Chapter Two #2
“We’re making my friend Sameera’s favorite snack: samosas. I think it’s my new favorite, too.”
“I’m surprised. The first time I met you, Tom, you were making samosas all wrong,” she joked. Surprise and delight flared in Tom’s eyes at her banter, warming her. Had he assumed she would freeze in front of the camera or play the silent sidekick? If so, it was fun to surprise him.
“I don’t know about that. No one else complained,” he said, playing along.
She pretended to think. “I wonder why. Maybe because I was the only desi girl in that crowd?”
Tom laughed, accepting her point. “In my defense, wonton wrappings make a great samosa shell, and they’re easy to find in the grocery store.”
Sameera put a hand on her heart and faked a look of outrage. “Tom Cooke, nobody gets into the samosa game because it’s easy. Real desi cooking is not for the faint of heart.”
Tom grinned at her. “What do you think of my second attempt?”
She considered, then shot a sly smile at the camera. “From a rating of one to ten, with ten being aunty level, and one being those faux-samosas you made last time, I’d give these . . .” She reached out and took a bite of the jalapeno-paneer samosa, chewing thoughtfully. “A seven.”
Tom made a face at the camera. “You’re supposed to help me get more customers, Sameera. Not damn me with faint praise.”
“Seventy percent is passable,” she corrected. “And that’s only because your pastry is on point. Flaky and homemade, just like Mom intended.”
Tom laughed and turned to face the camera. “While I go work on my recipe, Esa, why don’t you share your handle with our viewers so they can give you a follow?”
Her brother happily took over, and Sameera made a mental note to check out Esa’s channel when she got home that night.
Off-screen, Tom sidled closer to Sameera and murmured, “You said my samosas were amazing.”
“Which is why I want to keep them to myself,” Sameera shot back, smiling.
Tom chuckled. “You’re a natural on camera. Have you considered making content?”
Sameera shook her head. “I’ve got my hands full with my job. Besides, I don’t have any particular talent. Not like you.”
Tom seemed about to say something, but Esa had finished recording and was nearly vibrating with excitement.
Tom took the phone from him and posted the video without editing, calling it a “candid,” while Sameera polished off a few more samosas—she was stealing all the Hakka ones—just as Tahsin bustled inside the kitchen.
“Come say salam to Ali Uncle and Khurshid Aunty. They brought their son to meet you. Amin is in wealth management, thirty-five years old, and recently divorced.” Tahsin looked meaningfully between Sameera and Tom. “Unless there is some reason you would rather not?”
Sameera thought quickly. “Let me go check on Dad first.” She fled.
Naveed Malik was exactly where Sameera knew he would be—hiding in the basement.
Her mother was an extrovert who thrived on the energy of others, her father, an introvert who enjoyed his wife’s energy but also needed quiet time to recharge, which he usually did in their basement.
Here, he read, listened to his extensive collection of old movie scores, and puttered about with his latest hobby.
After retiring two years ago as head of neurosurgery at Emory, Naveed had proceeded to try out a succession of retirement hobbies, from learning how to crochet and volunteering at the mosque to trying his hand at carpentry.
He had most recently become obsessed with assembling intricate Japanese Gundam models.
Sameera wasn’t sure how long this hobby would last; she and Nadiya had a bet going, and her money was on three months.
After hugging her father, she admired his latest purchase, a Bandai Spirits model, and made small talk about their holiday plans.
Tahsin wanted to declutter the basement (which they both understood as code for clearing out Naveed’s abandoned projects), and they might have a few friends over on Christmas Day.
Though her family didn’t celebrate, they took advantage of the time off to visit family, travel, and catch up with friends; it was a much-needed reset for everyone.
“Your mother was very impressed by your new friend’s cooking,” Naveed said, clearing his throat and not meeting her eyes. Not him, too, Sameera thought.
“It’s not what you think, Dad,” she said firmly.
“Even if it were, I hope you can be open with us. We want to be part of your life, beta. Leave the past in the past. I know Hunter hurt you deeply, but we learn from our mistakes; we don’t repeat them.”
Her father’s words, more than her mother’s obvious actions, filled her eyes with tears, which she discreetly brushed away.
The reminder of those lonely years without her family was painful, complicated by feelings of shame, fear, and panic, which she definitely did not want to sift through right now.
She changed the subject. “Mom invited Khurshid Aunty’s son. She wants to introduce me.”
Naveed snorted. “Everybody knows that boy has a girlfriend. Ali and Khurshid need to grow up and accept it.”
Sameera laughed and, feeling braver, went upstairs. Her phone rang, and she answered the FaceTime request with a sigh.
“Mom says you’re hiding,” her older sister started with no preamble.
Nadiya Malik was everything Sameera wasn’t—outgoing, dutiful, the life of every party.
After distinguishing herself at Cornell University with a brilliant academic and activist record, she had moved to Pakistan to work with an NGO that helped widows and orphans in rural communities, before being admitted to a doctorate program in human rights at Oxford.
She wanted to work for the United Nations.
Sameera wouldn’t be surprised if she ended up being an ambassador or a US senator someday.
The sisters also looked nothing alike. While Sameera was most often described as “cute,” with her large dark eyes, warm brown skin, heart-shaped face, and curvy figure, Nadiya was a regulation hottie.
Tall and willowy, with large eyes framed by sooty, thick lashes and a creamy, blemish-free complexion paired with full pouting lips in a permanent expression of indifference, she could have had a career as a model.
She was also fiercely loyal, blunt to the point of tactless, and the only family member Sameera had stayed in touch with during her “lost years.” Sameera adored her.
Nadiya was clearly not at home; her beautiful curly, dark hair was covered by a hijab securely tied around her head. She had started wearing hijab during her time in Pakistan, another testament to her independent spirit, as none of the women in their family wore the head covering.
“I hear you brought an inappropriate dessert to the party,” Nadiya said now.
“Macarons?” Sameera asked, just as her sister said, “Tom.”
Sameera groaned. “Mom overheard me talking to him at the firm Christmas party and jumped to the usual wrong conclusions. He was the caterer. Nothing else.”
“She’s worried about you,” Nadiya said. “Mom and Dad can’t stop worrying about any of us. It’s only gotten worse since they retired. They need to find a hobby. Or, in Dad’s case, a hobby that actually sticks.”
“You’re pretty judgmental for someone with two body piercings you’re hiding from your mother,” Sameera said.
Her sister made a face. “It’s three body piercings, and stop changing the subject. No one is forcing you to marry Wealth Management Guy,” Nadiya said, her tone turning brisk. “You know the drill.”
“Don’t smile. Avoid eye contact. Tell wildly eccentric stories,” Sameera said.
“‘How exciting to meet Future Husband Number Five!’” Nadiya said in a falsetto, batting her eyes on the screen. “‘You’ll look great in my basement with the others.’”
Sameera giggled. “‘I hope you’re okay with living in Antarctica on a research vessel.’”
“Nice one,” Nadiya said. “How about: ‘Hope you’re comfortable living with a reformed cannibal who can’t get the taste for human flesh out of their mind.’”
“That’s a little dark,” Sameera said, laughing. “I miss you. Are you coming home over the holidays?”
“As soon as I crack my thesis, I’ll be back,” Nadiya said. “But you’ll have to face this latest guy on your own. I have total faith you can make him run in the opposite direction.”
“I appreciate your confidence in my ability to repulse men,” Sameera returned.
“Not all men. About Tom . . .” Nadiya started. “Is there something going on?”
“Not even a little bit,” Sameera said solemnly. “This is Mom, up to her usual tricks.”
“Well, don’t freak out and stop talking to them again. I’m not there to drag you back from the brink,” Nadiya said. She was joking, but also not. Sameera knew how much she owed her sister. She only wished she could be honest about what had really happened.
They hung up, and Sameera knew she couldn’t delay the inevitable.
It was time to meet her parents’ guests and their various eligible sons, then stuff her face with her mother’s and Tom’s delicious food before returning home to work until the wee morning hours.
Just another Eid holiday, back in the warm embrace of her family, she thought, smiling to herself.
The truth was, despite the impending awkwardness, she wouldn’t trade the experience for anything.
Sameera had lived through the opposite—coldness, distance, holidays spent alone and lonely—for too long not to appreciate what she had now.
She was back in her family circle and determined to stay, no matter what.