“I suppose you’re right. We’re a long way from our little apartment in Hawalli. Remember our summer business ventures, your science experiments, and my girl gangs?”

“Who can forget? Nobody messed with me because of you and your girl gangs.” My baby brother laughed, putting his arm around me.

As I take stock of my life, as one does in the Cube, I realize that my wedding, surrounded by family in February of 2002, began the happiest days of my life. My family didn’t stay long after the wedding because they planned to take Sitti Wasfiyeh to spend a few days in Ein el-Sultan before heading back to Amman.

“I’ll come back in two months,” Mama promised. She had more time off coming up. We kissed and hugged farewell at dusk. Sitti Wasfiyeh used Hajjeh Um Mhammad’s old motor cart to get to the car, though she seemed slower on it than if she had walked.

“You can make it go faster, Hajjeh,” Mama urged.

“You’re trying to get me killed,” Sitti shot back.

“Hajjeh, you’re indestructible. Give that thing a little more gas,” Mama said.

“I curse your gray hairs, woman! Stop rushing me!” Sitti waved her off.

Before they drove away, Sitti whispered to me, “May God bless you both and bless your marriage and bring you many babies. Don’t mess this one up like you did the first one. God loves you and we all love you.”

Bilal made a fire outside as it grew dark. He could walk without a cane now, but his gait was still not what it had been. We curled up together, wrapped in a blanket by the glow of the firepit. “Alone at last.” He kissed me. The closeness was familiar, as if we had always been together. It was hard to remember life without Bilal.

We gazed at the blackness of the sky lighting up an incomprehensible universe.

“Everything I worry about feels impossibly small and unimportant when I’m confronted with a sky like this,” Bilal said softly.

I snuggled against his shoulder, kissed his neck. “I got in so much trouble in second grade for trying to fathom the universe,” I said.

“What do you mean?” Bilal pulled away to look at me.

“My religion teacher told the class how big and vast God made the universe. She said He made millions of planets and some might even have life like earth. Of course, I asked perfectly logical questions, like: Why does God only care about people on earth? How does He manage to keep track of everyone everywhere and account for who might eat pork? Did little alien girls have to wear hijab too? And finally, the straw that broke my teacher’s back: Why would He really care what we eat or wear? Doesn’t He have more important things to deal with?”

Bilal laughed. “Most people live their whole lives without having such obvious questions.”