by Amal Awad
Samira abandons the phone with a sigh. ‘So, this is Lara’s thing. When am I taking your photo? Stop trying to get out of it.’ This was Samira’s one request: she gets to take my photo because I am yet to ‘be seen’.
‘I’m not trying to get out of it, I swear. And thank you for the dress, by the way.’
Samira beams. ‘Isn’t it the best?’
‘I wore it straight away.’
‘But that’s not my thing on your list. Have you at least given the photo some thought?’ Samira goes to the fridge and rummages around, emerging a few seconds later with a bottle of soft drink.
‘All I do is work and go to gym classes. I haven’t exactly had time.’
We sit at the table in the kitchen, and I spoon pasta onto Samira’s plate. She watches me with interest. ‘What classes do you do?’
‘Boxing. Weights. I’ve just started trapeze, but I’m not very good at it.’
‘Are you joining the circus?’
‘I’m already in the circus, didn’t you know?’
We share a laugh and Samira breaks into the garlic bread. ‘Can I come?’
‘To trapeze?’
‘Yes.’
‘You want to do trapeze.’
‘Of course not. I want to take a photo of you doing trapeze.’
The idea makes me want to laugh as the vision of me struggling to get onto the hoop populates my mind. Another set of nerves rushes through me as I contemplate how embarrassing it could be.
‘I don’t know, Samira. I can only do one thing – and barely.’
‘There’s more to you than cake, Sahar,’ Samira says in a faux-solemn tone. ‘You need to know that.’ She stares at me like she’s Oprah interviewing me about a serious topic and we break out into laughter again.
‘OK, fine. But I’ll have to ask for permission from the academy.’
‘Ooh the academy. Fancy. Don’t worry about getting permission, I can organise that. I do that stuff all the time. Just give me the details.’ Samira rips apart her garlic bread and runs it through her pasta. ‘I won’t have to set up much, just one light probably.’
‘And the photo’s just for you, right?’
Samira shakes her head. ‘I told you. It’s for you.’
The following week, I fall back into a routine, but this time it’s different. Luke doesn’t badger me. He has retreated into himself. I go to the gym, but I also make a lot of chocolate. Hours spent in the studio feel like only a fraction of the time. Thankfully, Luke increases my work doing chocolate while he spends more time in the bakery.
All the while, I feel Kat’s watchful gaze on me. One afternoon, she calls me over to her bench to assist with a dessert.
‘Want to pick the music?’ she says, which immediately alarms me. But then I take a deep breath, and maintain a neutral expression as I queue up a playlist of old love songs.
‘Niiiice,’ Kat says with a smile.
We get to work, filling biscuit shells with caramel and thick chocolate, and sprinkling sea salt across the top. A couple of times I sense Kat is inspecting me, but I keep my head down. Eventually though, she breaks the silence.
‘You OK?’ she says, steady, serious.
‘I’m fine.’
‘He’s not a bad guy. But you work together, and if it goes south, you’re fucked.’
‘I don’t know what you’re talking about, Kat.’
‘Rightio then,’ she says, but from her expression, it’s clear she doesn’t believe me.
I am not attracted to Luke. I just miss connection.
Chapter 22
Find a way out of the wilderness, and experiences to survive it.
It’s been more than three weeks since Luke kissed me, and he has only grown more distant. I am mourning the loss of normality. At least before there was an energy between us. Even at his crabbiest, Luke was engaged and attentive. I could learn from him.
At one point, I catch myself getting irritated by his lack of interest, so I retreat to the pantry and busy myself with a mundane task.
I have other things to distract me. Lara’s wedding cake, for starters. My mind is heavily at work on the cake design. Fondant icing or butter cream? Flowers or props? Kat and Inez offer their feedback, steering me towards simplicity.
When I tire myself out, adrift again, I reach a state that can only be corrected in the chocolate studio.
One evening when I’m feeling particularly restless, I decide to make use of the keys Luke gave me, disappointing Inez, who’s been trying to summon me for an impromptu drink after trapeze.
The store is dark, and I fumble with the keys, but eventually the lock clicks open and I enter. The scent of chocolate hits my nose before I’ve taken two steps.
Inside the studio, I slip on an apron and start the playlist Lara and her band compiled for me – enough music to last me a few hours.
I rip open a bag of milk chocolate buds and spill a portion out onto the marble counter. I forget time as I descend into the ritual – melting then tempering, losing myself in the motions. Despite the sweeping movements, there is a stillness to tempering. It demands obedience to its rules. It is about heat and movement. I have no choice but to pay attention and to work fast. I follow the same routine for small amounts of white, dark and ruby chocolate. My thoughts dissolve through the thickness of my mood. They move from reality to imagination. I have an idea, and it’s only here, now, in a studio empty of other people and away from the bustling street and all its stories, that it starts to make sense. I want to play with flavours to create chocolates aligned with tarot cards.
In my mind, I can picture the Major Arcana tarot cards Inez taught me about. A journey that starts with The Fool setting out on a risk-filled adventure, not laden with baggage but still needing a lightness and trust in order to go through the challenges of being human to reach liberation. The Fool – something fruity in white chocolate. The Devil – a hint of chilli in dark chocolate. The Hanged Man – marbled milk and white chocolate sprinkled with rose-gold dust. Milk, white, dark and ruby chocolate combine in a prototype of what would be The Magician. This is the trickiest card to flavour-define because it is the card of mastery. A magician has many talents and abilities, and all the elements at their disposal, hence my decision to incorporate all four types of chocolate.
What seemed like a swirling mess somehow comes together. It could be a box set with a striking cover. I draft a rough sketch on paper of how it might look, regretting my lack of artistic ability.
I’m so caught up in the task that I don’t hear the door or the footsteps.
‘Sahar?’
I jump and let out a scream. ‘Oh my God!’
It’s been so long since I’ve been overcome by such a deep state of creativity that I have to catch my breath, my hand against my rapidly beating heart.
It’s Luke and he looks surprised to see me. ‘It’s after ten. What are you doing here?’
‘I lost track of time. I’ll clean up and get out of here. Sorry.’
He approaches me slowly. ‘You don’t have to leave. It’s OK, I just wasn’t expecting to find you here.’
‘I needed to do something with my hands.’
‘I was feeling the same.’
We’re both quiet as I start to tidy up.
‘What are you making?’ Luke says.
‘It’s an idea I have. I wanted to surprise you. But I guess I can tell you now.’
‘No. Surprise me,’ he says.
The silence following his words feels full, weighted. I’ve never been good at hiding how I feel, at keeping things below the surface. But I realise I have got much better at pretending. And right now, I need to pretend, because I can no longer deny that Luke is having an effect on me.
Eventually, I stop cleaning and look up to see what Luke is doing. He’s standing there, examining the mess on the counter, picking up the print-outs of tarot cards and chocolates. We are so close and I can hear my breath, smell his aftershave.
‘Luke, I d
on’t care that you kissed me,’ I say. ‘Maybe it was a mistake. But I’m not upset.’
Luke finally looks up and we make eye contact, and I search for meaning in his expression. ‘I liked it, too, Sahar. But we work together.’
I nod, conceding his point. ‘You can have the studio,’ I say, my hands flying to my apron.
Luke shakes his head then steps away. ‘Do you know what you’re saying?’
‘I have no idea what I’m doing most of the time. How do you think I ended up being such a mess at this age?’
‘You’re not a mess,’ Luke says.
‘I’m filled with pain and sorrow, and everything I do is just an attempt to survive it.’
Luke’s eyes are still on me, but he maintains some distance. ‘You have to change the shape of it somehow.’
We stare at each other and my insides stretch out in a thin burn. I am the first to look away, then Luke turns and exits the studio. I watch him leave.
When the door has swung closed, ringing the old-school bell, I return my focus to The Magician. I need to finish the prototype so that tonight is not completely wasted.
At midnight, my fatigue arrives like an unexpected storm. I have no energy to continue. I think of Maggie and her warnings about staying so busy you can’t think. But Luke’s appearance has scattered my thoughts.
I feel emotion rise up but I shake it off. I clean up quickly, the music playlist still running. Even in all this confusion, I’m glad to be here; to be feeling so deeply, with such raw emotion. I feel alive, even if I’m also scared and uncertain.
Something else occurs to me. I am using my body and mind in ways I never thought possible. I am finding elements of womanhood I never allowed myself access to. I wonder how long I have hated being a woman, sunk by the anchors of shame and guilt.
I give the studio one final look. We’re closed tomorrow, and I don’t want to leave it in disarray. When I look up, I see Luke coming tentatively towards the doorway of the studio.
I am both surprised and not at all taken aback. Whatever connection is threading itself between us is taut, intact.
‘It’s late and I didn’t want you to walk home alone,’ he says.
‘I don’t need you to take me home, Luke.’ I challenge him with my eyes.
‘I find it very hard to be around you,’ he says, quiet, hesitant.
‘I’m sorry.’
He shakes his head then moves in close. ‘Sahar.’ Now he’s in front of me, his hands cradling my face, his eyes boring into mine.
Luke kisses me softly, tentatively. I reach up and thread my arms around his neck, raising myself to meet his lips as he deepens the kiss. Soon his hands are roaming my body, and that familiar heat runs through me, so intense I can feel a sharp, electric sensation travelling through my fingers.
Luke releases me, but I’m still in his arms. He brushes my hair away from my face, his expression serious, uncertainty marking his features.
‘Fuck,’ he says. ‘Not here.’
We go to Luke’s apartment. My mind is full as I refuse his offer of tea. I know that if I stop to think, the spell will be broken.
I only take a few minutes in the bathroom to freshen up, splashing water on my face and centring myself.
In Luke’s bedroom, I kick off my shoes then drop onto the bed. I lie down, and Luke positions himself beside me, resting on his right arm so that he’s raised above me.
He plays with my hair, studying me. ‘Are you sure?’
I nod.
‘We can go slowly.’
I pull him towards me and Luke kisses me again. He starts at my cheeks, then moves to my forehead before returning to my lips. He continues to kiss me softly before eventually angling himself so that his upper body is above me, his hands finding their way to my face. He is still kissing me as he knots his fingers in my hair.
‘Sahar,’ he breathes, his forehead against mine, and this moment of intimacy stills me.
He starts to pull away, but my body aches with need. ‘No, come back,’ I say.
I raise my arms above my head and Luke meets my gaze. I nod and he lifts my top off. His response is instant, a low groan escaping him as he lowers his mouth to my breasts.
He lifts his head to meet my eyes once more and I can see he is no longer uncertain; he wants me. I sit up and our movements become more fervent, my arms wrapped around his neck, the heat in my body rising as he reaches around to unclasp my bra. We don’t know each other’s bodies yet. This newness, so intoxicating.
Slowly, I think faintly, as we kiss, breathless, excited. We will go slowly.
Chapter 23
I can’t unbelieve things, but more than one thing can be true at the same time.
I wake up alone in Luke’s bed. I grab my phone and see, panicked, that it’s morning. Then I remember that I don’t have anyone to answer to. Even Lara is out of town.
I slip on my clothing then wash up before heading out to the living room, where Luke is playing with his phone. In the morning light, I see the apartment more clearly – minimalist but with character. The furniture matches, and the kitchen looks well stocked. The room fills with music, and soon a man’s voice rings out in the small space, singing of loss. I recognise the song, I just have no idea who it’s by. The warm feeling is instant.
Luke comes towards me, a smile on his face. ‘Can I have the slow dance from your list?’
A flutter of nerves cascades through my body as I reach out to take Luke’s hand. I’m relieved; for a moment I wondered if I would be met by a regretful Luke.
‘Are you good at this?’ I say.
‘No one is good at this. It’s slow dancing. We just sway together.’
I move in close and he places my arms around his neck.
‘This is the good bit,’ he says. ‘The leaning in, the bodies touching, the kissing.’ His fingers lightly graze my body, then he kisses my neck and I laugh.
‘People don’t usually laugh,’ he says. But I can’t stop laughing, and even Luke starts to smile.
‘I’m sorry,’ I say. ‘This is not going well.’
But Luke just closes the gap between us again, placing his hands around my face. He leans in and I feel like I can’t breathe. It’s surreal, being in his space, seeing him in his ordinary state. His tiny flat – and knowing how little he needs to be content – makes me respect him more.
I place my head against Luke’s chest and close my eyes, tuning into the lyrics of the song. They’re about separation. The man is expressing sorrow about his actions. It’s a song about punishment.
‘Who’s this?’ I ask.
‘The National.’
‘My friend, Lara, put together a soundtrack for me with her band. This is on it.’
‘A soundtrack for what?’
‘Recovery.’
Luke nods, and I know he understands. The profound effect of being connected to him right now fills me completely. In this moment, I feel no separation. His hands are around the back of my head, running down my arms, his eyes on me. It’s intense and soon he is kissing me again.
Eventually, I detach. He steps back a little and caresses my cheek.
‘You OK?’
I nod. ‘Are you?’
‘I am. But I’m not sure how we do this. At work.’
‘We don’t have to tell anyone, if that’s what you’re worried about.’
‘I think we just need to take things slowly. I don’t want us to get fired. So you might have to lie about who ticked off slow dance with you.’
I laugh. ‘Sure. I’ll say that bartender taught me.’
‘That hurts,’ Luke says with an exaggerated sad face.
When the song is over, Luke makes us a breakfast of granola, yoghurt and fruit, and stovetop coffee using a silver moka pot. I tell him that I’m getting used to the capsule coffee that Lara adores, and he shudders.
‘You can’t be perfect, I guess.’
Luke’s espresso reminds me of my Arabic coffee, its bitter flavour and stron
g fragrance bringing up memories.
‘I’ll make you an Arab breakfast sometime,’ I tell him.
Luke tries to minimise his smile, but he seems excited by the prospect. ‘That would be nice.’ Then he asks me to stay. ‘We have the whole day.’
We fast-forward to the ordinary as we settle on the couch and try to watch a movie. But we’re both nervy and wound up, and Luke can’t keep his hands off me. Soon, we’re entangled on the couch.
We return to the bedroom.
Afterwards, I have no trouble lying beside Luke. I don’t mind when he slowly draws me close so that he’s spooning me, as if we are not still new to each other and learning each other’s secret pathways.
‘How many tattoos do you have?’ I ask, always fascinated by the choices people make with tattoos.
Luke kisses my neck before moving his mouth to my shoulder. It’s comforting to have him so close, to be so unapologetically held and touched. ‘One on each of my upper arms. The snake on my right, a quote on my left.’
I swivel around so that we’re facing each other. Then I raise myself up to inspect the quote, simply written in italics. ‘Ancora imparo.’
‘It means “I am still learning”.’
I raise my eyebrows. ‘What’s the story there?’
‘It’s a long one. But the short version is: there’s no end to what the world can tell you about yourself. And, um, learn from the deep shit you get yourself into.’ His body shakes with laughter and I smile, absorbing the words.
‘I like it. Did it hurt getting it done?’
‘Not really. The more meat, the less it hurts.’
I wonder if I should confess how I lack the courage to get a tattoo myself.
‘I have to admit, the reminder helps,’ Luke says. He pauses, then scans my face. ‘My ex … got in my head in a way I didn’t expect. Not her fault, we just weren’t a good match,’ he says quietly. ‘A relationship can’t be your whole world.’
I nod, meeting his gaze. ‘Is that why you’ve been a bit off?’