by Farah Heron
“Thank you for the food…” Crap. She’d already said that. Reena raked her brain to think of something suitable to say…
“You must ask Nadim to come another time,” Mum said. “Alone. I invited him for brunch next Sunday, too.”
Wow. Family brunch? Bold move. Nafissa hadn’t been invited until she and Khizar were engaged. “I thought I told you last Sunday, I’m missing next week. I’m going to Amira’s for the weekend. She’s having a housewarming.”
“Reena! This is important! You can come back for Sunday brunch. Ask Nadim what kind of daal he likes.”
“I can’t come back early. Amira’s party is Saturday night and will probably go late. I’ll be too tired to drive home early Sunday. And also”—she took a deep breath—“please stop setting me up with men.”
Saira snorted loudly. Reena raised a brow at her sister. She still had no idea why Saira was here. Maybe for the eggplant recipe?
“Reena, please. I’m not setting you up,” Mum huffed. Did Mum not know the definition of setting up?
Mum bit her lip slightly and looked at the door before turning back to her daughter. “Is it wrong to want my daughter to be happy? I want you to find a nice man and settle down. But…” Mum sighed. “This time isn’t like the others. The family needs you now.”
What the everlasting hell? Had she stumbled into The Godfather? The family needs her? Other than the fact Nadim worked for Dad, he was exactly like the others: educated, from a parent-approved, good family, and a complete stranger to Reena.
Except for his toned legs and firm biceps. Okay, that was not like the others.
“Mum, tell me what’s going on. Why do you need me all of a sudden?”
Mum sat heavily on the barstool next to Saira and rubbed her face—an unfamiliar gesture from her mother.
“Girls, please don’t tell your father I told you this, but he’s in trouble.”
Finally! Honesty! So refreshing. But…why was Dad in trouble?
“The Diamond project is at risk. Your father was swindled. The first architect he hired turned out to be a crook. I never trusted the man. In fact, I told your father that from the beginning. I can just look at someone and know they’re lying. But your father—”
“He took Dad’s money?” Reena froze. Her father worked with a lot of people on a lot of projects, and she worried that one day someone would take advantage of his trustworthiness.
Mum nodded. “Yes. Cash flow is empty.”
“Wait, isn’t this the last guy you tried to set Reena up with?” Saira asked.
Actually, about three potential husbands ago, not that she was keeping track or anything. “Can’t you guys go to the cops?”
“What, and let everyone know he was cheated?” Mum said. “People will laugh at our misfortune!”
Reena didn’t doubt others would enjoy watching the mighty Manjis fail publicly. Just like Dad enjoyed watching his rivals’, like the Shahs’, downfall.
Mum sighed. “Shiroz Remtulla’s investment is essential to keep the project going. But he will only invest after his son finishes a three-month probation period. I would never have agreed to this plan…What do we know about this boy? To tie up the business in this—”
“Wait, Mum, you don’t trust Nadim when it comes to the business, but you expect me to marry him?”
“Reena! I’m not forcing anything,” she said. “But it’s time you settled down anyway. And we need to keep Shiroz happy.”
“By marrying his son?”
“I have said this before, and I will say it again, we ask that you meet him and get to know him. That is all we want.”
“Didn’t anyone think to ask me or Nadim what we want?”
“I don’t understand why you are not willing to even talk to the man. This business is our family—it’s yours as much as it is ours.”
Reena glared. This was a new low. As the middle child in her household, being an afterthought felt more familiar. Not as smart as Khizar, not as needy as Saira. Her parents had finally found a use for her—as a bargaining chip in a business deal. It almost made her feel valued for a change. Almost.
“Wow,” Saira said, shaking her head at Mum. “I can’t believe you sold Reena. What year is this, anyway?”
“We have done no such thing,” Mum said firmly. “This is a good match. Similar families, same religion, both families even from Dar es Salaam! That means a lot more than what OK Cherub or whatever will give you.”
“Cupid,” Saira corrected.
“Have dinner with him, Reena. That’s a start.”
Someone knocked on her door.
“Marley’s already here?” Saira asked.
Mum stood immediately and headed to the door. “I would love to say hello…”
Reena was behind Mum when she opened the door, so she didn’t see her mother’s expression when she opened it to Nadim’s smiling face and ever-present six-pack of beer.
“Rosmin Aunty! This is a surprise!” he said, quickly putting the beer down in the hallway next to the door before Mum noticed it.
Mum hugged him and motioned him into the living room. “Nadim! What happened to your hair? Come, come. We were just talking about you. Come meet Saira, my younger daughter. I brought kebob jo shaak for Reena. You can join her for dinner.”
“Hey,” Saira said, raising a hand but not getting up from her seat.
Nadim stood, hesitating, and looked from one to the other before focusing on the floor in front of him again. Reena tried to get his attention to wordlessly let him know not to admit they already had dinner plans. He seemed to get the hint, eventually.
He looked at Mum. “Oh, I don’t want to intrude. I just, I’m here to borrow, some, um…” He looked down again. “Nail varnish.”
Reena fought back a laugh.
“Nail polish?” Saira asked.
His eyes widened as he looked up at Reena. “Um, yeah, sorry, I just…”
Okay, this was adorable. His hesitations and mumblings…her normally confident-bordering-on-cocky neighbor completely flustered. But, of course, Mum was the wife of his boss. She decided to help the guy out.
“You’re welcome to join us for dinner. My cousin and her friend are coming. Why don’t you come back in half an hour?” Reena said. “And did you want the nail polish to help label your keys, like I showed you when we bumped into each other leaving for work this morning?”
“Yes. That’s totally why.” His eyes flashed gratitude. “I’ll just go…now. Thank you for the dinner invitation, and good to see you, Aunty. Nice to meet you, Saira.”
“Later,” Saira said, waving. “And don’t worry—I’m a pretty low-maintenance sister-in-law!” Saira laughed loudly at her own terrible joke (that was a joke, right?) as Reena gently pushed Nadim out of the room. She hoped he remembered to take his six-pack out of the hallway—and bring it back in half an hour. She definitely was going to need that.
CHAPTER NINE
Mum’s phone chimed loudly the minute Nadim left. Reena picked it up from the counter and glanced at it.
“Mum, who’s Giovanna, and why is she asking if you’re coming tonight?”
Mum snatched her phone. “Nah! Don’t look at my phone!” She walked to the far side of the living room, presumably to respond to her text.
“Mum has a secret?” Reena asked her sister. “Mum has no life. She can’t have a secret.”
Saira shrugged, noisily slurping the end of her mystery drink. “I try not to pay too much attention to what they’re up to.”
“Why exactly did you come here with her?” Reena asked.
“She was loading that stuff in her car when I got home from work. I thought you might need backup while you were ambushed. No one needs a surprise visit from parents. Anyway, I’m glad I came. I had no idea that Mum and Dad sold your hand in marriage for cold hard cash. This is juicy…”
“I’m not going to marry the man.”
“Obviously. Although”—she looked at the door—“I was right about him being bald, but
he’s hotter than I expected. Doesn’t talk much, though. Anyway—”
Mum was back at their side, giving Saira a stern look. “This isn’t gossip, Saira. I don’t want to hear that you’re telling anyone the family’s personal business.”
“Give me some credit, Mum,” Saira said.
“We have to go.” Mum put on her shoes and coat. “You need to prepare yourself for your dinner with Nadim.”
Saira handed Reena her empty cup. “Toss this for me, will you? Later, Reena.” She followed Mum out the door.
And with that, Reena was left with two mysteries: one, what was Saira’s real motive in coming over again, and two, what in God’s name did Mum mean when she said prepare herself? Actually, she shook the thought from her mind. She didn’t want to know.
Nadim reappeared at her door about three seconds after her mother left. “That was awkward,” he said as Reena let him back in. He placed the six-pack on the kitchen counter and held a bottle out to her. She nodded, so he took a glass out of her cupboard for it.
“Why did you tell them you wanted to borrow nail polish?” she asked.
He snorted. “I was so worried I’d spill about the contest that I spewed nonsense. You have varnish on your toes. It threw me. Why did you invite me to dinner?”
“Weren’t you here for dinner?”
“Of course. But now your mother knows that. Which means tomorrow your father will ask me how dinner went, and I will have to pretend things are going well and that you haven’t been saying you have no plan to marry me at least once per night.” He handed her the beer. “Your sister’s a little…”
Reena cringed as she sat on the barstool. “Sorry about her. She’s a lot.”
“Is she telling everyone we’re engaged?”
“Doubt it. Saira’s a huge gossip but doesn’t air our own family laundry. She’s more radio receiver than broadcaster.”
“You sure you two are sisters?”
“I’ve often wondered the same thing. I still can’t figure out why she was here today. My guess is it has to do with eggplant.” She sipped her beer.
Nadim’s hand shot to his mouth, stifling a laugh.
“That’s not a euphemism. I actually mean eggplant.”
“With your family, I believe it. Just to confirm, I can’t let her know about the contest, either, but your cousin knows, right? I’m having trouble keeping up with who knows what. Hard enough to come up with a story for why I shaved my head.”
True. This had become ridiculous. She considered whether a spreadsheet could make things easier. She couldn’t let her parents know about her friendship with Nadim, and couldn’t tell him about her father’s business troubles. And, of course, no one could find out that she’d lost her job. The only secret easy to keep here was the head lice.
She took a long sip of the beer. “Just follow my lead. Why are you early, anyway? I told you Marley won’t make it until six thirty, at least.”
“I know. I wanted to watch you cook dinner. Since we’re supposed to be fake-engaged, I figured I should see you cook more than once before we film.”
She laughed. “Sorry, I’m not going to cook after all. Not when I have all this stuff Mum made. You okay with Indian food?”
“I am Indian, Reena. More than okay with it.” He sighed. “I miss my real food, the stuff I grew up on in Africa. Indian food in restaurants is nothing like the Gujarati–East African stuff we were raised on, right?”
“There are a few decent East African restaurants in town. I’ll take you one day. But, yeah, I know what you mean. Restaurant Indian food isn’t the same.”
“The joys of being a double-migrant.”
Reena hadn’t heard that term before but liked it. She smiled. “Double-migrant because our families first migrated from India to Tanzania, then Tanzania to Canada?”
“Yup. Of course, for me it’s India to Tanzania to UK then to Canada. Triple-migrant.”
But he didn’t want to stay here.
“That’s why I learned to cook,” Reena said. “I wanted to be able to eat the good stuff without relying on my mother.”
“The little bit of your mum’s food I’ve had has been great. I think you’re the better cook, though.”
“You’re sweet. You really going to Sunday brunch this week?”
“Yes. They invited me, so I must go.”
She smiled as she patted his shoulder. “Well, have fun. I’ll be up north with friends.”
“What? You’re leaving me to face the den of wolves alone?”
She laughed. “Yup. You’ll do fine. They’re more bark than bite. Well, usually, at least.”
At dinner, Reena found it hard to pay attention to the conversation around her. Confirmation that her parents did sell her in a business deal had soured her mood.
She poked at her kebob, moving it around with her spoon.
“This is good,” Nadim said, eyeing her plate.
Reena tried to smile. “It is.”
“So, like,” Shayne said, helping himself to more kebob, “for the first video, you’re going to do Indian-fusion food, right? Like…I don’t know…curried shepherd’s pie, or butter chicken poutine?”
“No,” Reena and Nadim both said simultaneously. He looked at her and laughed.
“Sorry,” he said. “It’s up to Reena, she’s the expert, but personally, fusion just means dumbed down. We don’t have to conform our food to the tastes of the majority.”
A small smile pushed through her sour mood. She’d been thinking the same thing, albeit she would have said it a bit differently. The point of this contest was to showcase home-cooked food. Fusion had its time and place, but with all the crap minorities were facing in the world, she didn’t feel much like making the food she grew up on more palatable to mainstream tastes.
“They want home cooking, so let’s give them the kind of food we grew up on,” Reena said, sitting straighter. “What was your favorite after-school snack when you were little?”
Nadim frowned. “At boarding school, they gave us tea and two biscuits. No more, no less.”
“Poor little rich boy.” Shayne laughed.
Marley’s forehead furrowed as she tapped her nails on the table. “Probably celery and peanut butter for me. Or Oreos.”
Reena chuckled. “Indian food, Marl…”
“I didn’t really eat Indian food after school. Oh, if there was leftover maani from dinner, I sometimes ate it with jam.”
Reena smiled widely, remembering her favorite snack. “Yes. Leftover maani with strawberry jam. Or, even better, with butter and sugar.” Her mouth started to water.
“Maani is like roti, right?” Shayne asked.
Reena nodded. “Roti, chapatti, rotli, maani, it’s all pretty much the same thing.”
“Forget leftover,” Nadim said, his eyes glazing with pleasure. “Fresh. My housekeeper used to make fresh maani after school for me. I’d eat them with ripe mangoes.”
Reena rolled her eyes with exaggeration. “Well, we peasants had to make do with leftovers.” She squeezed her lips together in thought. Mum had kicked little-girl Reena out of the kitchen so many times while she cooked, but the smell of fresh maani roasting over the stove felt like home.
“Maani is the homiest food we have, right?” Reena said, reaching for a slice of sourdough. “We should make it for the first video.”
“Just maani?” Nadim asked.
Reena grinned widely now. “Maybe something simple like aloo gobi to go with it, but the maani will be the star. Nothing represents Indian home cooking better, whatever they call it.”
They continued to plan for the video while eating. It needed to be sent in by Sunday, so they were on a bit of a time crunch. The plan was for Marley to dig through their closets on Wednesday to decide on their wardrobe, then film Thursday evening. Shayne would have plenty of time to edit it on the weekend, and they could submit it Sunday night.
* * *
Thursday came, and the four of them were crowded in Reen
a’s kitchen. Marley fluffed Reena’s curls while Shayne placed LED lights on long black poles. They’d already been waiting an hour for Shayne to finish setting up, and Reena was getting a little impatient with his constant “almost got its.” Especially since Marley had rejected the sensible business casual and yoga pants in Reena’s closet, instead squeezing her into skinny jeans about two sizes too tight and black high-heeled ankle booties a size too small. Nadim fared better, as Marley had found appropriate clothes in his own closet—dark wash jeans and a blue V-neck sweater. The royal blue looked amazing against his warm skin, and thankfully, Marley insisted he keep his douche beard shaved off.
“How come I don’t get an apron?” Nadim asked, tugging on the pale blue apron tied around Reena’s waist.
“I’ll do the cooking. You’re here for amusing banter and endless admiration.” Reena glanced at the items she had laid out on the counter. Whole wheat durum atta flour, canola oil, salt, and warm water. She’d insisted on using locally grown canola oil and flour, as it would give her an interesting fact to talk about during the clip. The video needed to be five minutes long, and when they’d rehearsed it yesterday, filling the time with something other than just rolling out maani proved to be a challenge. Closer to the stove, precut cauliflower and potatoes waited for her, along with a bowl of peas and a gleaming new polished stainless-steel masala dabba holding little round pots of fragrant spices.
“Okay, guys, almost there,” Shayne said.
“Finally.” Reena moved into position. “These shoes are killing me. Why do I have to wear them? No one will see my feet behind the counter.”
“Needed you a touch taller,” Marley said.
“Not making much of a difference,” Reena muttered. “Still too short.”
Nadim looked down at her. “I like you pocket-size. Hey, is that our engagement ring?” He pointed at the wide, silver-toned ring with clear rhinestones channel-set throughout.
“Yep. And it’s already turning my finger green. Shayne swears he didn’t get it from a gumball machine, but I don’t know.”
“Okay, I’m ready,” Shayne said.
A few seconds of getting into position, and Shayne yelled, “Action!”