“You’re the only one here who’s wearing leather.” I hissed.
“We’re in the wastelands. I’m not going anywhere without my clothes.”
I was about to respond, but Mahin was walking straight toward us.
“I’m glad you took full advantage of the room. And I hope you will be fully recovered soon.” She smiled, looking only at me, completely ignoring Victor.
“Thank you for your . . . hospitality.”
I was the worst possible candidate to exchange pleasantries with anyone. I was nothing like Alina or Victor, who was always fast, witty, and charming. I was the kind of person who could easily say something inappropriate or snappy without thinking, but if the conversation took a more serious turn, I would have nothing to say. Later, the same words would keep circling in my head, coming up with better responses. But it was always too late.
“Please enjoy the food and wine.” She made a wide gesture toward the long table where several women in headscarves served food.
“Thank you,” I repeated, not sure if I could just walk straight there.
When both of us approached the table with enormous containers of food, one of the women pointed at the plate and I swiftly picked it up.
“What are you having?” another asked.
“What are you serving?” I asked.
“We have chicken arezh with a side of komata bread,” the woman said.
“Perfect. My favorite,” I lied.
“And you?” The woman asked Victor.
“Same,” he responded.
The woman proceeded to scoop a light brown mixture into a wooden bowl and put two surprisingly thin pieces of unleavened dough in it. It smelled like meat and potatoes and my stomach growled as I picked it up. The bowl was hot to the touch and I placed it on the plate.
“Thank you,” I said.
“Make sure to return our girls. That would be a proper thank you from you.” The woman responded.
I frowned, saying nothing in return.
Victor and I spent some time trying to find available seats but everywhere we looked was occupied. In the end, we proceeded to eat while standing up.
“They’re not very welcoming.” Victor took a bite of bread.
“That’s why I told you to change into their clothes.”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“I’m not wearing a skirt.”
“It’s not a skirt. Besides, all the men here wear it.” I reasoned.
Just then Mahin’s partner, Amira, approached us. She examined Victor from head to toe, then turned to me.
“Tomorrow, I would like to talk to you about our plans,” she said. “Be ready after breakfast.”
“Yes,” I said and the woman immediately walked away.
“She seems nice.” Victor finished up his meal.
