Don’ut Break Tradition

    I open the door to Mr. Laidlaw’s bakery and join the line. It’s the morning rush. My eyes are fixed on my favorite donut when I hear the cashier. “Yes?”

    I look up. Her hair is pastel pink. She’s wearing four choker necklaces. She has on lipstick in my favorite purple-black color. And she looks very bored.

    “Hi. I’d like six donuts,” I say. “Apple Crunch, Cinnamon Swirl, Chocolate Chocolate, Strawberry Kiss, Powdered Delight, and Old Tyme. And a hot chocolate.” I hold out a twenty-dollar bill. It’s my Eidi—the gift my dad gave me this morning. I’m pretty sure he could barely afford it.

    She punches the order in. “You’re Kareem’s sister, right? Nadia?”

    “Yes?”

    “I used to go to school with him,” she says. A small smile lights up her face, making it match the name tag on her uniform: Joy. I smile back. Can a smile make a day special?

    As she hands me my change, I notice a big turquoise ring on her thumb. Mama’s sleeping face—her bare head resting on the pillow—flashes in my head.

    I count the change. Joy’s given me an idea. And maybe I have enough money for it.

    I used to love our house so much. It’s red brick with wide steps leading up to an even wider porch. But it’s hard to love it so much now that we live only on the first floor. We had to rent the upstairs and basement out. That was after we sold the car. When happiness began to leave our home.

    But every time something “bad” happened, Dad pointed out something good. Like that the bus stops right outside our house. The same bus that everyone took to Eid prayers this morning. 

    When I go inside, Mama’s still sleeping. Beside her lies a dark blue abaya with turquoise flowers. Noor put it out way before I even woke up this morning. But she’d whispered about it to me last night. I want Mama to get ready for Eid day. 

    For some reason, Noor forgot to put Mama’s hijab on the bed too. I saw that this morning. Maybe it’s because Noor has a lot on her mind because she’s the oldest. Or maybe she thinks Mama doesn’t need a hijab. Because of her hair situation.

    But Mama loves her hijabs. She used to love wearing them to the mosque. So I went through her things. There were only two hijabs left in her dresser drawer. Black and white. Nothing special.

    I leave Mama’s room to get dressed. If she sees me ready, she’ll probably want to change too. I put on my dress and look in the mirror. It’s better than pajamas. I’ll never ever get tired of purple-black. Then I remember the girl with the dark lips at Mr. Laidlaw’s bakery: Joy.

    I spot Noor’s makeup bag on top of the dresser. She isn’t here to check on me. Noor doesn’t have any dark purple lipstick, so first I put on dark pink. Then I put light red on top of that. Then I add some blue eyeliner and a bit of black eyeliner—but not on my eyes. On my lips. I rub them together.

    They kind of look like Joy’s lips. And they almost match the dress.

    They almost look special.

    But first, she needs to feel the way I do in my dress, in purple-black. I get the clothes that Noor laid out on the bed. 

    Mama changes slowly. She doesn’t need much help. Except when she looks in the mirror. I stand beside her and look in the mirror at her face. It looks just like my face did before I ran out of the house this morning. Squished. I know she doesn’t see anything special. Her hair is growing in, but only in small bits.

    “Mama? Do you want a hijab?” I open the Buyway bag. “Do you want your favorite color? Turquoise?”

    Inside is a scarf. It’s the kind of scarf that Mama used to wear to work with her heeled boots and shiny black hair. She puts it on. When she turns to me, her face tells me it’s true. She’s starting to feel it. Like me.

    Mama laughs, and it’s like a door opens for happiness to step back into the house. A door opens in me too, and I tumble out unsquished.

    Mama lets me fix the scarf on her, and I pin it carefully under her chin. She looks beautiful.

    “Why don’t you drink your hot chocolate, sweetie?” she asks. “And have your donut?”

    “No, I want to wait for everyone else,” I say. “Do you think it will feel like Eid did before? If I wait for them with a box of donuts? Outside?”

    She hugs me. It’s almost as tight as her hugs used to be.

    “Eid Mubarak, my precious one,” Mama says into my hair. “Now go outside to wait. Drink your hot chocolate.”

    “But they’ll see me. And Esa might get mad that he didn’t get hot chocolate too,” I say. “You know how he gets, Mama.”

    “I have an idea! I’ll make everyone hot chocolate.” Mama begins walking to the kitchen.

    “But, Mama, you can’t!” I follow her. “You’re supposed to rest!”

    “Sweetie, I can boil water and stir chocolate powder. And you can see me through the kitchen window. I’ll be right at the stove.”

    She holds my arms. Her eyes are wide. They’re happy.

    So I let her.