Abroad

You were eating with Amanda for lunch. It was a Middle Eastern restaurant, and you struggled with the foreign flavors, as you exulted in them. She was in an abaya and hijab, both brilliant green.

"So ... I have news," she said. You looked up, startled as she finished her lamb. "I've been asked to go on fashion week this year."

"Oh wow," you said. It was a longtime aspiration of hers. Modeling down the catwalk in Milan, with all the cameras and attention on her. The career opportunities that would open up. There was a time when that was for a shared future, a shared opportunity. It still ate you up that it was an opportunity she'd share with another. "How does Mustafa feel about that?"

"Hmm," Amanda shrugged. "Not terribly happy. It's an immodest environment, as you well know. But I did make a promise to take him with him. And that we could go see his family in Algeria and Syria."

You inhaled sharply. "Babe, that's dangerous." She held up a hand.

"I know you'd say that. And I love you for saying that. But he has family there, and I need to see the world. The good and the bad. We'll be secure."

You swallowed your doubts and fear, as the topic turned back to the mundane.