“Come on, Mama. The light will change any second.”

The girl stares at the ground and reaches for the bill. Mama tugs it gently for a second, as though she could keep the little girl from going too quickly. But the girl wants the bill, and she takes it, leaving Mama empty-handed.

“God protect you, Miss,” the girl says, moving to the next car.

The light changes to green, and they leave the girl and her median and the Prophet’s Mosque behind.

The hotel is hidden by fig trees and bougainvillea bushes, pink flowers flaming. Muneer drives back and forth several times before he finds the gate into the parking lot, which is quiet and nearly empty, shaded by hills.

“We’re not late,” Muneer says. “We’re early.”

“You drove too fast.”

In the hotel room, before showering, Muneer eats the warm yogurt with a spoon room service delivers. He swears the stuff is delicious. They pray, nap, pray again. Mama puts on her gray dress, oils her hair and braids it again, coiling it the way it was before. She applies sandalwood essence behind her ears. She pulls the kohl rod swiftly over her closed eyelids. She calls Muneer’s sister Aaliyah. “Your brother drives too fast,” she says.

He looks up from fastening the collar of his thawb with studs. “Old lady, I can hear you. What are you talking about?”

“Not a thing.”

She says goodbye to Aaliyah and puts her scarf on, drapes her abayah over top of her head. She sits on her bed while Muneer drapes his mishlah over his shoulders. He goes to the mirror to carefully lay a clean ghutrah and his iqal on his head. Perfectly adjusting the crease of the starched fabric at the crest of his forehead takes him a few minutes.

“Let me help you,” his mother says. “The girl should have used more starch.”

“Don’t blame it on poor Sara,” he says. “What does she know about ironing ghutrahs?”

The wedding hall is set apart from the hotel, on the other side of the parking lot. Cars have arrived. The white lights strung across the building switch on as they approach, and the place transforms from a plain box into a neck with a woven necklace of pearls.

He leaves her at the door of the hall and kisses her on the cheek before heading back to the hotel, where the men’s gathering is being held.

Later, Mama tells Muneer everything: How the hall was bright white, high ceilinged, full of women she didn’t recognize. How she wished she’d brought Aaliyah or one of her other daughters. Sitting down at a table in the far corner of the room, she tried to smooth the creases in her gray silk dress, but they obstinately stay put.

In her white satin purse were photos of him. She scanned the room for girls of appropriate age and family.