course I am, he said. —And so are you.
She stood there unflinching and let him appraise her. He’d earned this much, surely. This modest concession. His face too close to hers to get in focus. His warm smoker’s breath on her lips and her neck. She felt his thumbnail through the linen of her shirt.
—Sawyer, he whispered. —Let’s go find a place.
A shiver ran through her as she braced the heel of her right hand against his ribs. He smiled and leaned closer. She pushed away and saw his eyes go dark.
—Careful, Decker.
—What for?
—Use your head for a second. All right? Think about where we are.
He frowned and slid his hand under her shirt. The heat of it felt good after the chill.
—This is the Emirates, she whispered. —Not some park bench in Berkeley.
—I don’t—
—Not a place where you want to get caught with a boy.
—Don’t be an idiot, Sawyer. You’re not as convincing as that.
—Take a look for yourself.
He turned his head and as he did she watched the understanding hit. —How long have they been doing that?
—Doing what?
—You know what goddamn it. Staring like they want to hang me from a flagpole by my balls.
—I’m guessing probably since you got a boner.
He didn’t laugh. —Just get me out of here.
She led him by the sleeve past the cashier and a knot of hard-eyed patrons to an empty gate across the corridor. He followed her tamely. His expression was that of someone lost in thought.
—You’re angry at me, she said as they sat down.
—I’m not angry. He squinted at the floor. —I don’t know what I am.
—Listen to me, Decker. You came all this way and I’m grateful. I’m so grateful to you. I never could have made it by myself.
He shook his head. —You’d have made it fine without me. Better, probably.
—You’re the only friend I have. Do you know that?
—I do, actually. But you’re the kind of person who doesn’t need more than one. He grinned at her. —One might even be too much.
—Would you stop for a second?
—I’m not—
—Stop trying to be funny. She pushed his shoulders back as she bent toward him. —This is going to come out wrong.
—What is?
—It’s not too late for you to go back home.
His mouth came open but he made no sound.
—Because it isn’t going to happen, she said gently.
—What are you talking about?
—What you wanted back there, in that shop. It isn’t going to happen, all right? Are you listening? Not ever again.
She’d thought her roundabout way of talking might confuse him but he understood at once. —But you like it, he mumbled. —You told me you liked it. You never once said no to me before.
—That was before, she told him. —That was in a different country.
—What does the country have to—
—Look at me, Decker. Do I look like the person you did that stuff with? Do I even still look like Aden Sawyer?
—You look like Aden Sawyer with a haircut. He bowed his head. —It doesn’t matter anyway. I know who you are.
—You know who I used to be, maybe. When I had long hair and smoked pot and washed the piss out of my mom’s sheets every day. But I’m not even sure you knew me then.
She watched his features slacken. He put up no argument, said nothing at all, and she gave a silent thanks for the reprieve. She couldn’t have explained it any better. She was still trying to explain it to herself.
—All I’m saying is that you can change your mind. You don’t have to get on this next flight, even. You can do what you want.
Decker didn’t answer.
—I’ll tell you what, though.
—What?
—I can’t think of anything back home I’m going to miss.
To her astonishment he looked at her and laughed. —And here I thought this trip was my idea. All those chatrooms. All those books I made you read. Join the Caravan and whatnot.
—I’m not joining any caravans. I’m not joining any armies. Don’t go trying to change the game on me. Okay?
She sat back and waited for his grudging nod.
—Okay. Thanks. And one more thing.
—Holy shit. What?
—I won’t be using swear words anymore. I won’t be cursing.
He let out a breath. —You’re really fucking doing this.
—Of course I am. Just like we said.
—Hold on. He cocked his head. —Did something happen with your voice?
—What do you mean?
—Your voice sounds lower. Are you doing that on purpose?
—Took you long enough to notice. She grinned at him. —I’ve been practicing forever. Like a month.
He sat back in his seat. —And this whole time I’ve been worrying that you’d have second thoughts. I’ve got to be the dumbest shit there ever was.
—I didn’t think you’d come at all, she said, taking his hand in hers. —I was so surprised to see you on that bus.
Half an hour before boarding she dug her toiletries bag out of her father’s pack and followed the backlit signage to the restrooms. The men’s and women’s entrances were separated by a frosted glass partition and she stopped in front of it, flushed and lightheaded, waiting for her fear to die away. Men passed to the right of her, women to the left. The women glanced at her reflexively before averting their eyes but the men paid her no mind at all. She waited and watched, drawing courage from their obvious indifference. A boy of no more than ten shuffled by, fiddling sleepily with the zipper of his jeans. She gritted her teeth and followed him inside.
The restroom seemed more harshly lit even than the corridor and she was about to turn and bolt when she saw that the men at the urinals took care to look at no one but themselves. She hadn’t expected such a show of modesty. She had a dim but sharp-edged memory of being taken into a lavatory by her father years before, of staring up at the urinals in wonder and confusion, and she pictured him guiding her forward now, his strong square palm between her shoulder blades. The farthest stall was empty and she locked its door behind her.
The floor of the stall was littered with bunched wads of paper, the damp debris of bodies in extremis, worlds different from the brilliance of the terminal outside. She gave thanks for the mess: it made the space less frightening, less perfect. She might have been in any public restroom in the world. She lowered the lid of the toilet and sat—tentatively at first, then with all of her weight—and quickly pulled off her kameez.
She sat motionless then with the shirt in her lap, listening to the sounds from the urinals and the stalls and the sinks, so different from the noises women made. She heard no restraint or even self-awareness in the grunts of effort and relief around her. She was sitting on a toilet in a place reserved for men. No one had tried to stop her. She stared down at her fish-white arms and faintly