Ayesha At Last(41)

Khalid kept his peace until they were in the car. “I don’t want to marry that girl. She only talked to me because her mother forced her to.”

Farzana patted her son’s arm. “Beta, this is all just a game. I have no intention of letting you marry that minx. We are only testing the waters, that’s all.”

His mother’s words made him uncomfortable. “This doesn’t feel right, Ammi. How would you feel if someone spoke like that about Zareena?”

“With your sister, we had to take what we could get,” Farzana said. “I don’t have to worry about that with you. Let me do my job.”

Khalid remained silent on the drive back, his thoughts ricocheting around in his head. Maybe his mother was wrong. Maybe there were other ways to find a wife, methods that didn’t involve awkward conversations and bribing possible brides with BMWs.

He thought about the cooking lesson with Hafsa’s Nani, the one he had been planning to cancel. It might be nice to learn from an experienced cook after all.

Also, grandparents made great chaperones. He had a feeling that where Hafsa was concerned, he needed one. He didn’t trust himself around her.





Chapter Seventeen

Ayesha returned home from school on Monday with her stomach full of butterflies. She couldn’t stop thinking about that night’s cooking lesson. She had spent the entire day waiting for Khalid to cancel, so sure he would back out that she hadn’t even bothered to ask Nani.

As the evening drew near, Ayesha’s nervousness grew and she checked her phone for messages again and again. Finally she could put it off no longer.

Nani was alone in the kitchen drinking chai. “Remember you wanted to teach me how to cook?” Ayesha asked.

Her grandmother looked up briefly. She was reading an Urdu magazine with a picture of a police detective on the cover.

Ayesha shifted her weight, hands clasped behind her. “My friend . . .” she began, then stopped. Was Khalid her friend? A colleague? Her Muslim brother?

“This guy I know . . .” she started, and this time Nani closed her magazine and looked at her granddaughter.

“You’re such a good cook,” Ayesha began again. “I was telling him about your food, and he really wants to learn a few authentic recipes, so I thought maybe you could give him a lesson on how to make your delicious parathas.”

Nani had a good poker face. “Is this the man you met the other night in the parking lot?” she asked. “The one from the mosque meetings?”

How did her Nani know about that? She was sure her grandmother didn’t keep up with mosque happenings, and she had met Khalid far from prying Aunty-Brigade eyes.

Nani was waiting for an answer, her face expressionless.

“Yes,” Ayesha said. “But how did you . . .” she trailed off as her grandmother shrugged.

“Imam Abdul Bari’s receptionist mentioned the conference meetings when I saw her at Hakim bhai’s grocery store last week. I assumed it was the same person who’d given you the plastic container of food. It makes sense to meet him somewhere far away from nosy aunties, and I know how fond you are of Bella’s. But you didn’t smell like cigarette smoke, as you usually do when you attend your poetry nights. So, the parking lot.” Nani was perusing the magazine again and didn’t notice Ayesha’s astonishment. Her grandmother looked up and smiled slightly. “His garam masala blend was quite impressive. Is your young man a chef?” she asked.

“He’s not my young man, and he’s not a chef.”

Nani nodded, turning a page of the magazine. “I can give him a lesson, so long as you promise to stay and learn something as well.”

The doorbell rang, and a light sweat broke out on Ayesha’s forehead.

“Can you give him a lesson right now?” she asked.

Nani put away her magazine, nonplussed. “Of course, rani,” she said, pulling out bowls and ingredients from the cupboard.

“Right. Um,” Ayesha floundered. “Can we just keep this between us? Mom will make a big deal, and Idris will take out his video camera. Also . . . he-thinks-I’m-Hafsa-I’ll-explain-later.” Ayesha’s heart was pounding as she walked to the front door.

Khalid was dressed in a black robe, his hair wet from the shower. He thrust flowers, white carnations, into Ayesha’s face. “For your Nani,” he said, and then he stood looking stupidly at her, which made her feel a little better. He was nervous too.

She led him to the kitchen for introductions. Ayesha hadn’t realized how tall Khalid was; he towered over Nani’s diminutive form. Her grandmother looked up at him, coolly assessing.

“It must be nice to get out of the office and work with your hands,” Nani said to Khalid. “Though making parathas is just as hard on your shoulders as sitting in front of a computer screen all day.”

Khalid looked at Ayesha, who only shook her head. “You’re right. I find cooking very relaxing,” he said.

“Maybe you will cook for your wife one day,” Nani said. “After you decide to settle down.”

Khalid nodded, and Ayesha noticed that he didn’t correct her grandmother. “Khalid’s mother will find him a wife,” she said to Nani.

“Then she should hurry up, before he finds a wife for himself,” Nani answered.