Jeremy is Muslim

The next day, I paced my room like a caged animal, my stomach twisting into knots every time I heard the doorbell. My friends arrived first—Tom and Felix—both shooting me knowing smirks as Mom greeted them in a formal, black cutout gown, her toned midriff visible from the cutout opening. She didn’t even notice their hungry stares.

Then, just as we settled in the backyard, the doorbell rang again. Mom practically skipped to answer it, her tits bouncing with each step. I knew who it was before she even opened the door—Jeremy’s smug chuckle confirmed it.

When he stepped inside, I almost didn’t recognize him at first. He was still broad-shouldered and towering, but now he wore a crisp white thobe, his beard neatly trimmed in the Sunni fashion. A silver prayer bead bracelet glinted around his wrist as he shook Mom’s hand—his grip lingering just a second too long. "As-salamu alaykum, Anastasia," he murmured, his voice smooth as honey.

I always knew Jeremy was Muslim (his actual name was Muhammad-Imam-Al-Thani but we all called him Jeremy for some reason), but he'd always seemed like he tried to ignore his cultural ties. But now, Jeremy looked like he was leaning fully into his faith. He looked pious, respectable even—except for the way his dark eyes flickered over Mom's body in slow appreciation. She didn't notice, of course. She was too busy adjusting the skirt of the cutout dress, dragging it low enough for her hip bones to be visible.

Tom whistled low under his breath beside me. "Dude," he muttered, "your mom's gonna get *hijabi*-ed." I elbowed him hard in the ribs, but my stomach was already churning. Jeremy's gaze lingered on the strip of bare skin above Mom's waistline before he smiled—too polite, too calculated. "Anastasia, the Holy Qur'an states that women such as yourself should dress modestly." He said it like a joke, but his fingers twitched at his side like he wanted to adjust the fabric himself.

Mom laughed—that airy, clueless laugh—and patted his shoulder. "Oh, Jeremy, you're funny! In Germany, we sunbathe naked!" The way she said it, like she was discussing the weather, made Felix **** on his drink. Jeremy's smile didn't reach his eyes. "Yes," he murmured, "I've heard." His fingers brushed the small of her back as he guided her toward the kitchen under the pretense of helping with drinks. The possessive curl of his hand made my nails dig into my palms.

"Speaking of nudity" Jeremy spoke, "I need to return this to you." He removed a crumpled piece of paper from his pocket. It was a photo of Mom and my 20-year-old sister at last years' New Year's Eve party. In the photograph, Mom wore a pink lace dress that stopped mid-thigh. Through the lace you could barely make out the outline of her bra. My sister opted for something... less modest.

My sister donned a sheer dress, her bra and panties clearly visible underneath. A sticky white substance clung to the corner of the photograph. Beside me, Felix and Tom's erections were clearly visible. Mom took the photograph, "Ah! You needed to photocopy this for the company webpage, right?" Her cluelessness was almost painful.