The hostess tells him to sit anywhere. Rashid surveys the restaurant, everything clean and bright, popular music piping through speakers. He chooses a booth in the corner, as far from the door as possible, but with a clear sight line. He sits, stares blankly at the plastic stand on the table advertising a new breakfast dish. Why is America constantly reinventing everything? Even breakfast. A waitress comes with a coffee pot and mug in hand. “Coffee?”
“Tea please.”
She frowns and turns around.
Sitting on the smooth vinyl seat, his insides feel ragged, his thoughts blunted. He can accept, even understand if Kathryn rejects him. But if his sons will not see him, his whole life will have been a waste of waiting, he may as well have blown himself up with that bomb. At least then he would have died knowing he was loved. The waitress brings his tea and a menu and still no one arrives. Rashid checks the front of the laminated menu to be sure the name of the restaurant is the one Michael had told him on the phone last night. He pours cream and four packets of sugar into the tea, hoping for a familiar pleasure. He can barely drink the excessive sweetness.
A television perched above the cashier’s stand projects a series of silent video clips and a scrolling newsfeed; replays of last night’s American football game, then planes taking off from an aircraft carrier. Perhaps this is part of the U.S. Navy build up in the East China Sea, or in the Indian Ocean. The superpowers continue to tour their deadly dance in theaters around the globe. He shudders.
Michael finally appears at the table. Rashid stands quickly, aching to reach out and embrace his son. Michael politely shakes his hand, as if they had met to discuss business.
“You are good to come today.”
“I still have more questions,” Michael has not come for Rashid’s pleasure.
Rashid nods. “Tea first?”
Michael shrugs, allows Rashid to signal the waitress for a second cup.
“Who else knows you’re here?” Michael asks.
“No one. An acquaintance in Pakistan knew I was coming only, but we aren’t in touch.”
“Where are you staying?”
“At a hotel downtown.”
“Which one?”
“Why do you want to know?” Would his son turn him in to the authorities?
“Yeah, maybe it’s better if I don’t know. All right, so how did you do it, I mean how did you manage to live in secret for all this time?”
“I made a small life for myself, a small salary working as a mechanic, and I saw very few people. I had protection from a man…a man with some influence.”
“Did people know your name, know who you were?”
Rashid shakes his head.
The waitress arrives with Michael’s tea. “What can I get for you?”
Michael orders the hot breakfast dish advertised on the table.
“Two please,” Rashid grasps for some commonality.
Michael pauses, running his hands through his hair. Rashid, attentive to Michael’s every nuance, recognizes the mannerism as Kathryn’s. But his features, his coloring, his build clearly reflect Rashid.
“What would you do if my mother called the police?”
“Is she planning to?”
“Let me tell you something about my mother. She’s not like you. I can’t even believe she ever married you. She doesn’t like foreigners, doesn’t like unknown or unexpected things. She just tried to be normal, an American, a hardworking single mom. She never said a word about you.”
“And you didn’t ask?”
Michael shakes his head, marveling at what this man doesn’t understand. “Imagine me, a five-year old kid. I see my mom almost disappear before my very eyes, she doesn’t get out of bed, she doesn’t laugh, she doesn’t even look like the mom I was used to. I have some idea that she’s sick because my dad died. When she starts to get better, the last thing I want to do is remind her of the thing that hurts her.”
Two huge plates arrive, piled with eggs and potatoes, onions and peppers. Rashid looks up, the television projects images of a happy grey-haired couple walking on a beach, sitting at a restaurant, strolling in a park—an ad for financial services. If he had stayed, could their life have been like that?
“Do you think I could ease some of her suffering?” Rashid asks.
“Do you really imagine that she wants to see you now? You can’t change anything that happened, you can’t make any of her past easier for her now. She’s struggled to be happy. Her sons are making her proud, she has money for retirement, she has Johannes for company, what would you think you could do?” Michael takes a bite of his breakfast, looks down as Rashid flinches.
“Who’s Johannes?” Rashid asks, jealousy unexpectedly flaring his nostrils.
“Her friend. Not sure the nature of their relationship, not my place to ask.”
“Do they live together?”
“No. Somehow we agreed I was the man of the house. I don’t think I would have liked someone else coming in and taking my mother’s attention away from Andrew and me.”
Rashid observes his son before him, clean shaven, well dressed in a button down shirt and jeans, handsome and poised. How long did it take? How soon after he left did the kindergartner turn into the man of the house?
“You seem to have done a good job. I knew Kathryn would be strong, but you…I didn’t expect…I see you and she didn’t need me.”
“Oh, we needed plenty for sure. Andrew didn’t remember ever having a father, and what did I know about being a father? But Mom always taught us not to dwell on what we didn’t have. We had each other and we had Uncle Ted and his family.” He takes a sip of his tea. “We still do.”
“Do you think…” a ringing sound interrupts Rashid’s question. Michael reaches for his pocket, looks at the screen and then gestures for Rashid to be quiet. “Hi Mom…I’m just getting breakfast…yes, I can come by. I’ll be there in about a half hour…I love you too.”
He sets the phone down. Rashid stares at it. How close she is now, the real woman, still living and breathing. And loving. He doubts he will ever again feel her love directed toward him. Michael eats quickly. “I have to go. You understand.”
“Of course. Will I see you again? Do you have more questions?”
Michael puts down his fork, takes a deep breath. “Give me some time. Call me in a couple of days. I’m not sure what the purpose would be for us to meet again.”
Rashid closes his eyes and bows his head. “I will.” When he looks up Michael is already at the cashier stand, paying the bill. The television displays another commercial, a father and son riding bicycles along a tree-lined path. Rashid looks away.