‘You’re stirring too much. Just leave it.’ This, from the woman who was singing my culinary praises a few weeks ago.
‘If I just leave it, it’ll scald. The thermometer says—’
‘Forget the thermometer; use your eyes.’
I knew cooking with Nani was a bad idea. Even with the apron, she’s a tyrant in a tunic. But when she suggested teaching me how to make her burfi while I interviewed her for my Social Studies assignment, I couldn’t say no. I knew Mr Kahn, my teacher, would love it, especially if I include samples. Despite my best intentions, my grades have started to slip, and I need all the help I can get.
As an added bonus, if this recipe turns out well, I’m going to put a seasonal stamp on a couple of batches and let René give them away to customers on Christmas Eve later this week. I was supposed to bake cookies, but time is running short and René’s a sucker for a twist on tradition.
‘I’ll just stir a little,’ I say. ‘You can start telling me about life in Karachi when you were my age.’
Her hand hovers, ready to snatch the spoon at the first opportunity. ‘Well, I was quite a scholar. I wanted to go to England to study medicine like my brother, but Abba wouldn’t hear of it, even though my grades were better than Mohammed’s.’
‘That wasn’t fair.’ She makes a play for the spoon, and I block her with an elbow.
‘No, not when I worked so hard. But for girls, marriage was the only option. And by the time I turned fifteen, my parents had already begun looking for a suitable man. There were plenty to choose from because I was very beautiful then.’
Very might be overstating it, but I suppose Nani is attractive for her age, and she passed on some good genes. Lately she’s started taking credit for my eyes as well as my cooking skills.
‘So my parents could afford to be picky,’ she continues. ‘It took two years to find someone with the right pedigree and prospects. And by the time they finally found your Nana, I was already in love with someone else.’
I’m so shocked I drop the spoon and she snatches it. ‘Someone else?’
‘An American,’ she says. ‘He was studying in Karachi. Abba was a scholar, so Thomas was often at our home. He was handsome and charming and brilliant. I wanted to marry him, not a stranger my parents picked out.’
‘What happened?’ I ask, forgetting the burfi.
‘I spent an hour with your Nana, and he seemed so … boring.’
I laugh. ‘Nana’s not boring.’ I mean, considering. He doesn’t get a chance to say very much.
She laughs, too. ‘I suppose he was shy, and naturally we were chaperoned. For me, no one could compete with Thomas anyway. I panicked. They were going to force me to marry this boring man I didn’t even know. So I arranged to go for a walk and meet Thomas to tell him about my parents’ plan. I hoped he would propose.’
Now she has full control of the spoon while I lean against the stove, watching her. ‘Did he?’
‘Well, he kissed me. In my world, that came after a proposal. So I thought our fate was sealed.’
‘But …?’
‘But all of Karachi has eyes, and a friend of my father’s saw us. Thomas took me home, and Abba … he was so angry, so ashamed.’ Fifty years later, her voice still quavers at the memory. ‘People gossiped. My reputation was ruined.’
‘By one kiss?’
‘By one kiss in public with the wrong man. An American. It really couldn’t be worse.’ She turns to look at me so that I’ll understand what follows. ‘At that time, in some circles, girls simply disappeared for less. Abba was very modern for his day, but in the eyes of the community, I was ruined. No man would ever want me. Nana’s parents withdrew their offer.’
‘But what about Thomas? Did he know? Did he fight for you?’
‘He knew,’ she says, sighing. ‘Because my father, uncles, and brothers arrived at his door.’
‘To kill him?’ I whisper.
‘To talk to him,’ she says, smiling. ‘Although, my uncles did want to whip him and ship him home. They told Thomas he’d ruined my prospects and that Abba wanted him to take me to America so that the shame I’d caused could die down. There were my younger sisters to consider. They would be tainted, too.’
Nani has stopped stirring, her mind far away in another time.
‘And Thomas said …?’
‘That he couldn’t marry me. That his family would never accept me.’ She takes a deep breath. ‘And that he was already engaged to an American girl.’
‘Oh, Nani!’ I throw my arms around her. For the first time, it occurs to me that she was once a girl like me, with the same feelings about boys. My eyes fill with tears, and when I pull away, hers have, too. ‘I’m so sorry. Thomas played you.’
‘Yes. He played me.’ She wipes her eyes on her apron. ‘But it wasn’t a game. It was very serious. The men gathered to decide what to do with me. My mother wouldn’t speak to me, or allow my sisters to speak to me. I cried all day in my room, thinking they would send me away, disown me. But then your Nana came to the house and told Abba he still wanted to marry me and on the same terms. He insisted on speaking to me first to see if I was willing. And when I saw what a wonderful, kind man he was, I realised he was not boring at all.’
I laugh again. ‘The gossip didn’t bother Nana?’
‘No, because his own sister had been judged unfairly once.’ She takes the pot off the stove and turns to me. ‘It helped that I was the most beautiful girl in Karachi.’
‘She was,’ Nana says, coming into the kitchen with my sister. ‘She still is. The Ahmed women deserve to be cherished.’
Nani turns to me with a wink. ‘What did I tell you? Marry a man who accepts you for all that you are.’
‘Don’t try to tell me you cherish her burfi,’ I say, showing Nana the lumpy and burnt mass.
‘Just how I like it,’ Nana says.
I usher my grandmother to the table and push her into a seat. ‘I learnt all I needed to. Let me try it for myself.’
By the time my mom comes home, I’ve made four more batches in different flavors, including two batches of cherry chocolate for the store. Nana tests them all and pronounces each better than the last – but none quite as good as Nani’s.
If that’s brainwashing, I sure hope I inherited Nani’s talent, along with her beautiful eyes.
I find Mom in the basement laundry room pouring shower gel from a large pitcher into hotel-size vials. The room is filled with the scent of nutmeg and cardamom.
‘How’s Sydney’s dog?’ she asks without looking up.
‘Still sick, I guess.’
‘You guess?’
‘She’s not speaking to me and Kali.’
Mom sets the pitcher on the washing machine and turns to me. ‘How can she not be speaking to you when you’ve worked so hard to raise money for her dog’s surgery?’ Even Mom helped out, suggesting I hit up her colleagues at Whole Foods. ‘What’s wrong with that girl?’ Mom asks.
‘She’s going through a hard time, and she doesn’t have any brothers or sisters. Banksy’s all she’s got,’ I say. ‘She’ll come around when she hears how much we’ve raised.’
Mom picks up her pitcher again. She’s heard enough about my problems. We’re back to hers. ‘I don’t know how I’m going to fill all my orders,’ she says. ‘And then there’s the packaging …’ She shakes her head. ‘I’m sure Xavier knows what he’s doing. He’s been in business a long time.’
‘Just admit you hate the packaging. Let me try to design it.’
‘You?’ She peers over her shoulder and spills the fragrant gel over the washer.
‘I know how to use a computer, you know. Some people think I’m good at graphic design.’
‘Well,’ she says, backpedaling, ‘you do design beautiful cakes.’
I start screwing lids on the vials. ‘So I’ll come up with something better, and you can tell Xavier that you can’t hurt my feelings. Daughter trumps boyfriend.’
‘He’s not my boyfriend.’
‘Whatever. Just give me a week to see what I can come up with. After all, I’ve been helping from the start.’
‘All right,’ she says. ‘But this had better not be a ploy to get your father involved.’
‘He’s too busy anyway.’
Mom changes the subject. ‘What did you and Nani talk about for your assignment?’
‘The American dude who broke her heart.’
‘Thomas,’ she says, and I’m surprised that she knows. ‘That’s why she’s more progressive than a lot of parents from her generation – at least in my culture. She’s the one who made sure I could study whatever and wherever I wanted.’
‘And that’s why Nana was so upset about your hooking up with Dad. He thought all American men were players.’
‘He’d say “dishonorable.”
‘Nani liked “player”.’
Mom laughs. ‘I told you she was progressive.’
‘Not progressive enough to accept Dad,’ I point out.
‘They were afraid I’d give up my culture and religion. And I did.’
I set the vials into a box and add it to the pile in the hall. ‘Dad didn’t want you to do that, did he?’
‘I don’t know,’ she says. ‘Sometimes things happen so gradually you don’t even realise it at the time. Then one day you look around and realise you’ve lost a whole piece of yourself, and it seems like there’s no going back. Look at your reaction when I tried to reintroduce my culture into my life.’
‘It was more like a hostile takeover, with Nani and Nana driving the tank.’
‘You can’t keep blaming your grandparents for everything,’ Mom says. ‘I was questioning my choices long before they got here.’ She drains the last of the shower gel and sighs. ‘Still, I could have handled the whole thing better.’
‘No kidding. But Dieter says parents are only human.’
‘Well, thank him for that.’
‘He also says everything depends on communication. Frankly, Mom, you suck at that. In two languages. And before you say it, Dad sucks too.’
She proves my point by remaining silent as I help her move the products.
‘I bet you never even told Dad you were having a crisis of faith, or whatever you’d call it. And when someone just starts changing like that, it’s scary. You wonder where you fit into the new picture.’
‘If he wondered, he could have asked,’ she says.
I shake my head in disgust. ‘You two are hopeless. I’m inviting Dieter over for an intervention.’
She drops the box onto the pile with a deliberate thud. ‘I should have married a man who accepts me for who I am,’ she says. ‘The Ahmed women deserve to be cherished.’
Andrew holds the door open for me as we walk into the Paramount Theatre. ‘For the record,’ he says, ‘not every girl could talk me into seeing The Sound of Music.’
‘Well, I appreciate the sacrifice,’ I say, as he places his hand lightly on my back to guide me through the crowd to the ticket booth. ‘It’s a bit of a holiday tradition for my family, but I’m the only one who wanted to go this year.’ I turn to the cashier. ‘Two, please.’
‘Oh no, you don’t,’ Andrew says, pushing away my hand as I try to pay. ‘This is my treat.’
I race him to the concession stand, and we have another tussle over paying for the popcorn. This time, he lets me win.
‘I hope there are at least a few good car chases,’ Andrew says as we settle into our seats. His legs are so long they jam into the seat ahead, and anyone stupid enough to take the seat behind him will have a seriously obstructed view.
‘I’ve got some bad news for you.’
He pretends to pout. ‘As long as there are a few fight scenes.’
‘You’re in luck, there,’ I say. ‘I believe there’s a pillow fight.’
‘Excellent! And I assume something blows up?’
‘Oh, it’s explosive, all right,’ I say.
Andrew smiles as the lights dim. ‘Promise you’ll hold my hand through the scary parts?’
Kali catches up with me outside the church as I hang up the phone with Ben. He said things couldn’t be better between him and Juliette now. Well, I hope for his sake that she’s not still seeing Brody on the side.
‘Do you ever wonder if you’re doing the right thing for some of our clients?’ I ask, sitting down on the front steps.
‘Sure,’ she says. ‘But people pay us to make their dreams come true, not shoot them down.’
‘I guess.’ I put Juliette out of my mind and focus on the challenge at hand. ‘Where are we with the Banksy Fund?’
‘I sold a ton at the solar power symposium,’ she says. ‘Who knew there were so many dog-loving activists in this town? Plus, René delivered cash from selling dog treats at the Recipe Box. That puts us at seventeen hundred.’
It’s weird for me to be hearing about René through Kali, but he and Glennis are seeing each other regularly now.
‘And Mom managed to raise another three hundred through her coworkers,’ I say.
‘Which still leaves us short by three grand,’ Kali says. ‘We’re going to have to kick this up a notch because time’s running out for Banksy. I was thinking—’
‘Count me in.’
‘You don’t even know what I was going to say.’
I smile. ‘I was going to say the same thing: We’ll throw in our Love, Inc. savings, too.’
A quick calculation shows that even with our combined savings and the money from Willem’s job, we’re short by six hundred dollars. We don’t have time to wait for Willem’s payment.
She pulls me to my feet. ‘Don’t worry, Z, we’ll come up with it. It’s a noble mission, like Love, Inc. And noble missions don’t fail.’
Dieter claps the session to a start at four thirty on the dot. ‘Who wants to speak first? Zahra?’
‘I’m sorry, was my hand in the air?’
Dieter ignores the snickering. ‘Since you skipped the last session, I’m sure you’ll have plenty to say.’ He gives me an evil smile. ‘How’s it going at home?’
‘Well, my dad’s refusing to celebrate Christmas this year, and my mom’s dating her business instructor. Only she refuses to tell him that his ideas for packaging her products suck. I guess her broken marriage didn’t teach her anything about communication.’
‘Can they learn at their age?’ Lauren asks. ‘I think neurons stop firing after you’re thirty or something.’
‘There’s no age limit on learning, Lauren,’ Dieter says. ‘But people have to want to change. And that applies whether you’re fifteen or fifty.’
‘I hope my mom wants to,’ Kali says. ‘She just met the greatest guy, and if she makes the same mistakes again, I’m giving up on her.’
‘They’re supposed to be role models,’ Lauren says.
‘My dad’s a great role model,’ Evan says. ‘I’ve visited him in San Antonio three times, and there’s always a new lady sitting at the kitchen table when I get up on Sunday morning.’
‘That’s gross,’ Kali says.
‘I keep telling you, parents are just human,’ Dieter says. ‘And when they’re in crisis, you need to cut them some slack, just as you would your friends.’
‘Cutting them slack only gives them more room to obsess about their own lives and ignore our family,’ I say.
Dieter’s eyebrows shoot up. ‘That’s harsh.’
Now even Dieter’s using the H-word. ‘You’re the one who keeps telling us to focus on changing the things we can control and getting over the things we can’t.’
He studies me for a long moment. ‘Zahra, you’ve gained a lot of confidence in the past two months, but you could work on becoming more tolerant, especially with your parents.’
‘And others,’ a raspy voice says. While we were talking, Syd slipped into the room and took the chair closest to the door. I was sure she’d skip group today, but here she is, hands clasping and unclasping, leashless. ‘Dieter, do you think it’s possible that some people are so unlikeable, everyone gives up on them?’ She looks from me to Kali.
‘No one’s given up on you,’ Kali says.
‘Please,’ Syd says. ‘I’m not stupid. I can see what’s going on. Everything in my life sucks right now. Everything.’
Dieter raises his hand to stop me from speaking. ‘Syd, obviously something’s happened this week. Could you be more specific?’
Syd struggles to find the words, and eventually they come out in a rush. ‘My dog is dying. My parents are mostly AWOL. And my friends disappeared. I’m alone. Is that specific enough for you?’
Before he can answer – before any of us can answer – she gets up and leaves.
Even in heels, Kali manages to catch up with Syd first. She grabs Syd’s jacket and hauls on it. Syd fights to get away, and they’re still struggling when I get there.
‘Stop it,’ I say. We’re still in view of the church, and Dieter will probably come after us. ‘Just tell us what’s going on, Syd.’
‘There’s nothing to say,’ Syd says, yanking her jacket out of Kali’s fingers and walking away. ‘You guys have written me off.’
‘Written you off? What are you talking about?’ I say, following her. ‘You’re the one who won’t return our messages.’
‘The minute I ran into trouble, you started leaving me out of everything. I’ve seen you together at the Recipe Box and the dog park at Auditorium Shores. You’re working for Max Simpson behind my back.’ She takes a deep breath. ‘You want me out of Love, Inc., don’t you?’
‘Of course not,’ I say. ‘That’s not what—’
‘You’re sneaking around,’ Syd says. ‘And you blew off our meeting this week. I showed up at the trailer and no one was there. No note. Nothing.’
Kali and I look at each other. We were so busy selling dog biscuits that we completely forgot about the meeting.
‘I know a meaningful look when I see one,’ Syd says, walking away. ‘You want me out and you don’t even have the guts to admit it. So I’ll save you the trouble: I quit. I don’t need Love, Inc., and I don’t need you. Have a great Christmas and a great life.’
‘Syd, please,’ I say, jogging after her as Kali falls behind. ‘Listen to us.’
‘Save your breath, Zahra. There’s no mediating a friendship that never existed.’
Her boots are pounding the pavement now, and I have to slow down. Her final statement drifts over her shoulder: ‘The only friend I have in the world is lying at home with a sick heart. I’m not wasting another second of the time he has left on you two.’
René restocks the plate of cherry chocolate burfi that sits on the counter, then hands me an envelope. ‘A Christmas bonus,’ he says. ‘Consider it a thank you for today’s treats and all your work on the healthy snack promotion.’
‘But you already paid me extra for both of those things.’
‘Now that I’ve done the math, I can tell that your healthy snack promo brought in more sales than anything else I’ve ever tried. When the other part-timers stood outside with a tray of your treats, we had a ton of new customers. And the same thing is happening today.’ He points to the door, where half a dozen customers are filing inside to take a look around while munching on burfi. ‘I want to share the spoils.’
I lift the back flap of the envelope and pull out a gift certificate to the pastry course I want to take. The one professional chefs take.
‘Zahra, you are a professional,’ he says, when I protest. ‘I paid you to bake for me. So stop hiding behind that inventory gun and sign up.’
Smiling, I slide the envelope into the front pocket of my apron. ‘Thanks, René. I know that course costs a bomb.’ A bomb that I’d saved up myself before Love, Inc. even started, but I threw it into the Banksy fund with the rest of my savings.
‘You can make me a coconut cream pie when you graduate,’ he says. ‘It’s my favorite. And did I mention it’s Glennis’s favorite too?’
‘You did.’ I try to inject some enthusiasm into my voice, but I’ve already heard about how he’s found his ideal woman three times. I’m happy for René, happy for Glennis, and especially happy for Kali. But I’m also a little sorry for myself. How come I can’t pull off a happy ending for my own parents? Kali’s obviously a much better matchmaker than I am a mediator.
René follows me. ‘I can’t believe how much we have in common,’ he rattles on. ‘I mean, what are the chances of meeting someone like that? And so beautiful, too. A woman like that—’
‘Deserves to be cherished,’ I suggest, although this discussion is making me a little queasy. René is Dad’s age. He’s supposed to be past gushing. I’m past gushing. The gushing part of my life ended the day I found out about Eric, and I don’t expect it to come back. The way I feel about Andrew, for example, is more serious and mature. After two dates, I can see we’re a good match. It’s completely rational, so there’s no need for gushing.
‘Exactly,’ René says. ‘We saw each other two days ago – is it too soon to ask her out again? I don’t want to scare her off.’
‘René, you’re starting to scare me off. What time is my boss coming back?’
The door of the store opens, and Riaz comes in carrying a bunch of pink lilies. I’m not thrilled to see him or his lilies, but at least it’s an opportunity to dodge René’s love-struck ramblings. I excuse myself and say hello.
Riaz presents the bouquet. ‘I want to apologize for not being more up front about the meat drive. And I should have warned you about meeting my ex-girlfriends.’
I didn’t realise I had, but it doesn’t matter. ‘Plural?’
‘Uh, well, that’s all in the past anyway,’ Riaz says quickly. ‘Can we please start over? Don’t write me off just because your grandmother likes me. Be glad she has great taste.’
I laugh. Riaz may be arrogant, but he does have a certain charm.
He takes my hand, which is still holding the lilies, and examines my wrist. ‘I remember when we picked out these bangles.’
I try to pull my wrist back. ‘Riaz, I—’
‘Need a hand?’ someone asks. ‘You seem to be missing one.’
Brody is standing a few feet away from us, and despite the joke, he isn’t smiling. I don’t know what he’s got to be sullen about. Maybe Juliette broke the bad news that she’s rediscovered monogamy.
I yank my wrist out of Riaz’s grip and make the introductions. Riaz is polite, even friendly, but Brody barely grunts a greeting. It’s an awkward moment, and I grasp for any topic that might ease the tension. ‘Brody’s on the basketball team,’ I tell Riaz, who’s mentioned liking sports.
‘You play?’ Brody asks, sounding bored.
‘I can’t, unfortunately,’ Riaz says. ‘I’m planning a career in medicine.’ He holds up his hands like a surgeon entering the operating room. ‘These are going to save lives one day. I can’t risk injuring them.’
And I can’t risk glancing at Brody’s reaction to that comment.
Riaz claps Brody’s shoulder lightly. ‘It was good to meet you, man. I’ve got to get going – another fund-raiser. Put one in the basket for me, OK?’ He leans over and kisses my cheek. ‘You I’ll call later.’
Pulling his shades down, Riaz struts out of the store. Two girls who must be college age stop flipping through cooking magazines to watch him go.
‘So,’ I say, turning back to Brody, ‘what brings you to the Recipe Box? Another great idea for low-fat treats?’
He just glares at me as if I’ve done something wrong. I don’t get it. When I saw him at the vet’s office last week, we got along fine. Maybe Juliette told him I know about their tawdry affair, and he’s mad at me for wrecking it by getting her back together with her boyfriend. Well, if he is, too bad.
At any rate, I can’t ask. Ben’s a client, so it’s all confidential.
‘I just wanted to give you this,’ he says, handing me an envelope. ‘Kali told me that you were running short on the Banksy fund, even after kicking in all your savings.’
I peek into the envelope and see a thick stack of bills. ‘Oh my God! Is it yours?’
‘Half of it,’ he says. ‘The other half’s from an anonymous donor.’
‘But it must be—’
‘Six hundred dollars,’ he says. ‘I think that brings you to five grand.’
I tuck the envelope into the pocket of my apron. ‘Wow! Was it Glennis?’
‘Can’t say. Just someone who likes charitable work. Like Dr Do-Good.’ He smirks. ‘No wonder he’s a mediocre kisser – his lips are jammed halfway up his own butt.’
I’m not into Riaz, but Brody’s in no position to be so critical. ‘I guess a little arrogance helps when you’re an aspiring surgeon.’
‘So you like his bedside manner?’ he asks.
I shrug. ‘Probably not as much as you like Juliette’s.’
‘Juliette?’ He looks puzzled. ‘What’s she got to do with anything?’
To hell with confidentiality. Brody could snoop through our files whenever he’s in the trailer anyway. ‘You know she has a boyfriend and you’re hooking up with her anyway. That’s cheating, in my book.’
‘You don’t know what you’re talking about,’ Brody says.
I turn to walk away. ‘I know when something stinks. Luckily, I have these beautiful lilies.’
‘Zahra.’ Brody takes my hand to stop me. I pull it away, and my wrist connects with the metal bookshelf, shattering one of my glass bangles.
‘Nice work,’ I say, nudging the bits of blue and gold glass with my sneaker. Taking the envelope out of my apron, I kneel and start scraping the floor with it.
‘It was an accident,’ Brody says, crouching to help me. ‘Did you get cut?’
I check my wrist, displaying a tiny nick and a droplet of blood. ‘Yes. Thanks a lot.’
‘Use a dustpan and broom,’ calls René, who’s obviously been watching.
‘Just go,’ I tell Brody, embarrassed to be causing a scene at work. Especially when René is busy ‘cherishing’ Brody’s mom.
Brody stands, towering over me. ‘I’m sorry.’
‘It doesn’t matter.’ I can’t believe I’m getting so upset over this. I have Andrew now – perfectly lovely, hopefully faithful Andrew. If Brody’s happy being Juliette’s piece on the side, it’s not my problem.
‘I shouldn’t have come here,’ he says, backing away. ‘You’re determined to hate me.’
‘Well, harsh is what I do best, remember?’ I say, keeping my eyes on the broken glass. I don’t hate Brody, but I do hate that I’m jealous of Juliette. Hopefully, a little more time with Andrew will cure me of that.
He backs away. ‘Get the brilliant Dr Ri-Ass to hook you up with a new bracelet. Just tell Kali how much, and I’ll pay for it.’
‘Whatever,’ I say. I keep scraping at the glass until I hear the door close. Then I collapse on the floor, completely drained.
René appears above me holding a broom. ‘Double dating with you two is going to be hell.’