Ayesha At Last(38)

Ayesha laughed softly and Khalid looked away. “I’m sorry about what happened at the mosque,” he said to his shoes. “Something you said reminded me of my sister, and it’s a painful subject.”

“I didn’t know you had a sister.” Ayesha speared two peas on the tines of her plastic fork and popped them in her mouth.

“She doesn’t live in Canada, and I haven’t seen her in a long time,” he said. “I shouldn’t have snapped at you. Please don’t give up on the conference because of what I said.”

“I can’t help you, Khalid,” Ayesha said, her mouth full of kofta. “I’ve got a lot going on. Work, my family.” But her will was weakening with every bite. “If you made me dinner again, I might change my mind.”

“Ammi hates it when I cook,” Khalid said. “My sister always loved my pasta.”

“Tell me about her.”

Khalid hesitated, as if judging if she truly wanted to know. “Her name is Zareena, and she’s almost four years older than me. She lives in India.”

Ayesha thought about this. She had assumed he was an only child. “Why India?”

“She married and moved there. Or rather, moved and then married.”

Ayesha looked at him curiously. “That’s a big decision, to reverse immigrate to a country your parents left behind. Does she like it there?”

This time he didn’t hesitate. “I’m pretty sure she hates it.” Khalid was silent for a beat. Then: “I’ve never told anyone that.”

Ayesha picked at the rice, not sure what to say. “I have a little brother, Idris. He’s seventeen, and sometimes it feels like we haven’t had a proper conversation since he was seven and obsessed with Pokémon.”

Khalid smiled briefly. “After she left, I didn’t hear from her for a long time. I didn’t handle her absence well. I went through a rebellious phase.”

Ayesha nearly choked on a kofta. She tried to picture Khalid dressed like Haris, in low-slung jeans and gold chain, a cigarette behind his ear, white skullcap replaced by designer baseball hat. “What did you do, listen to Islamic spiritual music with the volume turned up? Take up the tabla drums and Sufi whirling?” she teased.

Khalid scuffed his foot against the loose gravel of the parking lot. “Something like that. Then Zareena started emailing me, and things got better. At least I knew she was okay. I put away my anger and started going to the mosque in my old neighbourhood with my Abba. We went for Fajr and Isha prayer every day. He died last year.”

Ayesha lowered her fork at his words; she wanted to reach out and squeeze his arm in sympathy. “I’m glad you had those moments with your dad before he passed. I lost my father too, when I was younger,” she said, her voice quiet.

“The mosque was my refuge, if that makes any sense. I feel the same way about the Toronto Muslim Assembly. I have to help save it.”

Ayesha replaced the lid on her half-eaten dinner and held it in front of her, glancing at Khalid’s face in profile. He had long eyelashes and beautiful skin, big hands and thick fingers. She felt safe and comfortable beside him. You are good and kind and wholly unexpected, she thought with surprise.

“My Nani wants to teach me to cook,” she said instead. “I’m scared I’ll burn the house down. I think I embarrassed her a few days ago. Some aunties came over and I told them I was too busy to learn how to fry frozen samosas.”

“The first time I cooked an egg, I put it in the microwave and the yolk exploded. I wish I had someone like your Nani to teach me.”

“Why don’t you come over to my house for a lesson?” Ayesha asked.

They both froze at her words.

What have I done? Ayesha thought.

Khalid looked stunned. “Thank you for the offer,” he said carefully. “Is that a yes?” Ayesha asked, mirroring his cautious tone.

Khalid was silent for a moment, clearly thinking. “I’m free Monday night.”

Monday her mother was working a double shift, and Idris had basketball practice and wouldn’t be home until ten.

“Okay then,” she said.

AYESHA could still taste the basmati rice on her lips, could still picture the look on Khalid’s face as he talked about his father and his sister.

He’s not so bad, she thought. How many guys cooked for someone they barely knew? Also, Nani would be thrilled to finally lure Ayesha into the kitchen.

She was rationalizing, and she knew it. Her offer of a cooking lesson and Khalid’s acceptance was spontaneous, and she regretted both. Khalid was a repressed mama’s boy. Plus he thought her name was Hafsa. How could she explain any of this to her grandmother?

When she got home, Nana and Nani were sitting on the front lawn in plastic chairs. They greeted Ayesha as she got out of her car.

Nani gave Nana a meaningful look, and he stood up. “Jaanu, I was just about to take a walk before dinner. Will you accompany me to the park?” he said. Nani disappeared inside the house.

It was nearly seven, and the streets were filled with children. Basketball and cricket games were underway on driveways and streets, while other children skipped rope or formed whispering clusters on bicycles. Stately grandmothers in bright cotton saris kept a close eye on their young charges. The children knew they had time to play. Dinner wouldn’t be served until eight, bedtime after ten. An ice cream truck slowly cruised the street, a Pied Piper parting children from their allowance money.