Francois sat across from me, staring into my eyes, as if trying to find the perfect lie he could craft that would make me believe him. My eyes rendered pain and frustration. He dropped his head to stare at his twiddling thumbs.
“Hey Mohammed,” I said, entering the deli. At this point of life, could Mohammed be my next husband? He already knew my needs better than anyone else did. I talked more to Mohammed than I did anyone else following the deaths of Bradley and my grandmother. “Jamila, beautiful! You want me to get your icedContinue reading “I Was Schooled in L’s”