Chapter Thirty-Three
NOAH
T he driveway is lined with English roses, the pink flowers wilting under the harsh summer sun. It’s been a hot December, a sign that an even hotter January is heading our way. And if there’s one thing I’ll thank Amira’s father for, it’s that he isn’t wasting water on fully established plants.
That and the fact he did bring his daughter into the world. There’s a lot I don’t think he’s done right when it comes to how he treated her, but she wouldn’t be the incredible, strong-willed woman she is today without his harsh parenting. So, there’s that.
In the passenger seat beside me, Amira balls her hands into fists, one clinging to the container of baklava sitting on her lap and the other holding tight to the flowers sitting atop it. Her shoulders have rolled down beneath the baggy purple sweater. Today, she’s back to wearing her more conservative clothing. I’ve appreciated seeing her gentle curves and the shape of her ass lately, but I won’t hold it against her for sticking with what she knows today.
She’s more nervous for me to meet her father than I am. And I might as well be shitting bricks. A weird bubble of anxiety has lodged itself under my rib cage, and no matter how many of Cassidy’s breathing exercises I attempt, there’s been no getting rid of it.
It’s not like I’ve never met the man before, but today feels different.
I’m bringing his daughter into his home, to meet him properly. No more hasty introductions before Amira skirts me off into a crowd of guests. We can’t escape his scrutiny today.
Amira said he was coming to terms with the fact he wasn’t the cupid to our relationship, but I’m still cautious.
“It’s going to be fine, Cupcake,” I say as I pull in behind an old tan Ford. Reaching across the centre console, I cover Amira’s hand with my own. “He’s going to love me.” I’m trying to convince myself as much as her.
After all, I’m a very loveable guy, right? I own a winery, have a mortgage-free house, I care immensely for his daughter, and I have a cat who has finally started to love me. Cats don’t lie.
“Are you trying to convince me, or you?” Amira says as she turns her hips towards me. Like she can read my racing mind. The small posy of bright flowers I got from Cassidy tips towards the floor, but Amira grabs hold of it just in time.
“Both?”
Hiking her leg up so she can twist even further, Amira wriggles her hand free of mine to hold my shoulder. “What’s the worst-case scenario?”
I tip my head back with a short laugh. “He hates me.”
“And then?”
“He … refuses to let you see me?” He wouldn’t go that far, would he?
Amira nods but squeezes my shoulder. “He can try.”
She’s out of the door and my shoulder still tingles from her touch. My body is always so in tune with hers, every touch is like the power reconnecting and every time we break apart it feels a little like the fridge light is broken.
I follow her up the stoop, lifting my hand to knock on the door when she pushes it open and calls out.
“Mum, Dad! We’re here.”
The lump in my throat threatens to cut off my breathing. I swallow it away, leaving a dry itch I can’t get rid of. I’m straightening my button-down shirt and following Amira’s lead in kicking off my sneakers when Amira’s mother appears in front of us. The woman practically appeared out of thin air, wrapping her arms around Amira’s shoulders and patting the back of her head.
“Go easy on him,” she whispers in her daughter’s ear. I’m not sure if I was meant to hear, so I ignore it.
I clear my throat, and Amira’s mother spreads her arms wide as she turns to face me. Placing her hands on my shoulders, the loose sleeves of her flowy green top dangle over my arms. The embroidered edges are rough against my skin, but I fight the urge to bat them away.
“Mrs Solak,” I say with what I hope is a pleasant smile.
Her hand slaps down onto my arm. “None of that. Please, call me Emel.”
I look to Amira for guidance. She raises her eyebrows and holds a hand towards her mother. Turning my attention back to Emel, I pass her the flowers.
“Thank you for having us.”
She takes the flowers and moves with a spring in her step as she leads us down the hall. Her arm trails behind her, fingers grabbing at air until Amira steps forward to hold her hand. The women whisper, and I can’t quite make out the conversation but the phrases “He’s very strong,” and “I like him,” push the corners of my lips into a wide grin.
It’s wiped clean off my face when we round the corner into the main room. Amira’s father stands at the head of the long dining table, arms folded across his chest. His brows are pinched together in a stern scowl that sends my limbs into fight or flight. Or freeze. I stop dead in my tracks, one step into the room. Amira does the same, three steps ahead of me, but her mother continues skipping through. She passes her husband and heads into the kitchen. Through the open archway, the sound of glasses chinking cuts through the silence.
None of us move anything other than our eyes, darting our gazes between one another, and all the while the crease between Mr Solak’s eyebrows draws deeper.
“Look what Noah brought me,” Emel chirps as she re-enters the room. The purple blooms are perfectly positioned inside a tall glass. “They remind me of the ones you got for my birthday,” she adds.
At least I’ve got Emel on my side. I roll my shoulders back, hold up my chest, and step forward. My arm stretches out as I walk forward to greet Mr Solak formally. “It’s a pleasure to meet you again, Mr Solak. I’m glad we’ll have the chance to get to know each other this time.”
He doesn’t take my hand. Instead, he grunts and turns to his wife.
“Get the food.” There are no niceties in his tone. No manners. I have to bite my tongue so I don’t blurt out a ‘please’ for him. God, if this is how he is with his wife, no wonder Amira has had a rough time. Things are not looking good for me right now.
Emel grabs the tub of baklava from Amira and skitters sheepishly back into the kitchen.
Amira plonks herself into one of the chairs, conveniently leaving a gap between her place and her father’s.
“Can we all sit?” she asks. Her voice is different. A little higher pitched than normal. Her hands fall into her lap, and even though the table blocks my view I’m certain she’s pinching her fingers. She always does when she’s nervous.
I sit next to her, dropping my hand onto her knee. She jerks it off, staring at me but darting her eyes towards her father. Got it. I clasp my hands together on the table in front of me.
Mr Solak grunts again as he sits, and I can’t help but wonder if he’s ever happy. Certainly hasn’t seemed that way the few times I’ve met him. We continue the painful silence while Emel potters in the kitchen. When she returns, I stand to take the tray of drinks from her. Once it’s on the table, I turn to Amira for guidance. The double teapot is steaming, surrounded by four delicate cups and a bowl of cinnamon sticks. Amira begins to pour the drinks as her mother places a plate of food in the centre of the table. Amira’s baklava has been added to a spread of ring-shaped pastries and deep pink cubes coated in fine sugary powder.
“It’s lokum,” Emel grins. “Turkish delight, my grandmother’s recipe.”
Amira snatches the biggest piece, kicking me with her leg. Tentatively, I choose a piece for myself and take a bite. The delicate candy is soft and sweet. I find myself tasting it like I would an expensive wine. Searching for hidden flavours amongst the rich fruity taste and finding hints of lemon and honey that coat my mouth until my tastebuds are begging for more.
I hum my appreciation as I finish the piece. “That’s delicious. Thank you for sharing it with me.”
Emel shimmies with pride before settling into her seat.
“So,” Mr Solak begins. His tone is intimidating and gruff. I feel like a teenage boy all over again. Amira tenses beside me, so I press my leg against hers, trying to show her I’m here, and whatever he says, however he reacts, we’re in this together. “You want to date my daughter.”
“Respectfully, Baba , we are dating. I’m an adult, not a child.”
I gulp at my tea, the glass is hot against my fingertips and the liquid is boiling, but the burning sensation is a pleasant distraction from the pounding in my ears. Across the table from me, Emel tips her head in a gentle nod in my direction. Her easy smile leaves tiny wrinkles around her eyes. They remind me of Amira’s. Deep brown with a hint of something most people would call hazel. But that does nothing to describe their beauty. It’s like getting lost in the bush, surrounded by towering gum trees and overgrown ferns. I wonder, if I make Amira laugh enough, will her eyes crinkle in the same way? Will they hold this much love and kindness?
They will, and I’m determined to see it.
I clear my throat as I place my tea back on the table. I keep my fingers wrapped around the tulip-shaped cup, focusing on the warmth soaking through my palms instead of the icy chill running down my spine. “Mr Solak, I understand you had big plans for your daughter, and I’m truly sorry if you feel like I’m in the way of them. But I promise you, I will do everything in my power, every day, to make Amira feel as happy and loved as she deserves.”
He scoffs. “Do not claim you are sorry. I was a young man once, too, you forget. I believe you care for my daughter, but you are not sorry. Tell me, truthfully, what it was that made you want to be with Amira?”
This man sees through the subtle lie better than Ella saw through Amira’s big lie. I start my sentence three times before I find the right words. No point lying or trying to sugarcoat the truth. I’ve been in love with Amira for years, I might as well tell them. I find Amira’s hand on the table and cover it with my own. For a fraction of a second, her fingers tense under mine. Her forearm twitches as she tries to pull her hand away, but I hold it still.
“Years ago, I helped my cousin Cassidy move into Amira’s apartment. Or I was meant to help. I carried one box up the stairs before I found myself utterly transfixed by Amira. She was shy and a little standoffish, but her presence lit up the room and I was completely drawn to her. We said all of five words to one another before Cassidy was dragging me down the stairs to carry another box. All day, every time I caught a glimpse of your daughter, I was awestruck. She was—is—beautiful, but I knew there was more to her than her looks. But I lived in Sydney. For years I couldn’t get her out of my head, until a series of unfortunate events—or fortunate, in a way—led me back here. To Melbourne, sure. But also, to Amira.” I squeeze her hand and turn to her as I finish. “My reasons for dating your daughter are entirely selfish. I love her and I have from the moment I laid eyes on her. The past few months have only solidified that. I know now what drew me to her all those years ago. She’s kind and courageous. She always puts other people first and she cares so damn much. She knows how to fill a dark moment with just the right amount of humour, and how to brighten a day with nothing more than her presence and a smile. She cares for my cat better than I know how, and she fights for her dreams.”
Emel sighs. A big fat happy kind of exhale, and when I look at her, I’m certain her eyes are glistening. She waves her hand in front of her face, batting my attention away. Next to her, Mr Solak stares me down. But the crease between his brows has thinned out a little and his posture has softened. He hums a deep gravelly sound as he uncrosses his arms and reaches for a piece of Emel’s decadent lokum.
When neither of them speak, I continue. “You probably want to know if I’m worthy of your daughter. I don’t blame you. But honestly, I don’t know if I am. She is everything and more, and I’m just … me. I’m the man I am today because of luck. I didn’t even know my grandmother and she left me a whole winery in her will. I met Amira because my cousin happened to know a friend of a friend who needed a roommate all those years ago. My life so far has fallen into place, but I will work every day to earn my seat beside Amira’s at whatever table she chooses to sit at.”
“All this time?” Amira whispers beside me.
I turn to her. “Yeah,” I whisper back. Her lower lip trembles and a tear trickles down her cheek. There’s a rational part of my brain saying physical contact in front of her father might not be the best idea, but I can’t not. I wipe the tear from her cheek with my thumb and let my palm linger under her jaw. “All this time.”
She smiles, and her eyes crinkle up just like her mother’s. And maybe I never noticed it, or maybe I was never looking. Or maybe—and I’m pretty sure this is the one—she’s just never smiled that big before.
“Okay.” My Solak’s voice is sharp, shocking my attention back to him. He holds his wife’s hand over the table, mirroring the way I’m holding his daughter’s. “I believe you.”