How Green Becomes Wood

"Oh no, it's alright. She sounded young, she'll learn. Or not. I'll take her false kindness over this man I met at the train station," Daizi leaned in a bit closer and then recounted that tale, concluding with, "the worst is I don't even know if he's still there. I've kept having one of my coworkers pick me up from the train station just in case, but I still worry, what if my train is early? What if my coworker runs late? I'm only getting less spry the bigger she gets, and it's hard for me anyway, if I'm cornered like I was. So Penny's whole..." Daizi waved one hand, "Much more pleasant. And if only she hadn't touched me without permission, I might've been a good friend to her. She reminds me of someone I used to be acquainted with."
 
"I'm sorry you had to deal with that, that is just awful," Sally winced in genuine understanding. "As for Penny, at least right now, she is no one's friend unless you can give her a leg up in the business or society." Sally allowed herself and eye-roll. "She is young, yes, but old enough to know better. Oh well. Come! Let's not talk about such things. Let's try to have a little fun. Would you prefer to eat before or after we stretch our legs meandering through these stuffed shirts?"
 
Daizi moved her hair, "Oh, believe me, I've met many like her. And... after, I think. I'd choose before--you remember what it was like, I imagine--but I'm blind and they have fondue, and I fear there is a non-zero percent chance that I will spill on myself, and I would really rather not meet knew people covered in cheese or chocolate. And with how these people can be, I'd hate for it to reflect badly on you."

Privately, it occurred to her how Dark would wait until she had given birth and then have her head for ruining this dress, and so considered not indulging in fondue at all.
 
Sally chuckled and stood, offering Daizi her arm. "My darling Daizi, the day you reflect badly on me to my peers is the day I abandon my peer group," she told Daizi warmly. "But I do thank you for taking that into consideration. That is most kind of you. Now, I think it would be wise to head in a clockwise direction and work the room that way. I'm seeing a few people that would be actually enjoyable mixed into this first group."
 
"They're not all your peers, are they?" Daizi asked with a hint of sarcasm in her voice, while she stood and found her way to Sally's arm, "I hope you know I will forget everyone's names. But lead on, I'm only your plus one, and I'll follow you wherever you think is best. Oh," she paused, and turned towards Sally, "how often do you think I'll have to repeat the same information about myself tonight? My name is Daizi Wahid, I'm an anthropologist, I'm 24 weeks..."
 
Sally giggled and squeezed Daizi's hand. "I'll introduce you, and you will likely have to repeat those first two items a fair few times. Everyone will smile and nod and pretend like they will remember, but most of them will forget. A few of them might ask about the baby, but most of them will not. Ah, we are coming up on my immediate boss, Dr. Thrumburg, and someone I recognize but cannot name. I think he's another doctor. There are a fair few in here this evening." She smiled broadly as they approached. "Dr. Thrumburg! Lovely gathering, don't you think?"

"Sally Hollis! I am so delighted to see you," boomed the grey-haired man. "I was beginning to think you had played hooky. And who is your enchanting companion?"

"This is Dr. Daizi Wahid, a dear friend of mine and my substitute date as my husband is currently in Bejing," Sally informed him.

"Ah, another doctor, eh? Tell me, madam, what is your doctorate?" Dr. Thrumburg asked with a happy smile.
 
"That's good at least, I hate answering questions about my pregnancy. I mean--I love talking about it, but I hate when it seems like everyone only cares about what's going on with her, like I'm not there too."

Then as they approached she tried to straighten up and look more... normal, she supposed, and she gave a polite laugh and said, "Enchanting! Well, rarely do people other than my husband describe me that way. I'm a cultural anthropologist and folklorist."
 
"Really? How curiously refreshing!" Dr. Thrumburg chuckled. "Oh, yes, forgive me. This is Dr. Stone."

The man next to him gave a nod, and Sally took the lead, exchanging small talk with the two men for a short time before gently nudging Daizi to move along. The two men seemed ready to move on as well, and they exchanged polite talk before separating. Sally guided Daizi along toward another person to talk to, and then another small group, and another. Everyone greeted Daizi politely, and while some stared at her face longer than might have been considered polite, no one mentioned it or her "condition." Except for one older woman who spent about five solid minutes reminiscing about when her children were small until her husband finally pulled her away to talk to someone else.

Sally gave Daizi's hand a brief squeeze as they approached another person. "We are coming up to Mr. Coon," she murmured to Daizi. "He is old, half deaf, half blind, and about a century behind the times, but he is also one of our largest benefactors."
 
It was unclear if Daizi was aware of when the stares lasted too long or if she just naturally expected everyone to stare at her anyway, but it was obvious she knew. But in knowing, she only stood taller, more proudly. There was no shame in her posture, no apologies.

With the older woman, though, she softened completely, which Daizi herself didn't see coming. Vividly, she recalled a time when those stories would bore her at best, make her feel cold and lonely at worst, but now? Well, now when she heard them, she could feel the future where she was actually, truly, going to get to experience them. She'd get to hear her baby's first words, chase after her when she decided she was going to run everywhere, when she lost her first tooth or earned her first A in school... Daizi was perhaps the only woman at the gala who could have sat and listened to this other woman's stories all night, and she sheepishly wiped a tear as they parted.

"If he's half deaf, he won't hear if I say something wrong, and since he's half blind, we already understand half of each other," Daizi remarked in a low tone, "so we're bound to get along famously, I should think."
 
"Indeed, and if by the end of your sentence, he remembers the beginning, it will be a miracle. Even more so if he remembers the beginning of his own sentence," Sally murmured around her wide smile. Raising her voice, she called, "Mr. Coon! What a pleasure to see you! I'm Dr. Sally Hollis."

The bent, old man turned to peer in their direction, aided by the young man standing at his side. "What? How's that? A female doctor? Well, well, good for you!" he half-yelled in a cracked voice. "And this must be your husband? Yes?" He turned to peer at Daizi but hesitated and muttered in what must have seemed, to him, like an under-the-breath comment, "Strange looking husband."

"No, sir, this is my friend Daizi!" Sally called back. "My husband is on a business trip. She came to keep me company."

"Oh, oh, I do beg your pardon, ma'am. These eyes aren't what they used to be," Mr. Coon said with a companionable nod. "Daisy? Daisy what?"
 
"Daizi," She corrected, enunciating each syllable, and doing her best to sound as American as she could manage so her accent didn't make it too difficult to understand, "Daizi Wahid! It is very nice to meet you Mr. Coon, and you don't need to apologize, sir, I'd put money on my vision being miles worse than yours." She smiled brightly as she could, tucking her collapsed cane under one arm and resting her hands on her belly. This was not her first time dealing with old men like Mr. Coon, so she was relying on all of the old tricks she had learned, including trying to seem as sweet and normatively feminine as she could manage.
 
"That's an interesting name. It sounds somewhat foreign," Mr. Coon mused. "Where are you from? We have business partners everywhere."

"Didn't you once tell me you had a partner from Russia?' Sally cut in, giving Daizi a warning squeeze with her hand. "That was an interesting tale."

"Oh, yes! The Red. A good man, for a Russian!" Mr. Coon bellowed, causing more than one person to shamefully shuffle a bit farther away. "Indeed, I met him on a lovely October day! Or was it November? No, I believe it was November." The man continued on a long, rambling discussion about this supposed partner, jabbering away quite happily while dropping more than one slang term not exactly suited for the company he was in. His aid looked distinctly uncomfortable, but there was nothing for it but to wait it out while Mr. Coon wandered from the topic of his partner to his days in the military to his wife's best casserole dishes.

"But, I shouldn't keep you from your socializing while we men take care of business," Mr. Coon finally said with a nod. "You young ladies take care now!" He turned and started hobbling away.

Sally breathed a sigh of relief. "That is the fourth time I have heard that story almost exactly like that," she admitted.
 
Daizi was about to proudly share her Egyptian heritage, but the squeeze told her against it, and for the first time, she shifted uncomfortably, trusting it wouldn't be noticed. It wouldn't have really gotten to her six months ago, but just like with her interaction with the Leeds, she felt anxiety creeping up about what experiences her daughter would have to learn to deal with. But then again, she thought, settling herself: Mr. Coon, at the very least, was old. Very old, it sounded, and soon to die off. It didn't solve the problem of Logan Leeds, or the many others like him, but at least it was bound to get better from where it had been.

"Oh yes sir," Daizi said sweetly, surprising even herself, "we will. And you take care of yourself too." Then she stretched mildly and in her regular tone said, "I can well imagine you will hear it four more times after today, too. But all things considered, I'd say we got off lightly. Are there more like him I should be prepared for? Or is he a unique breed? And, uh," she hesitated, "I have to know: is he not a fan of all foreigners, all Arabs, or all Egyptians? I'm curious as to how specific he is."
 
"I am terribly sorry about that. Thankfully, he is the worst you'll meet," Sally told her quietly, guiding her toward some chairs off to the side. "Let's sit and rest our feet a minute. A few others are... well, I may as well say it, racist, but they at least have the good graces to try to hide it to varying degrees of success. You shouldn't have any further problems on that front. As for Mr. Coon... he is a bit harsh toward all foreigners, including the English, and he seems to have his own personal spectrum as to who is 'evil' and who isn't. Arabs are not his favorite, but, surprisingly, Australians top his list as the most horrible people to deal with. My theory is he's listened to one too many garbled news casts and has invented an entirely new world view."
 
"Thanks for the warning," Daizi said, sitting down in the chair once it was available, "its good you brought me rather than Dark, then. Generally speaking, most people are more accepting of Egyptians than they are of Iraqis, and he doesn't need that. We're both... familiar, with it, and I get some 'grace' because of my colouring, but... And that's why one of the baby's names is an English one. Or part of why, we also just really liked it for her, it felt right, and it's little, but practically? She can put this name and 'Dark' on applications to work around racial bias. At least until they see her." Daizi inhaled slowly, scratching her arm, "it worries me."
 
Sally touched Daizi's hand. "You need not worry," she told her. "At least, not about that. People are terrible, this is true, but your social life is like a garden. If you pluck out the weeds, soon you will be left with nothing but flowers. Granted, just like gardening, you have to keep on top of things, but it is easier over time." She stretched and sighed. "Well, back into the fray! And I see one of my favorite people right over there, so it will be nice and refreshing after Mr. Coon."
 
Daizi raised her head and gave a tiny smile to Sally and thanked her, but her fears were still there. The two of them were both immigrants, but not really the same kind. And Sally never needed to worry about Peter coming home upset one day about the kids in school overhearing him speaking English and bullying him for it. It did get easier over time, but it didn't make the difficult moments any less impactful.

"It'll be good to meet kind folk," She said, shelving her anxieties for the moment, "and if you like them, I'm sure they're delightful. You STEM folk... You all talk very differently than my social science colleagues."
 
Sally chuckled as she guided Daizi along. "One of these days, you might have to take me along to one of your functions just so I can see what it's like. You are my first social science friend." She paused and added in a low tone, "This is Mr. Thompson and Mrs. Fletcher. They always come to events together, and while it appears to be something more than friendship, it appears they have been nothing but friends for the past six years after their respective spouses passed away. I do not know them that well, but they are quite adorable." Sally started to say hello, but Mr. Thompson beat her to it.

"Why, Dr. Sally Hollis! What a delightful surprise!" he said happily, his voice a little louder than normal speaking volume but not nearly as loud as Mr. Coon's.

Mrs. Fletcher nudged him with a chuckle. "Why would it be such a surprise, dear? She is at every one of these events."

"Yes, that may be true," Mr. Thopson nodded, "but I still anticipate that she'll duck out one of these days and go treat herself to ice cream or something far more useful."

"How are you, my dear?" Mrs. Fletcher asked Sally. "Where is your husband? Not sick, I hope? Or is he the one out treating himself out to ice cream while you are here suffering our company?"

"Actually, he is on a business trip," Sally smiled, her expression more genuine than it had been all night. "He is perfectly well, but I will tell him you thought of him."

Mr. Thopson eyed Daizi curiously. "And who is your delightful companion?"

"This is Dr. Daizi Wahid," Sally introduced her. "My dear friend to whom I now owe a great debt for coming to stand with me."

"How do you do, my dear?" Mrs. Fletcher greeted her warmly. "If I may be incredibly rude, Wahid, is that... Middle Eastern?"

"Oh, most definitely," Mr. Thopson nodded. "Cypress, am I right?"

"I do hope you will excuse us, we are dreadfully ignorant white people," Mrs. Fletcher chuckled.
 
Daizi nodded, doing her best to follow along with everything she had been told, and feeling her awareness of most of the other people's names slip from her mind, and then she brightly said, "It's a pleasure to meet you both. And I'm Egyptian, but no worries, it's an Arab name, so all throughout the Arab-speaking world you'll hear it, so I wouldn't call you ignorant for guessing Cypress."

She smiled cordially, and after taking a pause asked, "Do you know where you both are from? I'm dreadful at guessing the origin of English surnames, or what I'd call English, only to learn it's actually German in origin, or Irish, or any great number of things."
 
"I believe I come from an English background, though I cannot say I have ever looked into it too deeply," Mr. Thompson admitted. "The main branch of my family has been here in the USA for generations! It is entirely probable we came across on the Mayflower or shortly thereafter. The name 'Thompson' just means 'the son of Thomas.'"

"A fletcher used to be someone who worked with arrows," Mrs. Fletcher told Daizi. "My family came here, hmm, four generations ago, I believe, in a small colony moving over here for religious freedoms, if the stories are to be believed, but it is just as likely they used that as an excuse. And you, my dear?" She smiled up at Daizi, assuming that since Daizi had asked about them, it was safe to ask about her.
 
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