nour, who cuddled up against my chest as I gently rocked us. Malik had given me the perfect gift -- this porch would become a favorite place of mine. I thought of all the planning and secrecy that had gone into this, the effort it had taken, the thoughtfulness of his gesture.

"Malik," I said, taking a deep breath, "I missed you, too."