by Farah Heron
“You’ll keep this to yourself, right?” Amira asked.
“Of course I will. I have to say, you’ve found an odd way to keep the place quiet, though. Most people don’t start a new relationship, even a fake one, because they want alone time. What’s going to happen when Nanima and Shirin start planning your wedding?”
Amira groaned as she absently watched her friend take pictures of their dinner with her phone. What would she tell her family after Sameer told his grandmother about their budding new romance? She hated lying, but for this to work, her family also had to believe she was dating Sameer. Maybe if they kept to one, maybe two dates, both families would realize this wasn’t serious. “It won’t come to that. Nanima loves weddings, but I think even she wouldn’t go bridal sari shopping after less than two weeks of dating.”
“Maybe not, but we’re talking about dating her best friend’s grandson. She may be too excited about combining the families. This could get out of hand, Amira,” Reena teased in a knowing tone as she put her phone away.
“It won’t.”
“Can I be the maid of honour at your fake beard wedding? I’d love a turquoise colour scheme. It really is my colour.”
“Shut up.”
“The hairstylist boyfriend will have to be the best man.”
Amira rolled her eyes. It wouldn’t come to that. No one was marrying anyone. No one was even dating anyone, except of course Sameer and Travis.
“My mum went bridal sari shopping for me last week,” Reena said with complete nonchalance before slurping noodles from her spoon.
“What? You’re not even dating anyone!” Amira stilled. “You’re not dating anyone, are you?”
Reena snort-laughed. “No! You know I’ve put a moratorium on men right now. But my mother found me another eligible bachelor. She jumped the gun and started looking at salwar kameez before I’d even met the man. Mum’s not taking me turning thirty and still being single too well.”
Amira cringed. That was one area she would always be grateful for when it came to her family—her parents never laid on that Indian pressure to be married at a young age. It helped that her family was a bit unconventional themselves, but no one batted an eyelash when Amira announced she was going to grad school instead of settling down. No one said she was getting too old to be single, and she was a good ten years older than her mother had been when she married and gave birth to Amira.
“Did you at least meet the man?” Amira asked.
“Yup. Mum invited him to brunch. Kinda-sweet old guy. At least forty-five. A divorcee from Winnipeg. Dude’s wife left him out of the blue a few years ago.” She paused. “I won’t be marrying him.”
Amira laughed so hard, soup nearly came out her nose. “Oh my god, Nanima is trying to set my mother up with that guy!”
Reena giggled. “A successful single man with most of his hair? He’s a hot commodity.” She shook her head. “Seriously wonder about the quality of the potential husbands my mother finds for me. Clearly I am supposed to be lowering my expectations in my golden years.”
Amira laughed again. “I’m also in my golden years but I’m fake-dating a man five years younger than me!”
Reena smiled. “They know I’m not cut out to be a cougar. When are you and Sameer going public with your courtship?”
“No idea. I’ve barely spoken to him since we made the deal.”
“But you’re getting on well with the other guys?”
She shrugged. “Don’t know. I’ve been in my room most of the time.”
Reena squeezed her lips together a moment, as if reluctant to say something. “You know what, Amira?” she finally said. “I kind of miss the old you.”
Amira scoffed. Old her. What the hell was that supposed to mean?
Reena continued. “You used to drag me everywhere, even going back to high-school days. Concerts, festivals, lectures, book clubs. And you knew everyone. You made new friends all the time. I get that we’ve grown up but . . . you always had a huge personality. Lately, you’ve just . . . I don’t know. Folded into yourself. And you snarl at anyone who tries to unfold you.”
Amira looked down at her half-empty bowl. This wasn’t a new complaint. She knew she was different. The combination of grad school and being away from her hometown had altered her.
She closed her eyes briefly. That wasn’t it. She knew damn well why she had changed. It all started that stupid day at the airport. “I know.”
“I don’t want to upset you, Amira. I still adore you, it’s just . . . you’ll miss out on great connections if you never let people in. I know trusting people is hard, but—” She flashed a sad smile. “I get it. I hate the world right now, too. I’m definitely not the one to talk about never leaving her comfort zone. But you need more in your life than me, your family, and work.”
Reena was sort of right. Yes, the world was a complete Dumpster fire, and staying in her own little bubble was certainly easier on her mental health. But it wasn’t that trusting new people was hard; it was more like she just didn’t care to do the work of building that trust anymore. But that sounded slightly misanthropic, so she smiled reassuringly at Reena. “But you’re the best, Ree. Why would I need more? We’re going to have an awesome summer. Once school’s done—”
Amira’s phone rang. She glanced at it—unknown number. Tensing, she instinctively feared it was another reporter. But on a Friday night?
She reluctantly answered. “Hello?”
“Hi, um, Amira, this is Sameer.”
“Oh, hey. Did I give you my number?”
“No. I got it from your grandmother. Anyway, I was wondering . . . the guys and I were thinking, we’re going to this beer festival downtown later, since there’s a barbershop booked, so we’re going to check out the competition and Travis thought I should ask you—”
“Are you asking me out, Sameer?” Amira asked. Reena erupted in giggles.
He blew out a puff of air. “I’m trying to. How am I doing?”
“Not too bad. Your fumbling is kind of charming. I do have two questions, though. First, can I bring my friend Reena? She’ll be discreet. You’re bringing a quartet on our first date, after all.”
“Uh, sure, I guess. What’s your other question?”
“What time and where?”
“It’s at the Liverpool Brewpub, downtown somewhere. Eight o’clock.”
“I know where that is. We’ll meet you there.”
After disconnecting the call, she smiled at Reena. “Does this work for getting out of my comfort zone? A beer festival with the quartet. I hope you don’t mind being a fifth . . .” She paused. “Sixth wheel tonight? They’re going to the Liverpool Brewpub.”
Reena grinned. “It’s fabulous. I need to meet your boy band.”
It was a clear, warm evening so they decided to walk to the brewpub. The sun was setting over the horizon, bathing the sky in a rosy, almost otherworldly glow. There was nothing Amira loved more than Toronto in the spring. She was born and raised in the city, and she loved that her home was the kind of place with a Peruvian coffee house next to an Afghan kebab shop, next to a Jewish deli wafting with the scent of bagels from a wood-burning oven.
The weather, the lively streets, and Reena’s company were doing great things for her mood. Grad school was almost done and her project report was well on its way. Even the issues at work seemed minimal right now. Raymond would have Amira’s back and stand up for her, if needed, just like he always did.
And she was weirdly looking forward to spending time with most of her new roommates. Reluctantly, she agreed, at least to herself, that Reena was right. She did need more in her life than work and family, and maybe it was time to slip back into her social-butterfly old self. Fortuitously, there was a group of 75 percent friendly guys right in her basement who wanted to spend time with her. This could be fun, even if she had to ignore the flannel-clad 25 percent.
As they approached the entry to the brewpub, Travis’s voice made her smile even wider. �
��Amira, you look gorgeous. I’m so glad you came.” She turned to see her four roommates walking towards her. Travis pulled her in for a hug. After Amira introduced Reena to the quartet, they went into the pub.
Liverpool Brewpub was a large new building, half microbrewery, half restaurant, by the waterfront downtown. Entering, Amira took in the high, beamed ceilings and wood-panelled walls that contrasted so well with the glossy slate floor and minimalist table settings. A seamless blend of urban and rustic that really appealed to her. They found a table near the stage. Soon after arranging themselves, Reena leaned in close.
“Duncan is hot. Gorgeous eyes.”
“Reena. No. Don’t get any ideas.”
“He was staring at you in line.”
“He wasn’t. He doesn’t like me.”
“You told me he was rude and annoying. He seems perfectly charming to me.”
“Give him time . . .”
“Shall we order nachos for the table?” Duncan said loudly, eyeing a menu. “Sweet! They’ve got pulled-pork nachos.”
“No pork,” Amira said.
Duncan looked up. “Right. Muslims. Two orders, then? One regular and one with pulled pork for us heathens. Or, wait—” He looked at Amira and cringed. “Sorry, you probably don’t want pork at the table. Two regulars, then, hold the bacon—”
Sameer laughed. “I don’t have an issue if you guys eat pork. I just won’t.”
“Fine with me, too,” Reena added.
They sorted out what to order—one order of pulled-pork nachos, one order of barbecue chicken nachos, hold the bacon, one pitcher of beer, and one of cider.
“So,” Barrington said after they finished ordering, “you guys don’t eat pork but you do drink?”
Reena laughed. “Yeah, I know. A bit hypocritical. Amira and I aren’t very religious.”
“To be honest,” Amira added, “the pork thing is really more habit than anything else. I never ate pork growing up, so it seems strange to do it now.” Her nose wrinkled. “Smells weird.”
Duncan pushed his chair out as if he was about to stand. “I’ll get the girl to change ours. I don’t want to—”
Sameer laughed. “Honestly, it’s fine. Travis eats bacon at home all the time. The sight or smell doesn’t offend us, we just don’t eat it.”
Duncan moved his chair back in, but still looked concerned. The waitress came with their drinks.
“You two live together?” Reena asked, motioning between Sameer and Travis.
Travis nodded, smiling with pride. “Yup. For about six months. We have this tiny loft. I love it.”
“It’s not a loft. It’s a glorified bachelor apartment,” Sameer said.
Travis waved his hand at Sameer. “It’s fabulous. The location is amazing. Smack-dab in the middle of downtown Ottawa. Walking distance to the gay village and to my work. And the upstairs neighbour loves it when we sing. She turns off her TV and always claps when we’re done. I’m never leaving that place.”
Amira laughed. “You guys always sound great when I hear you.” Duncan frowned at her, so she turned away from him. “Have you decided what songs you’re singing for the competition?”
“We’ve got two solidified,” Barrington said. “Still arguing on a third. We’re doing ‘Stand by Me’ and ‘Jolene.’”
Sameer laughed. “We’re doing ‘Jolene’ so long as Travis stops screwing it up by singing Justine instead of Jolene.”
“Justine? Why?” Reena asked.
Travis smiled. “My sister’s name is Justine. In high school, a boyfriend dumped me for her, so I used to sing it to get under her skin.”
Amira laughed. “Holy shit, really? Did it last between them?”
He scoffed. “Of course not. You think anyone can be happy after walking away from this?” He waved his hand towards himself with flair. “He came crawling back a month later. I wasn’t about to go there again. But that song will always be for Justine. I’m going to sing it at her wedding one day.” He sang a few bars of the song, substituting Justine for Jolene and flawlessly mimicking Dolly Parton’s country twang. Barrington grinned and joined in, his low voice contrasting with Travis’s high notes.
Reena laughed, clapping when they were done. “You and your sister close?” she asked Travis.
Sameer answered for him. “Too close. They even work together. But Justine’s great. All of Travis’s family is great.
“Amira mentioned you’re a hairstylist?”
Travis nodded. “Justine and I work at a salon in the ByWard Market in Ottawa. A really funky place, it’s amazing. If you ever want a trim, you should come by the house. I miss having my hands in hair all day.” He smiled as he tenderly ran his fingers through the back of Sameer’s hair. Sameer’s eyes half-closed for a second and the tips of his ears turned pink. “Sameer just finished pharmacy school and will be searching for a job when we get back,” Travis continued, his hand still on the back of Sameer’s head.
“And you?” Reena asked Duncan. “What’s your day job?”
“I’m actually a singer,” he said. “And a substitute teacher.”
Amira nearly dropped the beer in her hand. “You’re a teacher?” She hadn’t expected that. Lumberjack, carpenter, maybe even some other skilled trade, but not a teacher.
“Yeah. High-school music and sometimes history. I used to work at a local school, but it closed. Been looking for something permanent for a while, but good teaching posts are sparse where I live. Substituting lets me work when I want, so I can keep playing music.”
Amira could not picture it. Smirking, sarcastic Duncan teaching kids? She worried about future generations of musicians if their teachers were like the garden gnome.
“Where do you play?” Reena asked.
“Here and there. I sing with a few local bands that do mostly bar gigs around home, and I teach private guitar lessons.”
“Duncan’s amazing,” Barrington chimed in. “He’s got a YouTube channel where he does metal classics on the ukulele. We’re lucky to have him.”
Amira turned to look at the man in question. His hair had been neatly trimmed and artfully messed in the front. Probably Travis’s doing—travelling with a hairstylist was handy. He wore no flannel today, instead a dark grey button-up topped with a black cardigan. How he managed to wear suspenders one day and a cardigan the next and not give off any whiff of nursing-home fugitive was a mystery to Amira. Must be the vibrancy of the beard, which almost glowed in the low light of the restaurant. His green eyes looked darker while still sparkling with the reflection from the overhead lights, like murky green pools reflecting the moon.
Damn it. What was it about this man that made her think in trite poetry?
Still, she couldn’t help but wonder what the rest of his face looked like under that beard. Suddenly, one of his eyebrows raised a fraction of an inch as the ghost of a smile flitted across his mouth. He noticed her staring at him. She turned away quickly. The food arrived then, a thankful distraction from that awkward moment.
“You know,” Reena said, piling nachos on a plate, “in high school, Amira was a bit of a groupie for guys in rock bands. What’s the music version of a puck-bunny?”
Amira pinched her friend’s leg under the table. Unfazed, Reena continued. “These days, she’s not really into music, though.”
“I enjoy my silence,” Amira said, glaring at her friend. “And I don’t have time for anything but school right now. Thank god I’m almost done.”
“Then what?” Sameer asked.
“I go back to work at the same consulting firm where I worked before grad school. They gave me a leave of absence.”
“What kind of engineering do you do?” Barrington asked.
“Industrial. I work as a consultant in the manufacturing sector.”
Barrington’s proud smile split his face. “Wow. That’s hardcore; you must be brilliant. That’s what your master’s degree is in?”
“Believe me, I’m far from brilliant, just determined.”
>
“What’s your final paper about?” Sameer asked, picking jalapenos off his nachos and putting them on Travis’s plate.
“Vibration and noise control in manufacturing,” she said.
Duncan rolled his eyes. “Noise control? Why am I not surprised . . .” He shook his head.
For her own mental health, Amira decided to ignore the garden gnome. “My program had a lab project component. For my project, I used finite element modelling to develop new algorithms to analyze how different noise-dampening materials work in practical applications. My report will discuss the most recent research in the area and review possible applications in the field.”
“Fascinating,” Barrington said. “I can’t say I know much about engineering, but I do know sound dampening. That’s the stuff lining the walls in a recording studio, right?”
“Yup. Although my work deals with plant noise, not music. In a recording studio, the dampening is as much for keeping the good sounds in as the bad sounds out.”
“The concepts are the same, though, right?” Travis added. “You could totally use your findings in the music industry. I mean, musicians are all about maximizing vibrations and sounds, while you’re about minimizing. Same principles, though.”
Duncan snorted loudly. “Minimizing sounds? Minimizing enjoyment, I say.”
Amira ignored the lumberjack and continued. “I suppose. I haven’t worked in sound reduction before; I don’t know much about careers there. My consulting work was mostly on computer integration in manufacturing. I’m hoping the advanced degree will help me transition to a senior consultant position in that area within the next two years.”
“You have it all planned out, eh, Princess?” Duncan asked. “Have you scheduled time for marriage and kids yet?” He almost snarled with derision.
What the hell was this guy’s problem? One minute he’s all concerned and chivalrous about the pork, and now rude comments? Amira opened her mouth, hoping something sharp and biting would find its way out, when Reena elbowed her, presumably a pre-emptive strike to shut her up.
“How old are you guys? If you don’t mind me asking,” Reena said. “I’m thirty, like Amira.”
