Nadim frowned. “Isn’t Thanksgiving in November?”
“That’s American Thanksgiving,” Marley explained. “In Canada, Thanksgiving is early October.”
Nadim shook his head. “You Canadians are always doing things your own way.”
Shayne nodded, clearly deep in thought. “Okay, farm-to-table…hmmm…oh, I have an idea! We could film you at a big farmers’ market or something. I hear they have them in the city now. You could pick up ingredients and bring them home and make a meal with them. We can even speak to a farmer.” He beamed with pride.
Reena raised one brow. “A farmers’ market? Really?”
“Sure! It’s original.”
Marley laughed. “Farmers’ markets are hardly original these days.”
Reena nodded. “I can pretty much guarantee that everyone will do the farmers’ market, then cook-at-home thing.”
“We need to wow them,” Nadim said, inching even closer to Reena. “What if we made your table look like a farm. You know, scarecrows and hay bales and stuff.”
“That’s terrible,” Marley said, looking around Reena’s knockoff modern furniture. “I am not putting Reena in overalls. She’s way too city.”
Reena grinned, the start of an idea forming. “What if we take this city girl to a real farm?”
Shayne cringed. “What farm? You going to drag us all to one of those U-pick places with the big MDF pumpkins with holes to stick your head in for pictures?”
Reena smirked. “Hell no. Amira’s boyfriend’s parents have a hobby farm about an hour and a half away.”
“And they’d let us film there?”
“Yeah, I think they would. They just offered me some fresh eggs and goat milk. I’ve seen pictures of the place on Amira’s social, wait.”
She queued up some pictures from Instagram of her friend feeding the chickens and goats. The spot looked utterly adorable and perfectly hipster-chic, with weathered wood animal pens, rolling hills, and straw-colored fields in the distance. Amira was, of course, feeding the chickens in a pencil skirt. A denim one, but still.
Shayne grinned. “It’s perfect. Set it up, Reena.”
Reena immediately called Amira, who promptly agreed to call the Galahads and get back to them. They didn’t have to wait long. Her phone rang a scant ten minutes later with enthusiastic affirmatives that they could borrow the farm on Saturday, a list of the vegetables in season, and a warm offer to use whatever they needed.
“Not sure any of these will work,” Reena said, looking over the list she had jotted down: potatoes, carrots, beets, and acorn squash. We already did a vegetable curry and potato bhajias.”
Shayne let out an excited squeal. “Potatoes! Finally! Curried shepherd’s pie!”
Reena cringed. “No fusion. We’re not colonizing our food.” She bit her lip as she racked her mind for a home-style Indian recipe that showcased these ingredients.
“Wait,” Nadim said, “didn’t you say they had eggs and goat milk, too?”
“Yes. Goats and chickens are the only animals they keep.”
He smiled. “My mother came from Zanzibar. After she died, my father used to send me by ferry from Dar es Salaam to spend weeks with her mother, my nani. He said he didn’t want me losing touch with that side of the family. Nani used to make this dish all the time—a curry with hard-boiled eggs, potatoes, and local spices. It’s a Zanzibar specialty. I’ve only ever had it there, and it totally reminds me of home.” He glanced at Reena, a wistful look in his eyes. “I remember Zanzibar always smelling like spices—it’s one of the island’s biggest exports. Anyway, Nani died when I was twelve, and I’ve barely been back there since, but…” He turned away, exhaling. “I’m sure egg curry would be spectacular with farm-fresh eggs and local potatoes.”
Reena watched him. The modest space that had been between them on the sofa had dissolved as his leg now pressed against hers. His face had slackened as he talked about his grandmother. Reena had never been to Zanzibar, but visiting the island off the coast of her parents’ hometown was on her bucket list. Pictures of spectacular sunsets over the Indian Ocean and the breathtaking old Arab architecture in Stone Town had called to her, but the way Nadim talked about Zanzibar was not someone talking about a cherished vacation spot. He was talking about home, a place with bittersweet memories and a deep sensation of belonging there.
Nadim suddenly took her hand and squeezed. Reena looked at him, wondering if her eyes betrayed the uncertainty she felt. After another squeeze, he lifted her hand to his mouth and kissed it.
“We should go,” Marley said, standing. “We’re all set for Saturday. I’ll find something agrarian-chic for you two to wear. Let me know if you have any ideas.”
Immediately after Shayne and Marley were out the door, Nadim pulled Reena back on his lap and started kissing her neck. If he kept doing things like this, she would never be able to finish a thought about this “relationship,” or about her place in his life.
Later while she was in Nadim’s bed, waiting for him to finish brushing his teeth, her text tone filled the room with the rousing sound of Highland pipes.
Amira:I have been instructed to invite you and Nadim to our house Friday night to hang out with your best friends before we go to the Galahads on Saturday for your little film shoot.
