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Quote by Rabih Alameddine

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An Unnecessary Woman

This book delves into the intricate tapestry of a woman's life, navigating the complexities of her existence in a setting that values societal roles and expectations. The narrative unfolds through her personal reflections, offering a poignant look at the challenges and triumphs of an individual who chooses a path less traveled in a culture that often disregards the value of solitude. more

Author

Rabih Alameddine
Rabih Alameddine

Rabih Alameddine is a Lebanese-American writer known for his poetic prose and exploration of Arab-American identity, LGBTQ+ themes, and Middle Eastern culture. Born in Beirut in 1959, he moved to the United States in 1990. His notable works include The Angel of History, An Unnecessary Woman, The Hakawati, and Koolaids. Alameddine's writing, characterized by lyrical language and innovative narrative techniques, has been nominated for numerous literary awards, making him one of the most significant contemporary Arab-American authors. more

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“Her breath caught in her chest and she couldn't seem to form words. She was too busy reveling in the reality that she was in the exact place she'd dreamed of being, for so long. It was light years better than anything she'd ever fantasized it would be. His hands were big, but gentle. His words soothed, but there was an edge to his voice that incited as well. And he was bigger somehow, more imposing, more densely muscled than she'd imagined him to be. She'd thought of him as the tall, lanky golden boy, all sunny good looks and breezy charisma. But, looking up at him from where she was, tucked in the shelter of his body, she could see the street in him. She'd had a hard time imagining that such a good-natured charmer could have been forged from the rough and tumble life he'd described. But she believed it now. There was a hard edge to his jaw, and the muscles in his shoulders bunched tightly as he skimmed his fingers into her hair. He exuded heat, and she swore she could feel the thudding beat of his heart, even with the bedspread bunched between them. "What are you thinking?" He brought his fingertips back to her cheeks, then ran them along her bottom lip. She moaned softly at the contact, and recalled, quite vividly, the way he'd leaped the counter and taken her in that claiming, branding kiss. Yes, there was a lot more rough and tumble to Baxter Dunne than she'd ever imagined. And now all that rough and tumble was sprawled naked in her bed, focusing a formidable level attention on her. "You've nothing to be afraid, of, luv," he said, as if reading her mind. And maybe he had. Or maybe there was something of what she was feeling in her eyes. She felt like she was tucked up against a jungle cat, muscles coiled and bunched... just waiting, tail flicking, all languid and relaxed to the casual eye, all poised for just the right moment to pounce.”

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“So before you pass judgment on this cake, maybe take a look at yourself and what's going on in your own screwed-up life that's given you a warped perspective on an innocent, beautiful, phenomenal in every way----" I lay a hand on Benny's shoulder and when he turns toward me, his mouth falls open in a perfect circle, dark eyebrows wrinkling his forehead under his cap. He is flushed and startled and so, so handsome. It's the first time I've looked at his face since we were on a city sidewalk and I was walking away from him and goodness, I've missed it. "Sounds like a pretty good cake," I manage with a soft smile. "The best," he breathes. I step closer still, just a few inches from him now. "I'm a little sweeter on the baker, to be honest." His eyes close and his chin tips down for just a moment, and he exhales on a laugh before looking at me with so much warmth and intensity. "You have no idea how it is to hear that," he murmurs, and then he's kissing me hard, one hand in my hair and the other wrapping around my waist to pull me to him. I bring my arms up around his shoulders, barely registering the cheers and applause in the packed kitchen before I pull the cap off Benny's head. I hold it up to cover our faces from the camera, as our kiss goes on much longer than I'd ever want my mama to see. When we break apart, Benny whispers, "I love you, Reese. And I'm sorry for not making that totally clear before now. I want to be with you, and support you, and fight for you----" "I love you, Benny." I hadn't said it out loud before, for fear that this would end and I'd be heartbroken. But it appears that will not be the case. And I'm so, so certain that I love him. "Woo!" he shouts, lifting me by the waist and twirling me around. Then, since the camera is still rolling---perhaps a sense of "what do we really have to lose at this point?" on Charlie's part---he yells, "I LOVE REESE CAMDEN! Who wants cake?”

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“How can anyone so annoying smell so good? The wind stirs Pedro's hair and balloons his shirt. I guess after years of preparing buttercream, melting chocolate with delicate precision, and kneading sweet rolls with his bare hands, the scents have remained on him like a second skin. He smells like Sugar's early mornings, when they fill their ovens with the first batches of bolo de rolo and coconut buns.”

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“He clumsily picks up the trays of corn cake and bolo de rolo, now all mixed together. He shoves a piece of the mixture into his mouth like he's doing it just to avoid talking. But then his eyes light up. "Oh my God!" he says with his mouth full. He grabs another piece of corn cake stacked with bolo de rolo, holding it up to show it to me, like he's just made a great discovery. "What?" I ask. "You gotta try this," he says. I'm so nervous that I don't think I can make myself eat, but I take the first bite--- Salt and sugar mix in my mouth, the two tastes meeting like a kiss. "It's... it's..." I can't find the right words. "Perfect," he finishes for me. He's so close, his eyes locked with mine and that silly smile on his face. WHAT'S WRONG WITH ME?!”

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“Our cake represents the best our families' bakeries Salt and Sugar have to offer," Pedro says, addressing the audience. "Two layers. There's the savory, nourishing quality of Parmesan corn and the sweetness of a guava-drizzled cake that's a reinterpretation of bolo de rolo. Two flavors that are dominant by themselves, meeting to complement each other." He points at each layer. "Salt and Sugar. Just like our families' bakeries." The judge smiles. "Thank you, kids. And what do you call your cake?" I meet Pedro's eyes. Deciding on the name wasn't hard. But saying it out loud in front of our families could go either way. "Romário and Julieta," we say in unison.”

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