But how much longer can we keep this up? Today I sign up for my classes, pay the utilities bill, watch Ammi’s bank account slip down to twenty-five hundred. Our mayonnaise jar of crumpled bills covers our weekly expenses, and I’ve barely touched the cash. But we can’t do this forever.

A rapping of knuckles on the doorjamb. Carlos stands there, grinning. “Hola, madam. Would you like to come to dinner with me?”

I look at him, surprised. “But what about the money?”

“Come on. We deserve a little break.”

He’s making a peace offering, I realize, so I shower, shake out my wrinkled graduation dress, and strap on my sandals. In the bathroom I put on kohl and some gloss and wrestle my hair into a bun, letting two curls dangle down my cheeks. When I step out, to my surprise, there’s Carlos in a crisp white shirt and jeans, his hair slicked back.

“Wow,” he says.

“Why do you look like that?” Kamal complains.

“Don’t you think your sister’s pretty?” Carlos asks.

My bare arms tingle.

“No,” Kamal says. “She’s just Rania.”

Carlos laughs. “You need to remember to compliment your older sister, Kamal.”

“You look good too. Guapo.”

“Where’d you learn that?”

I shrug. “I’m a fast learner.”

He blushes. “After you.” He opens the door and sweeps an arm out.

We drop off Kamal with Dimitri, who will babysit, then drive into town and sit at a table at a restaurant overlooking the harbor. The waitress treats us like almost-grown-ups. We get appetizers—slippery oysters; I order broiled fish of the day while Carlos gets linguine with clams. The sun glances off the bobbing boat masts. We talk about silly things—gossip about the kitchen or Kamal’s turning into a stronger swimmer. Nothing serious and Carlos is so polite I can’t tell what this is—a date or an older-brother-sister treat? When our dessert of chocolate mousse arrives, I tell him about how upset I am with Fatima. “She ghosted me,” I say.

“You’re growing, that’s all,” Carlos says. “Like two stalks that lean to different suns.”

“Always the artist,” I tease.

“You’re an artist too, Rania.” He takes a last spoonful. “Don’t get so caught up in the little things. Pay attention to the big stuff.”

But I can’t stop the urgent questions that pulse inside me. What about after the summer? My job? Ammi? Can Carlos be with us?

“Come,” he says, setting down his napkin. “Let’s pay and get the last of the sunset.”

We drive over to a beach on the bay side. I undo my sandals and we traipse through the dunes, to watch the sky swell red, the marsh grasses darken. The air folds around us, velvety, soft.

“I’ve never felt such quiet,” Carlos says.

I look at him, grateful, and let out a breath “Me neither.”