City of Veils by Zoë Ferraris

hung out his laundry—days ago, judging from the stiffness of the fabrics and the fact that the sun had bleached the top of his shirts. A thump on the other side of the roof made her turn. She saw the neighbor’s roof-access door swing open and a girl’s face peeked out.
    “Sabria!” she said.
    The girl grinned and came rushing over to embrace her. Miriam went forward, stumbling on a clothesline and cursing with a laugh. “I’m so glad to see you!”
    Sabria kissed her cheeks, squeezed her shoulders, and frowned. “You were gone too long! What am I going to do when you leave for good?”
    “You’ll have to come with me.”
    “And leave my family? Are you kidding?” She smirked. Precisely how her family drove her crazy was one of their favorite topics of discussion. Sabria lived downstairs with her parents, six sisters, and a profoundly devout older brother. She was the oldest of the girls, and much of the burden of housework and child-rearing fell on her shoulders, but a few months ago she had cast it off when she took a job working in her aunt’s beauty boutique. Her parents did not approve.
    “We’re just about to leave for my cousin’s wedding,” Sabria said. “Everyone’s going. My parents already left, but I forced my cousin Abdullah to stay behind because I wanted to see you. I thought you’d be home earlier.”
    “That’s so sweet.” Miriam felt an irrational swelling of tears. “We were held up at the airport. Don’t hold up your plans on my account. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
    “Yes, but I wanted to let you know: I’m getting married next month.”
    “
What?
To whom?”
    “My cousin Omar.”
    “Congratulations.” Miriam felt her throat constrict. “Is he the one who lives in Riyadh?”
    “Yes, the one I told you about.” Sabria glanced nervously at the clothesline.
    “Are you happy about the wedding?”
    “Yes, I am, it’s just…” She shrugged. “It’s happening so fast.”
    Miriam nodded. She took a dim view of how anxious Sabria’s parents were to marry off their girls.
    She heard a clatter in the kitchen below. “Listen, Eric’s home,” she said. “Can you come down for a few minutes? He brought dinner, and I’m starving.”
    “No, Abdullah’s going to leave without me if I don’t get down there.”
    “Oh, right.” Miriam hugged her again. “Come up when you get back.”
    “I will.” As Sabria trotted back to the door, Miriam was reminded how young she was. Seventeen on the outside and—most of the time, at least—twelve on the inside, with rare and beautiful flashes of maturity.
    “Have a safe trip!” Miriam cried, and a muffled response came up from the stairwell. She smiled and grabbed the laundry bucket. They didn’t have a washer. She cleaned their clothes by hand, and although she complained about the constant housework, deep down she was grateful. It gave her something to do.
    She hastily collected Eric’s laundry—cursing at the clothespins, which had somehow ruined one of his white shirts—and then made her way downstairs.
    The smell of hummus and
shawarma
wafted out the kitchen door. She dropped the bucket on the counter and went straight to the table, peeling the tinfoil from a take-out tray and dipping her finger in. She tore a slice of pita from a giant round and shoved it in her mouth.
    “Errrk?” She swallowed. “Honey, come eat!”
    She heard no response. “Eric?” A hard swallow. The bug zapper crackled like rounds from a machine gun and she jumped, dropping her bread on the floor. She stooped to retrieve it and took a deep breath. It was probably a lizard; they fried longer than mosquitoes.
    She unwrapped a
shawarma
and sat down to eat, pleased that the meat was still hot. “I’m eating without you!” She opened a water bottle and took a long drink.
    She heard a noise echoing up the hallway, then the distinctive shuddering of the windows in the kitchen as the building’s front door slammed shut. She set the sandwich on the