The Chai Factor

by Farah Heron

  Sameer put down his coffee mug. “Still . . . what are—”

  “Consenting adults can do what they want.” Travis shot a glare at his boyfriend. “I’m sure Duncan and Amira aren’t going to announce an engagement and shoot an arrow through your arrangement with her . . .”

  Duncan spit coffee out of his mouth.

  Amira tried to get smaller, thinking about how nice it would be if the universe could open a little portal in her thrift-store chair, so she could sink into the seat and disappear.

  “You know what, guys?” Duncan finally said. “Drop it. Our personal lives are ours, and don’t worry, we’re not going to scream it from the rafters. The only thing we should be concerned about now is the contest, and Amira’s school work. You guys should maybe focus on what’s important here, instead of all this henpecking.”

  Henpecking?

  “That’s sexist,” Amira said. “The implication is that gossiping is not a worthwhile pursuit because women do it, hens being female chickens and all.”

  He stared at her with one eyebrow raised. Amira held her ground, a small smile on her face, waiting for him to make a snarky comeback. But he didn’t. His gaze held hers as his eyes narrowed, turning that now familiar darker shade of green. Amira’s throat went dry. She took a sip of her coffee, shifting in her seat.

  Shit. It was getting hot in there.

  “They really are perfect for each other,” Travis informed the table.

  “And on that note”—Barrington stood up, tearing Duncan’s attention away from her—“I’m feeling like a fifth wheel in your game here. I’ll go clean up before we do the run-through of our numbers.”

  “Wait, Barrington,” Sameer said. “Sit. I need to talk to all of you.”

  Barrington sat back down.

  Sameer cleared his throat, clearly apprehensive about whatever it was he needed to say. Amira glanced at Travis; he didn’t seem pleased about it either.

  There was no way this could end well.

  “Tomorrow is my aunt’s twenty-fifth wedding anniversary,” Sameer announced.

  “Congratulations?” Duncan said, unsure.

  Sameer ran his hand through his hair. “Thanks. So, well, they’re having this big party, in a hall. Biryani, sharbat, and jalebi, you know. Anyway, I have to go, I have no choice, but now my grandmother’s bugging me to bring Amira with me.”

  This was the party Nanima and Mum were talking about. But Amira couldn’t go, too. A meet-Sameer’s-whole-extended-family thing? As his pretend girlfriend? No.

  “I told her we only went on a couple of dates,” he continued, “but she’s being so insistent, and since your family is going—”

  “Sameer,” she interrupted. “I can’t.”

  “She’s not giving up,” Sameer pleaded. “I told her I’d ask you, but so it doesn’t seem like we’re serious or anything, I asked if I could bring the quartet, too. So, we’d all go. Five of us. As friends.”

  Duncan shook his head. “Jesus Christ, Sameer.”

  “C’mon guys. It’ll be fun. Ask Amira, the food at these things is always amazing, and with all of you there, my family won’t be too . . . you know . . . intense. I hope.”

  Going to a big family gathering as Sameer’s girlfriend was bad enough, but to bring the whole gang of merry men? With her mother, grandmother, and presumably Zahra there, too?

  “Shouldn’t we be rehearsing?” Barrington asked. “It’s only three days before the competition.”

  “We don’t have to stay long . . . and . . .” His voice trailed off. Sameer looked so torn up about this. Obviously he was under a lot of pressure from his family. But it was his family, and to subject all of them to the drama . . .

  She glanced at Travis, who was uncharacteristically silent through this exchange. Sameer looked hurt, but Travis looked positively dejected. And no wonder. He would be introduced as a singing partner instead of life partner. As a nobody in Sameer’s life.

  “You okay with this?” she asked Travis.

  Travis smiled. “Yeah, I am. I’m curious to meet his family. And . . . if this will get them off his back. Sameer’s really stressed about this. Maybe it will help him.”

  Travis was too good. Sameer was too good. Amira’s heart broke for their difficult situation.

  “If it’s important to you all,” Duncan said, “fine. And I got to say, I’m curious about the food. What’s sharbat?”

  Chapter Eighteen

  “MUM, YOU STILL planning to go to that anniversary party tomorrow? I was invited, too.” It was later that day, and after a hurried family dinner, Nanima rushed Zahra to dance class while Amira and Mum washed dishes.

  “I was planning on it.” Mum handed Amira a casserole dish to dry. “I could use a fancy night out, divorcee from Winnipeg notwithstanding. You could use a night out, too. You were so keyed up when we spoke yesterday. You seem better now, though.”

  Amira stifled a snort as she finished drying the dish and put it in the cupboard. It was amazing what a bit of sexual satisfaction could do for her tension levels. Even after reading about the Regent plant project while worrying about this anniversary party all day, she felt lighter and more at ease than she had in a long time.

  The Regent project seemed straightforward enough and quite similar to other projects she had worked on before grad school. Regent was a large company that manufactured plastic cups and dishes, and they were significantly modernizing their large plant in the north end of the city. Raymond had already been working the job for a month, and it was expected to continue for several more.

  Amira wished she could say she was excited about joining Raymond on the project, but after starting in on the literature, she couldn’t help but think it sounded a bit . . . mundane. Kind of boring, to be honest. She wasn’t sure what she’d expected; after all, she was heading right back to the same job she left, and she had loved that job before. Why would it seem dull now?

  Mum was right about one thing, though—it had been a while since Amira had had the chance to get all decked out. These giant Indian parties were usually a lot of fun, but Amira had her reasons for worrying about going to this particular one. Namely, Sam I Am What I Am and the weird state of her relationships with the singing group.

  “You don’t want to go?” Mum asked, eyeing Amira.

  “I don’t know.”

  “Because of Sameer?”

  Amira stilled. Although she hadn’t outright said to her mother she was dating him, she’d allowed her family to think it. “It’s complicated.”

  Her mother broke eye contact. “It’s always complicated, isn’t it?”

  That was an understatement. Amira was pretending to date one singer while sleeping with the other. Well, maybe not sleeping with—as in currently in a relationship with—but rather slept with. Fuck buddies? Probably not, they weren’t really buddies. Maybe?

  “You okay, Amira? I think that spoon is probably dry by now.”

  Amira looked down at her grandmother’s serving spoon in her hand and laughed. “Yeah, I’m fine. I think I almost dried a hole in this.”

  Despite the carnal satisfaction, this “thing” with Duncan had Amira twisted in knots. Relationships were weird in the beginning anyway, and since they both seemed to agree they didn’t want to over-analyze this one, she wasn’t sure how to categorize it. The timing was terrible—but this was no casual fling. Something else was brewing. Something stronger. She wished she could talk it out with her mother, but she had to keep up with this guise of her emerging romance with Sameer instead.

  But then again, maybe her mother was hiding a new romance, too? No one else was around, and Amira had a bit of time—it was time to get to the bottom of this.

  “Hey, Mum, you seeing someone new? Zahra thought maybe you were, but you haven’t said anything.”

  The strangest expression flitted over her mother’s face. A smile in her eyes that didn’t quite match with the tight line of her mouth.

  “Mum, you okay?”

 
Handing Amira the next dish to dry, her mother seemed to force a smile. “Yes, I’m fine. I can’t get anything past you girls, can I? Complicated doesn’t begin to describe this right now, but it’s really early. Can we revisit this conversation later?”

  So, Mum did have a secret . . . thing . . . starting just like Amira did. Someone who took her to the theatre and to art shows. Amira grinned and bumped her hip with her mother’s as they stood side by side at the sink. “I don’t know what you mean by complicated, but I hope it’s good.”

  “Yes”—Mum had a real smile this time—“complicated, but yes, good, too. I’m sorry I’ve been moody lately, but I’m just not sure how certain family members will take this relationship. Anyway, there’s no point telling anyone anything now. It’s early.”

  Amira took a pot from Mum to dry. “You don’t think Nanima will approve?”

  “No, I know she won’t.”

  Amira frowned. Sounded like her mother was dating a non-Muslim and was worried about her mother’s approval, and she was probably right. Nanima was amazing, but she was traditional, and just a touch judgmental about those outside their faith. Her offhanded comments when Amira dated a steady stream of non-Muslim guys a few years ago made that point obvious, and Amira had no doubt her grandmother’s passive-aggression would be worse for her daughter than for her granddaughter. Amira loved and respected her grandmother, but she could do without her judgments. Amira’s own parents didn’t care if she dated Muslims or not. And true, she had told Reena she was hoping her next relationship would be with a man similar to her, but that had everything to do with how well someone could understand her in an intolerant world, and nothing to do with gaining family acceptance.

  Duncan Galahad was nothing like her. What the hell was she doing?

  Mum turned and smiled. “I need to be more like you, sweetie. You’ve never let what others think stop you from doing what you want.”

  “You shouldn’t have to compromise your relationships because of someone else’s values, Mum. Hell, our own values get in the way enough, and we have to find room for others’, too?”

  It seemed kind of silly—Mum was a grown adult, complete with a grown adult child. To think she was afraid of taking a relationship to the next level because of her mother’s approval? Was this the lesson she wanted Zahra to learn? But maybe being forty-nine years old and living with your mother created a different dynamic than most grown daughters and mothers.

  And Amira, at thirty, still lived with both her mother and her grandmother.

  “Mum, don’t take this the wrong way, but do you think we’re stuck?”

  Mum picked up the large salad bowl and put it in the sink. “What do you mean, stuck?”

  Amira shrugged. “I don’t know. You living here with Nanima. Me living with both of you. You two are great and all, but I sometimes wonder if I’d have made different choices with my life if I’d moved out when I was twenty.”

  Mum shook her head. “Different choices doesn’t necessarily mean better choices. Remember, Amira, I was married when I was barely nineteen and had you soon after. Of course, I don’t regret that—you girls are my biggest gifts. I can’t regret how you came into my life, but . . .” Mum stared out the window over the sink, her train of thought lost.

  “But what?”

  “I grew up fast. I had to grow up before I knew who I was.”

  “You don’t think separating from your family so young helped you be more, I don’t know, you?”

  Mum turned and looked sharply at Amira. “You can’t ever separate from your family, sweetie. Don’t ever forget that; they are always there. They are you and you are them.” Mum looked back into the sink.

  Clearly, her mother was also having a bit of an existential crisis, and clearly, she wasn’t ready to talk about it. Change was most definitely in the air. Amira wasn’t much for cryptic heart-to-hearts, so she decided to steer the topic of the conversation towards herself, and away from her mother.

  “I mean, it’s great that I can live here,” Amira said. “Lord knows affording anything decent in the city would be an utter nightmare on my finances, but I wonder if my . . . I don’t know . . . view of the world is skewed because I have it so easy with you guys. It’s just, I always have my family to fall back on, so why advance in life?”

  “Amira, you are about to finish your master’s in engineering! That is advancing! You have family support to fall back on, which has helped you succeed and overcome so many of the disadvantages in your academic and professional careers. Being a woman of colour in this world hasn’t been easy, and you may not have had the strength to fight through the obstacles without the support from your father and me. And Nanima, too. You’re not stuck, you’re privileged.”

  Amira smiled reassuringly as she put away a frying pan. “I know, Mum. I was thinking more in my personal life, not professional.” She kissed her mother’s cheek. “I’m very grateful you guys are so awesome. Seeing the crap that Reena’s parents put her through . . . ugh, I can’t even imagine. Anyway, it’s just such a weird time now, with graduating soon and coming back home, I can’t help overthinking everything. Raymond finally emailed today saying he’ll be sending my report back tomorrow. It will be good to dig into it so I won’t have all this free time for navel-gazing. What are you thinking of wearing to the party?”

  Mum grinned. “I don’t know. Should we coordinate colours? Like we used to when you were a girl. Maybe we can get a nice photo taken of the three of us. You and Zahra can wear your blue suits, and I can wear my gold sari.”

  They finished the dishes, and then Amira headed downstairs, where she found the quartet—minus Duncan—crowded around a magazine on the couch. They seemed to be arguing about something—no surprise there. Weren’t they always arguing? And where was Duncan? Would asking about him now sound desperate?

  “Hey, guys,” she said during a lull in their heated discussion.

  “Hi,” Sameer said. “Duncan’s in his room on the phone.”

  Good lord, she was becoming as transparent as a baby jellyfish. Amira sat heavily in the armchair. “What’s that?” She indicated to the magazine in Barrington’s hand.

  Barrington tossed it on the table and slid to the other end of the couch. “Eddie Bauer catalogue. We were at the mall all day. We can’t decide what to wear for the contest.”

  Travis glared at Barrington. “We did decide, but now someone thinks he’s too cool to go along with what we’d planned.”

  Barrington rolled his eyes. “Seriously, Travis? You have to see the optics don’t look good for me. My name is Barry. I’m a singer . . .”

  Amira raised a brow, perplexed. “What are you talking about?”

  Sameer chuckled. “Our costume designer friend got us outfits for the show, but Barrington didn’t like them.”

  “What does your name have to do with it?” she asked Barrington.

  “A sequined jumpsuit? I get called the black Barry Manilow or Barry Gibb often enough, I don’t need to cosplay as them. Can’t we lean more towards Barry White than the white Barrys?”

  “He’s a ballet costume designer,” Travis said. “I’m not sure what you expected . . .”

  Amira stifled a giggle. Had they all planned to wear these sequined jumpsuits? Amira had an image of Duncan’s buff physique clad in sequined spandex and practically fell off her chair, laughing. “Please tell me you still have the jumpsuits . . .”

  “I’m not wearing it either.” That deep, slightly raspy voice behind her made her shiver. Duncan.

  She turned. He was standing near the door of the room he shared with Barrington, a casual expression on his face. He wasn’t looking directly at her, but not really avoiding her either. Amira’s chest tightened as her hands gripped her knee. He looked so . . . normal. Unaffected. Not all wound up like she was. She turned away as he sat on the couch.

  “What’s up, Duncan? You were on the phone awhile,” Barrington asked.

  “Yeah, I was catching up with my old buddy
Dale. He’s a bass player. I used to play guitar in his band in high school. He had a thing up on Facebook about a gig in Toronto tonight, so I called him. By a crazy fluke, it’s not far from here. Anyone up for a night out?”

  Travis groaned. “God, no. I’m wiped. I’m not moving more than six inches from this very spot all night.” He fell dramatically sideways on the couch, his head landing on Sameer’s lap. That made Sameer squeal, then redden and giggle like a prairie schoolgirl. Amira laughed; her fake boyfriend and his real boyfriend really were precious.

  “I’m not touching that comment with a ten-foot pole,” Duncan said. “What about you, Barry? It sounds like a bit of a dive bar, but Dale’s cool. Apparently, this new group of his plays mostly folk rock.”

  “Sure, I’m game. It might be a good idea to steer clear of these lovebirds tonight. Is your friend’s band doing covers or original stuff?”

  Barrington and Duncan talked for a while about this Dale guy’s band while Amira sat, lightly fiddling with the hole forming on the knee of her jeans. Pulling on the tiny strands, watching the hole increase a millimetre at a time.

  “Amira?” Duncan finally said, startling her.

  “Hmm?” She looked at him.

  “You coming, too?” he asked.

  Amira sat up straighter. “I’m invited?”

  “’Course you’re invited. If you’re interested.” He didn’t smile but held her gaze for a few moments. The temperature rose in the basement. Duncan wanted her to come with him tonight. And she wasn’t even going to try to fight the urge to spend more time with him.

  “Okay, I’ll come,” she said, not breaking eye contact with him. She watched, fascinated, as his eyes crinkled in the corners and his lips curved ever so slightly. They continued to stare at each other, long past what was probably socially acceptable.

  “I’ll go change,” Barrington said, standing and walking towards his room. “You know, you’d think it’d be annoying to be a fifth wheel in this place, but I’m feeling inspired. The world needs more love. I may just write a song about you guys.” He went into his room, loudly singing “Love Is in the Air” with his deep, bass voice. Amira snickered as she went to change.