Accidentally Engaged(29)

“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.”