Chapter 5: The Other Women

Continuation of Sunny and Ahmed

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When Wednesday rolls around, I’m so excited I almost can’t contain myself. At work, Mr. Elm snaps at me. “Sunny Day, you need to focus. You just shelved the eggs in the wrong case altogether! You okay?”

“I’m fine,” I say. “Just excited—goin’ over to spend a couple of nights with my cousin at Grace Haven College, and I’ve been daydreamin’ about all the fun things we’ll do.”

“Rachael… right?”

I nod, surprised that he knows. Of course he knows. His son took Rachael to Senior Prom—her one and only date.

“She’s a nice girl. Someday she’s gonna make some young man a fine wife,” he says.

“Uh, right,” I say, but I know that’s the last thing she wants in life. When we were young teens, she told me that she liked girls more than boys. She said God made a mistake with her, like she was meant to be a boy, even though her body parts said somethin’ different.

God don’t make mistakes. Maybe He made us different for a reason, is how I see it.

I wasn’t surprised when she told me—she always liked boy stuff. She even wore boy boxer shorts and was a tomboy. She’d wear dresses to church to make her mom and dad happy. Other than prom, she never went on a date, but it wasn’t because she weren’t pretty. Plenty of boys asked. She’d just say she was savin’ herself for her one-and-only, which pleased her parents, and it was true. It’s been our little secret all these years. We keep secrets for each other, but not from each other—and now she knows mine.

Mommy wanted to drive me to Rachael’s—was worried ’bout me taking the bus alone. I showed her the exact route I would follow and promised to call her if I had a problem.

Gettin’ over to the Just-Say-So is easy-peasy, just one bus, and as it happens, it’s the same bus that goes to Grace Haven. I have to walk about ten minutes from the bus stop to the club. I get there at six o’clock sharp. Not gonna miss Ahmed this time if he’s here.

I step in, and the guy who was the announcer when I was here the first time is lookin’ at the sign-up sheet. He looks up. “Welcome back,” he says, “You’re Sunny, right? Funny Sunny! Thrilled to see you.” He pushes the sign-up sheet toward me.

“No thanks, not tonight. I came to see one of my friends.”

He looks disappointed. “Well, I would love to see you up there again sometime.”

“We’ll see,” I say.

“Well, enjoy the show!”

I drift in. My eyes are finally gettin’ used to the dim light. I catch sight of Ahmed at a table with a group of young people—I don’t know any of ’em. I wander ‘round like I’m lookin’ for someone, hopin’ he’ll catch a sight a’ me and invite me over.

A hand lands on my shoulder. My heart skips a beat, and I turn. “Sunny Day! I thought that was you.”

Ahmed’s grinnin’.

I am too—ear to ear.

“Come over and meet my friends. You can sit with us, that is, unless you’re meetin’ your boyfriend or someone.”

“No, it’s just me tonight. He’s comin’ later to pick me up.”

I’m kickin’ myself for that lie. What do I say when Rachael shows up? I’ll text her and tell her not to come in.

“You performing tonight?”

“Nah, I just came to watch. To learn.”

“Girl, you already got game. If you change your mind, they got space on the sheet.”

I follow Ahmed to the table. “Hey guys, I have a friend I want you to meet—the funny person I told you about a couple weeks ago.” He puts his arm around my waist and pulls me forward. “Sunny, this is my main crew.” He points to each friend and says their names. I can’t remember a one, ’cause my mind is still stuck back on the lie I told.

One of the girls stands up and shakes my hand. “I heard you were terrific! We need more women like you in comedy.”

Women. Nobody ever referred to me that way. I like it—makes me feel like a grown-up.

“Uh, thanks,” I say. She’s pretty, has smooth dark skin and long dark hair. She wears a pretty shimmering purple top and a bright yellow scarf over her shoulder.

“Here, sit next to me,” she pats the empty chair to her left. Ahmed sits on the other side of his friend. Hope they’re just friends.

“Can you tell me your name again?” I ask. “Sorry, I’m not great with rememberin’ the first time.”

“Zara,” she says.

“That’s a cool name. Sounds like a superhero!”

Zara tosses her head back with a peel of laughter, revealin’ perfect white teeth. “I wish!” she says. “My parents named me for the daughter of the Prophet Muhammad. Maybe his daughter had superpowers.”

I can't remember a thing about that prophet from the Bible. “Well, it’s a beautiful name,” I say.

Zara places her hand on top of mine. “Thank you. You’re a very kind person, Sunny. I can certainly see why Ahmed is so taken with you.”

I’m blushin’. Does that mean he likes me? Now that’d be a first. He’s busy talkin’ to the guy sitting next to him. How’d he feel if he knew what Zara just filled my head with?

Just then, the announcer comes up on stage. “Good evening, ladies and gents, let’s get on with the night. First up tonight is one of our favorites, Ahmed Rashid Brooks!”

Ahmed stands up, puts both hands overhead and waves them as he makes his way to the mic.

When he gets up there, he uses sign language to say thank you—taps his fingers to his chin and reaches out to the audience. Everyone is clappin’ and callin’ just like they did for me.

How’s he know that sign? I was late talkin’, so Mommy taught me a lot of signs. Maybe it’s something like that for him too.

When the clappin’ dies down Ahmed says, “Thank you! Hey everybody. It’s good to be back. Big thanks to y’all for being here... and also—shout out to my new friend Sunny Day.”

He nods toward me. Zara points, and the crowd cheers.

“For real—Sunny’s set on this stage a couple weeks ago? Killer. Had me rethinking some things….”

Ahmed lets silence sit a minute, as if he’s thinkin’ right now.

“Like... turns out she’s my twin.”

The audience laughs. I crack up. Twins, how ridiculous is that?

“Not literally—obviously.

She’s a her, I’m a him.

She’s got that... Citrus Grove lemonade-stand sunshine on Sunday thing goin’ on, and I look like an Islamic rapper just stepped out of an L.A. hood.”

Laughter erupts.

“She’s got Jesus, I’ve got Muhammad.”

Daddy musta said somethin’ about Muhammad.

“She scrubs church pews. I vacuum prayer rugs.

She grew up scared of sinning. I grew up being told everybody else is a sinner.”

His face changes, gets kind a serious.

“Our dads? Both preachers. Hers is a pastor and yells about hellfire and brimstone. Mine’s an Imam and lectures about the moral high road. For him, the law is supreme. Don’t even think about parking in the fire lane—Allah is watching.”

A few chuckles.

“I know, I know what y’all are thinkin’—we’re more opposite than the same. But somehow… somehow we both ended up right here, behind the same mic, on the same stage, tryin’ to tell the truth…

The word truth fills the room with a heavy quiet.

“Tryin' to tell the truth without gettin’ struck down by lightning.”

That gets a few laughs. Ahmed sounds an awful lot like a preacher if you ask me.

“So yeah… we’re twins alright. Not in gender, not in looks, not in faith… but in the weird, wonderful mess of tryin’ to be ourselves in the face of a lot of pushback.”

I’m lookin’ around. This isn’t funny—it’s serious. The audience gets it though. Everybody’s clappin’ and smilin’. One lady’s cryin’.

“Thanks, y’all. Peace and blessings.” Ahmed puts his hands in prayer position and makes a little bow, then leaves the stage.

When Ahmed gets back to the table, he says, “Sunny, next time, I wanna see you up there.”

“Maybe,” I say.

“Maybe what?” he says. “Maybe we could work out an act together…milk this twin thing we got going?”

I laugh. “Okay, but yer gonna have to tell me more about this Muhammad guy.”

“I’d love to. You wanna give me your phone number?” Ahmed asks.

“Yeah sure,” I say.

He hands me his phone.

I must look confused 'cause he says, “Just type it in here, and I’ll send you a text. That way you’ll have my number too.”

I type my number in, and hand the phone back to him.

“I’ll call you tomorrow,” he says.

“That’d be nice,” I say. My throat’s choked up. Nobody but Rachael has ever called me.

After a bunch of acts have gone by, Ahmed says, “Zara and I gotta get going. She has to be home by eight.” He looks at Zara and they say say in unison, “Allah is watching.”

We all laugh.

“Maybe next time we’ll meet your boyfriend?” Zara says.

“Yeah, that could happen,” I say, knowing it never will. We say our good-byes. Both Zara and Ahmed give me hugs.

I watch as they leave, and breathe a sigh of relief that Rachael isn’t here yet.

It’s already dark when Rachael and I pull into the driveway at my house on Friday night. Except for Daddy’s office, the house is dark. Mommy is at her ladies bible study. She doesn’t get home til late.

“Thanks, Rache,” I say, “Really. You got no idea how much bein’ able to get away means to me.”

“Ha, I think I do,” she says. “Any time. I mean it. I’m so proud of you, Sunny. Love you like a sister.”

I give her a big smooch on the cheek. “Me too.” Then I head into the house. Rachael’s already pulled out of the driveway by the time I’m walkin’ by Daddy’s office to the front door. He’s workin’ on his Sunday sermon no doubt. I sneak a peek in the window.

My heart skips a beat when I see Daddy on the couch—not alone. He’s with a with woman. I can’t see who it is, but fer sure it sure isn’t Mommy. They’re kissin’ and huggin’, tuggin’ at each other’s clothes. I jump back from the window. My face burns and I’m shakin’ all over. Daddy’s a cheater.

I let myself in the front door real quiet, leave my stuff in my bedroom, and sneak back to the family room where I got a clear view of the front door. I wanna see who that lady is, not sure why, but I gotta know.

I don’t wait long before seeing the her leaving. Window’s open a crack so I can hear Daddy sayin’ his good-byes “Glad I was able to help you out with your problem,” he says as if wrappin’ up a consultation with any old parishioner, but it wasn’t any old parishioner—it was Mrs. Larson—Brit’s mom.

Suddenly, things make more sense.