Anna
“I just have to say thank you,” Malik says with a grateful sigh before taking a large bite of his sandwich.
“Why’s that?” I ask, picking mine up. I try to figure out how to get a portion of it in my mouth, but it does not open that wide.
“For not taking me to a restaurant that only serves salads and smoothies,” he replies after swallowing.
I grin over the thick Italian bread of a Primanti’s pastrami, stuffed thick with coleslaw and crispy French fries. “That’s kind of sexist.”
“No, it’s not,” he replies with a frown. “Kynan brought me out to lunch the first day I was back, and he took me to just such a place. Granted, I’m happy for any food these days, but damn… salad just isn’t my thing. Never has been.”
Laughing, I study my sandwich. “Well, I love Primanti’s. It’s one of my favorites in the Burgh, but it’s definitely not first-date food.”
Malik snorts, nodding with agreement. He takes another huge bite, a strand of coleslaw left hanging from the corner of his mouth. I resist the urge to reach across the table to use my finger to push it into his mouth. I’m not sure what that feeling is. It’s not an attraction thing. Not quite a motherly one, either. Definitely not a sisterly urge, but it’s definitely rooted in tenderness for this man who has been through so much and survived. He deserves hundreds of Primanti sandwiches if that’s what he wants.
Maybe I stare just a little too long because Malik grabs a napkin and wipes his face, still chewing the bite he just took. I go ahead and attack the corner of my sandwich, savoring the explosion of flavors in my mouth.
“You’re native to Pittsburgh, right?” Malik asks.
I nod, taking a sip of my Diet Coke before answering. “Born and raised. Moved away at eighteen, but I knew I’d come back one day. It’s home.”
“College?” Malik guesses. He takes another bite, content to listen.
“Yeah… in Ohio at Bowling Green. But I dropped out after my sophomore year to join the Army.”
Malik sucks in a surprised gasp. He proceeds to have a coughing fit as food enters his lungs. Taking a few sips of his drink, he clears his throat and studies me in wonderment. “Why would you drop out of college for the military?”
I shrug, picking a French fry out of my sandwich. “I liked college and all, but I really didn’t know what I wanted to do with my life. It was getting to be time to declare my major, and I just didn’t know. It felt like a waste of time and money. So, I decided to try the military, and I ended up loving it.”
Malik shakes his head, a respectful gleam in his eye. “Just… wow. It’s impressive you had the guts to follow your… well, your gut instinct. And major respect for joining the military.”
Malik holds his fist out to me. Without thought, I reach across the table and bump mine against his.
“Why did you go into the Marines?” I ask.
I’m able to eat several bites of my sandwich as he tells me about his family’s mixed heritage. American mother who fell in love with Montreal and Malik’s father, so that’s where they chose to raise their family.
All the Fournier boys were into hockey, but Malik didn’t love it the way his older brothers Max and Lucas did. I found it touching Malik’s passion was in following in his American grandfather’s footsteps into the Marine Corps, to defend a country he wasn’t raised in but still had ties to.
“Still, I miss playing hockey,” Malik muses. “When I was active duty, I’d play on a local rec league if one was available.”
“And do you cheer for your brothers’ team?” I tease. “Or are your loyalties elsewhere?”
“As long as my brothers are with the Cold Fury, then that’s my number-one team.” The love and pride in his voice causes warmth to spread in my chest. As an only child, I don’t understand the tie of siblings, but I very much enjoy the way he lights up as he talks about his family. I imagine these are some of the good things he yearned for while a prisoner.
But that’s too heavy of a discussion, even though a deep part of me wants to talk to Malik about his time in Syria. It’s almost as if taking on his pain will help purge the hurt of losing Jimmy. I can’t describe it other than what happened in Syria has seemed to make Malik important to me.
Instead, I keep the conversation light. “Okay… I have to know… how much has Cage bothered you about your brothers?”
Malik’s head tips back as he laughs from deep in his gut. Despite the gauntness in his cheekbones still left behind from months of starvation, the pure humor radiating from his hazel eyes transforms him into a vision of beauty. I’d always thought him handsome, but he’s gorgeous in this moment. His hair was buzzed short when I’d first met him back in June, but it had clearly grown while he was in captivity. I imagine he also had quite the beard when they found him, which has been shaved clean, but he left his dark brown hair long and wavy. It curls around his ears, and almost brushes the collar of his shirt.
I’m so lost in his attractiveness that I’m actually startled when he proclaims, “That guy has got it bad for the Cold Fury. Since he’s from North Carolina, he’s like a zany fan.”
It takes me a moment to understand what he’s talking about as the realization I was just ogling another man—one who is not my husband—shames me. My cheeks heat up. Inside my heart, I immediately apologize. I’m so sorry, Jimmy. So very sorry.
“You know—” Malik continues, clearly not privy to the guilt that’s nearly drowning me right now, “—after they rescued me, one of the first things Cage asked me when we were on a transport plane over to Germany was if I could get him tickets to a Cold Fury game. I told him if he got me a cheeseburger as soon as we landed, I’d get him all the damn tickets he wanted.”
Malik chuckles at the memory, but his reference to wanting a cheeseburger after probably eating nothing but dirt and stale water for months hits me hard. I can feel the heat leave my cheeks. Malik must notice something because he asks, “Did I say something wrong?”
Quickly, I shake my head. “Not at all. I guess the comment about the cheeseburger was just a stark reminder about how bad things were for you.”
He doesn’t have to, but Malik goes out of his way to downplay it. He holds up his sandwich, grinning. “Which is the reason I don’t want salads for lunch.”
“Noted,” I say softly, giving him a smile I hope isn’t overflowing with sympathy. Instead, I hope it merely conveys he has a friend who wants to help him in any way I can.
It’s an honor to Jimmy’s memory for me.
It represents a victory that Malik made it back while the bastards who killed my husband didn’t win.
Since things have gotten a little heavy, I decide it’s time for us to talk about our database project. I twist to grab my notepad out of my purse, which hangs on the back of my chair, when Malik says, “Mind if I ask you a personal question?”
There’s an actual tremor moving through me, knowing he’s going to ask about Jimmy. And while I never mind talking about my husband, whom I still love very much, it’s important to me that Malik has open access to me with full transparency about him. I imagine Malik is suffering from the loss of Jimmy and Sal, and he might need some solidarity.
I lock eyes with him. “You can ask me anything. Talk to me about anything.”
Something passes between us. There’s relief in his gaze, and a bit of fear that I’ve just opened a doorway for him. Mostly, I see the knowledge we both share something many others wouldn’t understand.
“How are you doing? I can’t imagine what it was like for you after—”
His words cut off abruptly before he can complete his sentence. It confirms the loss of lives—Jimmy’s and Sal’s—may have had as much of an effect on him as what he’d been through as a prisoner.
He’s just starting his recovery. I’ve been at it for a few months, so I feel like I can offer him something.
Hope.
“It was really hard at first,” I admit. “My body didn’t react to the stress and grief very well, so they had to put me on bed rest for the remainder of my pregnancy.”
Malik’s eyebrows draw inward with shared empathy. He places his forearms on the table, leans in, and ignores his food.
“It was hard going through the birth without Jimmy,” I say in a moment of total candor. I hadn’t talked about this with anyone much. “I mean… we’d gone to all the classes together. He was supposed to be my coach. It was his hand I was supposed to squeeze and nearly break during the contractions.”
Smiling at the image, Malik nods. It’s a silent encouragement to purge everything out because I have his undivided attention.
“I’d like to tell you Avery’s birth was an event of joy and happiness, but it wasn’t. I was so extremely sad Jimmy wasn’t there. Honestly, at first, I didn’t even want to hold her when she was born. It kills me to even admit that aloud.”
“It’s understandable,” Malik says.
I nod. “Yeah… I eventually understood that, and my mom didn’t give me any choice. She was there in Jimmy’s place. She was the first to hold Avery. She’s the one who put her on my chest. Forced me to hold her. And… Malik, it was like a veil got lifted when I finally looked at her. I mean, I expected this magical moment like maybe I’d see Jimmy’s face reflected back, but let’s be honest… all babies look alike with their smooshy faces.”
Malik busts out laughing. “Totally.”
I grin back, the heaviness fully lifted. “But when I looked at her, it was full love at first sight. In that moment, I knew I could grieve for Jimmy while still being filled with hope, love, and happiness over Avery. That it was okay to be happy. It was a clarifying moment. My daughter was what started my healing process. Every day, she has made me exponentially happier.”
His eyes jump back and forth between my own as he considers my words. “It takes time, right?”
Malik’s not asking the question to know if that’s the theory applied to my own grief. He’s asking for himself.
Reaching across the table without thought, I lay my hand on top of his. He doesn’t flinch or acknowledge the touch in any way, but he doesn’t withdraw either. “Yes… it just takes time.”
Then, to my surprise, his hand shifts, twisting slightly so he’s able to curl his fingers around mine. He squeezes. With the most penetrating look that has ever been bestowed upon me, he says, “I am so very sorry Jimmy died. I would have traded places with him in a heartbeat.”
“I’d never ask that of you,” I reply, giving him a squeeze back. “I believe God has bigger plans for all of us. I don’t try to pretend to understand them. It’s healing to accept it’s out of our control, though. The best we can do is live a good life in acknowledgment.”
“Brave words,” Malik murmurs.
After giving me one more squeeze, he pulls his hand back. I think it’s because the contact might have been weird, but it turns out he’s just hungry. The sandwich is back in his hands, and he takes another bite.
“One more thing,” I say as he chews. He lifts his eyebrows to indicate he’s listening to whatever sage advice I might have. I lean in, giving him a pointed look that means business. “Give Corinne a chance. I saw her for several weeks after Jimmy’s death, and it made all the difference to be able to process my feelings in a healthy, private environment. I’m always here for you to talk to, but Corinne is a professional who is good at what she does.”
Malik can’t hide the slight grimace, telling me he’s against having to counsel with her. But he’ll thank me for it later if he gives it half a chance. He has deep issues to work through… more than just losing his friends. He went through torture and isolation. I hope he understands that processing everything safely, while learning how to accept it, is going to be crucial to his happiness in the future. I’m determined to help him figure that out.