by Farah Heron
“Well, seems either he did without telling you, or you two did some drinking and contesting. You’re finalists, so the drunk video must have worked,” Shayne said. “I would advise you to do the next one sober, though.”
No. There wouldn’t be a next one. She absolutely couldn’t spend her time making cutesy cooking videos for a web contest now. She needed to be job hunting. Her severance wouldn’t last forever. It ran out months before she found a job last time. She couldn’t let that happen to herself again.
“Reena, are you okay?” Marley said, voice laced with concern.
Reena wiped a rogue tear that escaped her left eye. “Yes…No.” She sighed. “Just my cold. And…life is just really heavy. I can’t do this right now. Honestly.”
Shayne smiled warmly. “You can. You deserve this. I’ll do the camera work, and Marley will help you look your best. I know you want that scholarship. You’re doing it.”
The bagpipe melody filled the room again.
“Jesus, Reena, can you change that? Unless there’s a man in a kilt somewhere, the Highland pipes are a bit much,” Shayne said.
Reena checked the phone.
Nadim: I googled hipster for the North American definition. I don’t think you meant it as a compliment.
“Tell him you made the contest,” Shayne said. “We need to all get together and plan the next video.”
“I’m not telling him,” Reena said, turning the ringer off the phone. “Why would he do this with me?”
“Didn’t he already do it with you?” Marley asked.
“No. Well, sort of. He didn’t know we were supposed to be a…you know…a couple. Engaged. I just told him it was supposed to be two people.”
“Of course he’ll do it!” Shayne said. “You spent the entire night with him, and don’t tell me that the only cooking you two were doing was in the kitchen. You’re totally into each other. Drinking together, making midnight snacks. Not to mention he won’t stop texting you! You’re already as good as engaged, according to your parents. He has both the face and the voice for TV. Wouldn’t mind him in a kilt at all.”
Reena tucked her phone between her thigh and the seat. “He did me a one-time favor. That’s it. We’re not into each other.”
Marley and Shayne stared at her. Reena considered turning the ringer on her phone back on so the sound of bagpipes would cut the tension.
“Maybe you could ask him if he’s willing to do more videos?” Marley finally said. “I agree with Shayne. Nadim would be perfect for this. You can pretend to be engaged.”
Reena threw her hands up in exasperation. “I can’t exactly pretend to be marrying the man that my parents have arranged my marriage to, can I?”
Shayne slowly shook his head. “I don’t think I fully understand Indian culture.”
Her phone vibrated under her leg. Ugh. She lifted it and took a look.
Nadim: You calling me a hipster may be a case of the pot calling the kettle black, little Miss Hipster Scratch Cooking and Baking Bread like it’s 1890.
Nadim: Not that I want you to stop baking bread. Ever. And you must let me try more than just your fougasse.
Nadim: I could smell something you were baking today. If you have any extra…I’m just saying.
Reena sighed as she shoveled a bite of rice in her mouth. God, she needed this comfort food. Life had become uncomfortably complicated.
“Let’s at least see the video,” Shayne said, putting his hand out for the phone. “Whether you continue or not, I need to see how a couple of drunk boneheads managed to end up as finalists in a contest with hundreds of entries.”
Reena sighed. To be honest, she wanted the answer to that question, too. She moved to the other side of the table so the three of them could watch together and started the video.
And holy crap. Nadim looked good. Reena barely even noticed herself, but Nadim was charming, charismatic, and enthusiastic on-screen. His attention was completely on her, but still somehow it was all about the food. She shivered when screen Reena buried her face in his chest, and when they both nearly fell over laughing at the end, she understood why they were picked. They were magnetic.
“Wow,” Marley said. “That’s what I call chemistry.”
“Seriously. He’s spectacular. Like a brown Jamie Oliver.” Shayne fanned himself. “You sure you didn’t hook up after that? Because that was cooking-show foreplay.”
“Shayne!”
“Fine, fine. I understand now,” Shayne said. “Obviously it’s your decision, but Anderson told me a lot of people entered. The fact that you managed to do that while drunk off your ass is pretty impressive. Seems a waste not to continue. That scholarship could be yours.”
“I know. I know. I just…” She turned off her phone. “I have a lot of shit going on right now, and I don’t want to add to my stress. But…let me think about it.”
Shayne shrugged. “Fine. Then I’ll leave it be. Anyway, there might be a conflict of interest if you do it, since I was planning to help you with your videos and I’m dating a production assistant at FoodTV.”
Marley grinned. “So, you and Anderson are officially a couple?”
Shayne groaned. “I have no idea. I wish I knew.”
* * *
Reena left Marley’s soon after dinner, went straight to her kitchen, and sliced several thick slices of her Sue loaf, a country sourdough made with unbleached white flour, and her Brian loaf, a Swedish dark rye with caraway, molasses, and orange peel. She wrapped them up first in brown paper, then in a plastic bag, and walked across the hall to Nadim’s. She’d been rude when texting him during dinner and felt the need to make amends.
And she felt a little guilty for giving him her cold.
Nadim opened his door, and she stared. He looked…different. A red nose, watery eyes, flat hair, and a grin wider than a Cheshire cat. It was a strange contradiction, looking both miserable and elated consecutively.
“Reena!”
She gathered her composure, shooing away the fluttering in her stomach, and handed him the bag. “A sampling of my efforts today. A peace offering, and a thank-you for…obliging me and taking care of me the other night. I’m sorry for being such a mess. And I’m sorry I gave you my cold.”
He took the bag. “It wasn’t my most put-together moment either. I feel like I should be thanking you for cheering me up that night. I had a great time.”
“Glad I could help.” Reena smiled, turned, and returned to her apartment. She had no intention of spending more time with him than necessary, not when seeing him appeared to make her skin pebble with goosebumps. Annoying.
* * *
Saturday felt wrong. Saturdays were supposed to be about spending time with friends, relaxing, and unwinding after the work week. But with no job, there wasn’t much to unwind. Reena felt restless. What she needed was to make bread. But today wasn’t a day for her usual crusty, sourdough-leavened country breads. Reena’s mood needed something more sumptuous. But which recipe? Brioche would be lovely, but the loose dough really needed an electric mixer to make it work. She had a professional-grade KitchenAid, but she used it rarely, preferring to knead by hand most of the time. She finally decided on challah, the traditional Jewish celebration bread fortified with eggs and oil. Reena gathered her ingredients.
She was tying her apron around her waist when there was a knock on the door. She answered, expecting Marley popping down for coffee. But no. It was Saira.
Damnit. So much for brushing her sister off. Saira was looking altogether too chipper for nine a.m. on a Saturday, and was carrying a large plastic container.
“I’m on my way to work,” she said, dropping the container on the kitchen counter. She approached and put her hand on Reena’s forehead. “You said you had the flu.”
“I had a cold. I’m feeling better.”
Saira raised one brow, looking at the ingredients laid out on the counter, eyeing the jar of yeast especially. “What are you making?”
“Challah bre
ad.”
She picked up the jar of instant yeast. “You know, long-fermented breads are much better for you. I read an article about the molecular changes wheat flour undergoes during sourdough fermentation.”
Now Saira approved of Reena’s starters? “You didn’t seem to like sourdough when you threw Bob out the window.”
“I apologized for that. And you made new ones. No harm done.” Saira smiled, white teeth gleaming under the kitchen lights.
Saira honestly looked amazing these days. A few inches taller than Reena, she had brown skin a shade lighter, and brown hair a shade darker. She’d been a cute, chubby child and continued to carry more weight in her teens, but her healthy-living kick and career as a dietician left Saira strong with toned muscles. After Joran’s cheating, though, Saira had started to lose weight rapidly. Lately, she seemed to be more into healthy balance than depriving herself. And she looked so much better now that she was back to herself.
Saira opened the container she had deposited on the counter. An overwhelming scent of black pepper wafted over. “I woke up early to make you bone broth in the pressure cooker. This is like super-food when you have a cold. Do you know how many minerals and nutrients are in bones? The broth is rich in amino acids, and all that collagen will do wonders for your skin. I put extra black pepper to help loosen all the phlegm in your throat.”
“You cooked. For me?” Reena was skeptical. Was this to weaken her resolve over the eggplant dip?
But Saira just smiled. “Don’t put it in the microwave. The radiation will zap out all the antioxidants. A gentle heat on the stove is good. This is still warm, but the natural gelatin might thicken it when it’s cold. Do you know how good that gelatin is for your joints? It’s never too early to start preventing arthritis.” Saira patted Reena’s shoulder before plopping herself on a dining chair. “I have a few minutes before I need to leave for work. What’s new, sis?”
Reena raised a brow. Was Saira expecting…small talk?
“Um, nothing interesting. You know, same old. What’s going on with you?” This was weird.
“Things are great. Ashraf and I are thinking of going south for Christmas. You should come.”
“Well, I probably have to work…you—”
“Oh, you’ll love this, I heard the best news from Rish yesterday,” Saira said, grinning. Ashraf’s sister Rish was the apparent town crier when it came to gossip within their community. “Get this—Jasmine Shah was just abandoned in Egypt by her fiancé. She had to get an emergency visa to get out and everything.”
Reena cringed. Though she didn’t know her personally, Jasmine Shah was the daughter of her father’s former classmate. The Shahs were her parents’ favorite family to dig up dirt on. And although Reena tried to stay out of it, judging them was a longtime family pastime. “Holy crap. Did you tell Dad?”
“Yeah, Dad’s schadenfreude was pretty epic. And speaking of schadenfreude, did you hear—”
“Saira wait—is that why you came over? To gossip?”
“No, I came to bring you soup. But”—she checked the time on her phone—“I should go. I need to bring Ashraf his lunch before my shift.” She got up and headed toward the door. “Feel better, sis!”
She left. Reena stood blinking at the closed door for a few seconds. What the hell was that? Since when did Saira make hot soup for anyone?
Shaking her head at the strange visit, Reena went back to her counter and started combining ingredients for the challah.
This was a good idea. Mixing the soft, almost silky dough managed to feel both comforting and cathartic. She took out her frustrations, squishing the pale-yellow blob around the enormous bowl. But the dough was still a loose, shaggy mess when another knock on her door interrupted her Zen-like kneading.
Now what? Maybe Mum with her favorite cold remedy, haldi jo dudh? God, she hoped not. One Manji visitor a day was more than enough.
She carefully turned the doorknob with her elbows, a talent she had long ago perfected, since she usually had her hands deep in some cooking project or another.
Thankfully, it wasn’t family, but Nadim at her door. Maybe. Or…was that Nadim? She tilted her head. Yes, definitely her neighbor, but again, he looked different. Eyes and nose back to normal after last night’s weeping clown look. But…clean-shaven? And hair trimmed close enough to his scalp that she half expected him to tell her he joined the Marines after she saw him last night.
Did Canada have Marines? Could Tanzanians join?
“What happened to your hair?” she asked in lieu of a greeting.
He ran his hand through the short strands, as if he’d forgotten about it. “Oh. Uh, I cut it this morning.” He took a deep breath. “Reena, we need to talk. Can I come in?”
She blinked, annoyed at this interruption. The weird pang of attraction she had felt last night seemed to have left the building along with the man’s hair. Maybe the douche-beard had magical, magnetic qualities?
And anyway, we need to talk never went well, so more bad news seemed inevitable. She motioned him in and went straight back to the kitchen and dumped the dough onto her big butcher-block board for heavy kneading. He stood opposite her in front of the breakfast bar.
“What’s that?” He nodded to the dough as she formed the blob into a big ball and started working it.
“It’s going to be challah. What’s up?”
“Are you standing on a stool?”
“Yes. I’m too short to knead well otherwise. You look…healthier.”
“I’m on cold pills. Why does it smell like a pepper mill in here?” He looked around, trying to find the source of the overwhelming scent.
Reena rolled her eyes and closed the container of her sister’s soup. “Is this twenty questions, or are you going to tell me what we have to talk about?”
His eyes shifted to the door. Why did he seem nervous? Had something happened with her father? Had Dad found out about Reena’s job? Crap, did Nadim discover they’d made the finals in the contest? She hadn’t planned on telling him about it—since she wasn’t sure what to do about it yet. She squeezed the dough against the worn wood surface.
“Okay,” he said as he sat on the barstool. He took a long breath. “I don’t know if you know this, but I got here to Toronto a couple of weeks before moving into this building.”
She didn’t know that.
“I stayed with this distant friend of the family. Some aunty and uncle I’d never met. Anyway, I went out a lot because they were a little…cold…and…” He paused, mesmerized by her hands on the dough.
“And what?” she said, hoping he would get to the point. If the point would be particularly sharp for her, she’d like to get it over with as soon as possible.
“And I met someone. At a bar. And we…well…met up several times that week.”
Reena squeezed the dough. Why the hell was he telling her this? She didn’t even know he existed back then. Why would it matter if he hooked up with someone before they met? She’d already pegged him as a player, and she had no intention of going along with this blasted arranged marriage anyway…
She slapped the dough on the counter, glad to have an outlet for her frustration. This couldn’t be jealousy, could it?
Nadim continued. “Sharon. She’s a kindergarten teacher. And…camp counselor. It was casual. I haven’t seen her since I moved to this building and didn’t expect to hear from her. But she called me late last night. She had to tell me…”
Holy shit. Nadim had knocked up this kindie teacher and now he had to marry her, which meant he couldn’t marry Reena. Dumped by the fiancé she didn’t even want. Figures. Could this week get any worse?
Nadim continued. “She needed to let anyone who could be exposed know. And I have to tell you now, since you are at risk, too…”
Reena froze. She’d seen this after-school special before. Kindie teacher gave Nadim some STD, and he exposed Reena to it. She’d need blood tests and antibiotics and…wait. She hadn’t even kissed the guy…
>
What the hell was he going on about?
“Nadim, can you get to the point sometime soon?”
He took a deep breath, before running his hand through that cropped hair again. She’d liked his hair better last night. Long enough to fall into his eyes when not styled within an inch of perfection. But she couldn’t deny that this new velvety head looked deliciously touchable now.
“I have head lice,” he said.
Okay, maybe not so touchable. Lice? Ew. But at least not pregnancy or an STD…yay for blood-sucking parasites?
She wrinkled her nose. “Gross.”
“I know. I didn’t even realize it, but Sharon said she may have given it to me, so I googled it, and then looked, but I couldn’t really tell.”
“That’s what this new hairstyle is about?”
He nodded. “I figured I’d rather be safe than sorry and shave everything. I found a twenty-four-hour drugstore and got hair clippers. But…” He looked at her face, eyes wide. “I’ll have to check your hair. You may have picked up some bugs when you slept in my bed.” He sighed. “I’m very sorry, Reena.”
She said nothing. Her dough felt smooth and pliant now with the gluten fully developed, so she dropped it in a greased bowl, covered it with plastic wrap, and placed it on top of her fridge to rise. Washing her hands and the counter, she considered this new blow to her life. Head lice. She didn’t know whether to laugh or cry at this one.
“I’m not shaving my head,” she told him, not meeting his eyes.
“No,” he assured. “I won’t let you…I’ll help you. I bought special shampoo and a comb. I just want to check your hair…” His voice trailed off, hopefully as he realized how utterly ridiculous their relationship had become.
“Nadim, I—”
“Please,” he pleaded. “Let me help. I feel terrible, Reena. I know I messed up again. Your father’s going to—”
She put her hand up to stop him from continuing that statement and moved around the kitchen to sit on the barstool next to him. “I have no intention of telling my father this.”
“You don’t?”
