This was fun. Kamila always felt energized when strategizing business plans with a client, and it was extra special when that client was a friend. If everything went well when she introduced Maricel to Dane, even better. Kamila was using her magic as a business consultant and accountant and as a matchmaker for such a good cause—to make her friend happy. They talked more about the financial needs of the start-up while eating what turned out to be excellent beef noodle soup. She made a mental note to bring Rohan here one day—this dish was right up his alley.
***
Kamila worked from home on Friday, and after immersing herself in spreadsheets for half the day, she started preparing for Bollywood-and-biryani night. She cleaned her whole house until it smelled acrid lemony. Then she lit some incense to get rid of the acrid smell, resulting in a patchouli-citrus scent. She put out some Indian-print throw cushions she’d found while clothes shopping with Maricel after their dinner and scattered some candles about. Finally, she put out big golden bowls of huge magenta gerbera daisies.
Along with Asha, Nicole, Dane, and Maricel, she was also expecting Tim and his husband, Jerome, Brit from the dog park (but alas, not her husband, Justin, since the baby was teething), the woman who colored Kamila’s hair last week, and two friends from her former book club. And, of course, Rohan.
Dad came down the stairs as she was putting jewel-toned coasters on every horizontal surface in the room. He was in a suit, jacket draped over his arm and tie hanging over his neck. Dressed for Friday-night prayers at Jamatkhana, the Ismaili Muslim place of worship.
“It looks lovely in here, Kamila. New pillows?”
“Yeah. I got them at a store that makes home decor out of saris.”
“Your mother used to do all this work for parties, too.”
Kamila frowned. Why had he said that? If Mom were here, she’d have listed thirty things Kamila was doing wrong planning this party. She set down the box of coasters, walked over to her father, and started tying his tie so she could sneak a peek into his eyes. They looked fine—no sign of despair. “You sure you won’t stay for dinner, at least? I know you want to try Rohan’s Burmese biryani.” So long as it wasn’t too greasy. Dad hadn’t received his test results yet, but he’d been so positive all week. And so good! Exercising daily, eating all the fruits and veggies Kamila put in front of him. A tiny bit of biryani couldn’t hurt.
“I don’t want to miss prayers,” he said. “I’m going to Rashida’s for a card party after. You can save me some biryani.” Dad frowned as he put his jacket on. “What kind of biryani do Burmese people eat?”
She shrugged. “I guess I’ll find out soon enough.” She adjusted the pocket square in his jacket. Dad was so dapper and always wore a pocket square. She patted his chest and went back to putting out coasters.
“So why all the extra decorating tonight?”
“A couple of new friends are coming.” She told Dad about Dane and her hope that one day he and Maricel would be as happy as Asha and Nicole.
Dad smiled warmly. “You’re generous with your friends, but I wish you wouldn’t make so many matches. We rarely see Asha anymore—she used to be here helping you set up every Friday.”
“Yeah, but Asha isglowingthese days…I can sacrifice her help with parties for that kind of happiness.”
“You’re too good, Kamila. I wish…” He sighed. “I was looking at some old pictures today…You’ve come so far. I know things were hard, and I wasn’t there for you when you were young, but you’ve grown into—”
Kamila tensed again. “Don’t say it, Dad. Youwerethere for me. More than anyone else. Remember the doctor said not to dwell on things you can’t change?”
This was troubling. Dad shouldnotbe thinking about the past so much. Kamila went to the kitchen and opened the box of appetizers she’d picked up earlier.
“Hakka?” Dad asked.
She nodded and started plating the appetizers onto a large platter. She’d actually entertained the idea of making appetizers herself this week—or at least with Asha’s help, since she didn’t want to risk destroying any more kitchen appliances. She even found time to duck into the library a few days ago to look at a Burmese cookbook. But after skimming the table of contents, she learned that spring rolls featured in the cuisine of Burma. Or technically, Myanmar, as it was now called. She’d actually gotten caught in a research tangent that night prompted by the cookbook and ended up reading a lot about the fragile politics of the region and the devastating plight of the Rohingya people there. After a quick donation to an aid agency working with refugees from the region, she placed an order at her local Indo-Chinese Hakka restaurant, which made the best spring rolls in Toronto. Asha wouldn’t have had the time, anyway.
She frowned at the overladen platter of samosas, pakoras, and spring rolls. “I ordered too much. I’ll send some to Rashida’s for your card party later. But go easy—you’re only allowed three, okay?”
Dad chuckled as he headed toward the hall mirror. “You’re so good…taking care of a troublesome old man.”
“Nonsense, Dad. Youaren’ttroublesome.” She looked into his eyes. He seemed okay. But mentioning Mom and the past, and then calling himself troublesome? Self-loathing wasn’t a good sign.
“Dad, when do you think you’ll hear—”
There was a knock on the door followed by Darcy tearing down the stairs and barking. Dad answered it while Kamila held Darcy’s harness so she didn’t bolt. It was Rohan, a huge aluminum foil tray in one hand and an overloaded tote bag in the other.
“Speaking of troublesome old men,” Kamila said, grinning, while she released Darcy. No way the dog would be going anywhere now that her favorite human was here. Darcy immediately jumped up onto Rohan’s legs.
He chuckled, placing the foil tray on the kitchen counter. “They had an interesting-looking coconut cake at the restaurant, too, so I got one.” He bent to scratch Darcy’s head. “Hey, girl.”
Kamila peeked at the foil tray. “This is huge! This looks like biryani for fifty, not twelve.”
He shrugged. “So you’ll have leftovers to eat later,” he said. “This way you won’t try to cook again. I have a busy week—not sure I can be here to put out any fires.”
“First of all, ha ha. Second of all, firefighters exist. In fact, a strapping fireman might be a welcome addition to my life. Remind me how I started that fire again?”
