Free Brilliant by Denise Roig

ideas here. The flash of a bright new thing followed by the drudgery of having to make it actually work.
    â€œNo hands!” Rashid cries again. And looking over at Rashid, a little man, a big baby,
ghutra
slipping off his head, Sami sees that he is happy.
    Sami, Sami, sighs Mohsin. What are you doing with your life?
    Shhhh, says Sami.

Folly
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    They were living in their third villa by then. Tucked behind the American school in Khalidiyah, this one had French doors in the living room that opened onto a sunken pool lined with blue and gold Iranian tiles. Each of the eight adjoining villas faced the same aqueous view. The Canadian neighbours to the left had seemed promising. Harris worked in administration at Al Nahyan University; Deborah was a teacher at the Horizon School, that sad place where Emiratis sent their disabled children. “But it’s not sad at all,” the wife had insisted, her face pained and well-meaning.
    By now, though, even Molly had begun to distrust first bursts of friendliness. “We must have you over for dinner!” did not, in most cases, ever result in dinner. Promises, promises, said Talbot, who had come to hate pretty much all of it.
    Then the Cassels moved in next door. The villa had been vacant for nearly four months, the financial downturn having finally reached their sandy shores. The wife, Carla, was Brazilian, but had bounced between Canada and New Zealand growing up; Gomez was Argentinian on his mother’s side, French on his father’s, and schooled in Hong Kong. They’d just come from two years in Singapore; before that, three years in New York. This was one of the things Talbot could still feel dazzled by: how wide the net was, how large the world. He’d never met anyone from Brazil before, never given much thought to Singapore. And here, this international life.
    He’d tried to describe it to his mother back in Oban. “But these people you keep meeting, they have no real home to speak of, do they?” she said. When they’d first moved to Abu Dhabi, Talbot had encouraged her to visit. But every time he or Molly brought it up — Molly genuinely loved his mother — she’d laugh her tinkling little laugh. He began to realize the prospect of a trip here, leaving her seaside Scottish town, terrified her. Now that he’d come to live in a state of terror himself, he was relieved his mother had so little courage and curiosity.
    Gomez Cassel knocked on their door the night they moved in. He didn’t have the right adaptor for their baby monitor. “You’d think after all our moves, I’d have it figured out.” He shrugged, smiling through obvious exhaustion. “You never really get used to it.” It was late, a little after nine. Talbot ducked into the fridge after yanking at cords, chargers, converters in their still poorly organized kitchen drawers. “Here,” he said, also handing over a cold bottle of Leffe. “You probably need this more than an adaptor.”
    Gomez looked as if he’d been told the sheikhs had decided to deal him in. “I was going to run out and buy a six-pack, and then…” he laughed, “Carla reminded me where we are. ‘You’re not in NYC , chump.’” He was a spectacularly tall man with greying curls. Close to fifty, Talbot thought, though it could just be the hair.
    â€œHow many kids?” Talbot asked.
    â€œTwo at college in the States. Two with us here: Britannia, she’s six, and Jesse, our baby.”
    â€œCollege,” said Talbot, “wow.” Wondering how it all computed.
    â€œSecond wife,” said Gomez and gave Talbot a wink that threw him. Challenge, collusion, what? But then Molly came into the room with Manda in her arms and they’d talked nannies, going rates and the whole visa business.
    â€œBetter get back,” Gomez said. “One of the two is probably having a meltdown by now. Or one of the