Chapter Three
Wealth Management Guy—Amin—turned out to be very nice.
They chatted about the food, the unexpected cold snap in Atlanta, their respective jobs.
It was abundantly clear he had zero interest in Sameera and had only shown up to make his parents happy.
She could appreciate an obedient desi boy, especially one who posed no threat to her happily single status, and she let her thoughts wander as they talked.
Was she happily single? It had been over a year since Hunter had walked out on her, ending their tumultuous five-year relationship: eleven months and two weeks since she realized the extent of the financial disaster her ex-boyfriend had left her in, and how long it would take to pay back the debt he had accumulated in her name.
The shame of being duped by her intimate partner had been almost worse than the debt.
She’d had no idea about any of it—not the credit cards he had opened in her name, not the line of credit he had opened up for both of them, not the secondary lines of credit and predatory payday loans he had resorted to by the end.
He had an addiction, he finally confessed after he couldn’t hide the truth from her anymore.
Online gambling had him in its grasp, and he was sure the next payout was just around the corner.
They had shared one last tearful night, with promises on his side to do better, and on hers to stand by him while he got the help he needed.
In the morning, he was gone, leaving only a few items of clothing, and his debt, behind.
Maybe “happily single” wasn’t the right term. Perhaps “warily single and emotionally shattered” was more accurate. As she chatted with the amiable Amin, she wondered if he knew about her past. Who was she kidding? Of course he did—everyone knew about the Malik family’s wayward daughter.
“So?” Tahsin asked when the two separated after their chat. “Amin is very successful, and his mother said that he is ready to settle down. He had a few lost years, too, just like . . .” She trailed off.
Just like you, Sameera finished silently. “He’s not interested, and neither am I,” she said firmly.
“Lubna Aunty brought her son, too, but he had to take a call from his second ex-wife. When he comes back, I’ll introduce you,” Tahsin said.
“Hard pass,” Sameera said.
“Beta, what’s the harm in talking? You’ve known some of these boys all your life,” Tahsin said, trying to keep her voice low, though a few of the guests were already looking their way.
“And if anything was going to happen, it would have already,” Sameera said.
Lubna Aunty sidled up to her, dark eyes inquisitive. A skinny woman, her hair covered by a dopatta and dressed in a flashy salwar kameez with matching jewels, she had always reminded Sameera of a heron, with the matching vicious beak.
“So nice to see you again, Sameera,” Lubna Aunty started, reaching for a deep-fried pakora and chewing thoughtfully.
“Tahsin says you are working very hard at your little job. Don’t forget, you need balance in your life for other things, too.
My Nabiha just had her third child. I went to visit, and she was so happy.
The body just snaps back to normal at that age.
” Lubna eyed Sameera’s waistline. “It will be much harder for you.”
Sameera sighed. She had long ago decided not to bother arguing with her mother’s friends.
They weren’t all like Lubna Aunty, thankfully.
She excused herself and retreated to the kitchen, deciding she would rather inflame her mother’s suspicions by hanging out with Tom than spend more time being passive-aggressively interrogated by mean aunties.
Inside the kitchen, Tom was loading the dishwasher, a pot of water slowly coming to a boil on the stove.
“Are you making chai?” she asked, impressed.
“I was informed there would be a riot if the aunties and uncles didn’t get their caffeine fix,” he said solemnly. “I googled a recipe.”
“Blasphemy. Every family has their own chai recipe. It’s the one thing I know how to cook,” Sameera said, reaching for a tin with whole cardamom.
“If you think boiling water for tea is cooking, I have some terrible news,” he offered.
She smiled back, shoving him playfully so she could reach the cinnamon sticks and cloves, plus the special loose-leaf black tea they used for serious chai-brewing.
Her hand tingled from where it had come in contact with his firm, rather muscular shoulder.
Is working out a requirement for chefs? she wondered.
They were quiet as she stared into the water and Tom started clearing the food from the kitchen island.
“Does your mom really think we’re dating?” Tom asked, breaking the silence.
Sameera stiffened. “Who knows what she thinks.”
“That explains a few things,” he said thoughtfully. “She asked me what my suit size was, and if there was a family history of diabetes and high blood pressure. Also if I had dated a Muslim girl before.”
Sameera was horrified. “She didn’t!”
Tom started laughing. “You should see your face!”
She punched his arm—a deceptively firm bicep, she noted—and he rubbed it, pretending it hurt.
Again, her hand tingled from the contact, and from the change in his expression, she could tell he felt it, too.
There was an immediate attraction that seemed to flare to life anytime they were in the same room.
Which was terrifying.
Maybe she should have taken her chances with Lubna Aunty and her twice-divorced son.
“Can I ask you something?” Tom asked, and Sameera nodded. “You said your mom assumed you were hiding me from them. Have you . . . done that before?”
An image of Hunter flashed through her mind from the first day they met, at a campus party her senior year. He had been kind then, funny and charming and completely into her. Sort of like Tom was now.
“It’s a long, boring story, and it doesn’t end well,” she said.
Tom nodded, and though he seemed intrigued, she appreciated that he didn’t push.
“Your family is pretty great,” he said instead, urging a reluctant smile to her lips.
“I cater a lot of events, and I’ve seen it all.
I knew I would like your mom when she shared her samosa recipe, and when your dad tried to convince me to assemble Japanese Gundam robots with him in the basement instead of cooking. ”
“If you like random eccentricity and vigilante-level competence, you should meet my sister,” Sameera said.
“I’d like that,” Tom said, smiling. He was so nice, and his eyes were so friendly, and she wanted to run her hands through his short fade.
Her heart was doing that strange somersault thing in her chest; she really didn’t need this distraction right now.
Not until she was out of debt, and sure she wasn’t about to be fired from her job.
And had figured out how to thaw her reckless, frozen heart.
Her phone pinged with a text from Bee. Are you and Yes Chef hooking up???
Sameera immediately flushed and turned away from Tom to reply. What are you talking about?
Her friend responded by posting a screenshot of the video Tom had uploaded to his Instagram account, followed by comments below.
Who is that? They have a Vibe.
Tom Cooke has a girlfriend!
He’s dating a brown girl? Tom, I’m available! You can make me samosas any time!
She’s not that pretty. He could do better.
Sameera felt faint. Looking over her shoulder, Tom snorted.
“Don’t worry about those messages. A by-product of having so many followers. My agent says I should interact more with the commenters, but they seem really happy arguing among themselves.”
He seemed unconcerned about the allegations. “This doesn’t bother you?” she asked him.
Tom shrugged. “I know it’s not true. Are you worried your mom will see the video online and assume we’re a couple?”
The idea hadn’t even occurred to her until he’d said it, and she tried to dial down her panic. She texted Bee. My mom hired Tom to cater our Eid party. He made a quick video in our kitchen, with me and my brother. Nothing is going on.
Her friend responded instantly: Booo. Stop being a coward and kiss him already!
Sameera quickly flipped her phone over on the counter and turned back to the chai, which was now boiling vigorously. She turned the heat down and poured milk without measuring, more to keep her hands occupied while her brain scrambled.
Her mom didn’t spend a lot of time on Instagram, but her friends probably did.
What if they came across Tom’s video and the comments, and sent them to her mother?
She would never hear the end of it. She peeked at Tom, who had finished filling take-out containers for the guests and was now wiping down the counters, his forearms flexing. She forced herself to look away.
“Did you really cut your family off for years, like Esa said?” Tom asked, startling her out of her reverie. She flushed, wishing her little brother had kept his mouth shut.
“Sort of. Did your dad really cut you off because you dropped out of school?” she asked.
“I asked first,” Tom said, flashing a smile.
“It’s a long, complicated story—” she started.
“With an unhappy ending?” he guessed, finishing her sentence. “You’re not much of a talker. I thought that was practically a job requirement for a lawyer.”
“Attention to detail and no social life are the only requirements, as far as I can tell,” she joked.
“Though that might not help me in the new year.” Off Tom’s questioning look, she explained.
“My firm is having some financial difficulties. The rumor is that layoffs are coming, and they’re starting with associates who have the lowest billable hours. ”
He pointed at her, and she nodded. “I had . . . a rough year,” she said.
“Is there anything you can do about it now?” he asked, and she was touched by his concern.
“I plan to work through the holidays to catch up on billable hours and make a Hail Mary attempt not to get fired. Not that it will help much,” she said.
“Any other options?” he asked.
She shook her head. Then, thinking it over, added, “I could hook a whale.”
Tom blinked. “What does that mean?”
“A whale is an important, powerful client, preferably someone with deep pockets and an efficient Business Affairs department that pays promptly. If I could bring one of those clients to the firm, it would stop the axe. I might even get a promotion. The only problem is, I don’t know anyone with resources significant enough to save my job.
So, if you have need of a commercial litigator in January, give me a call.
I have a feeling I’ll have a lot of time,” she finished glumly.
Tom was giving her a curious look. “I’ll keep you in mind,” he said. “I have to ask—do you even like working for the Undertakers?”
Sameera nodded. “In my field, they’re the best. And I always want to work with the best.”
Tahsin walked back inside the kitchen, her eyes narrowed. “Sameera, have you been hiding here the entire time? Lubna Aunty’s son is waiting.”
“I’m making chai,” Sameera said quickly, and her mother sighed.
“Beta, I only want to help you settle down. You’re working at a prestigious firm. The next step is to find a good partner.” Her gaze moved speculatively between Sameera and Tom, but thankfully, she didn’t say anything. “Your father and I only want what’s best for you.”
Sameera exhaled in relief once Tahsin left the kitchen, and traded a weak smile with Tom.
She hoped he wouldn’t judge her, or worse, pity her.
“I bet your parents aren’t breathing down your neck, trying to convince you to get married because it’s the right time,” she said, then remembered he’d told her his mother had died when he was a child. “Your dad and stepmom, I mean.”
“Families are complicated. I don’t think my dad cares about my love life at all.
Or anything else about me, actually. Even before he cut me off, we didn’t have the best relationship,” Tom said, but his voice grew wistful as he added, “I think about him the most during the holidays. He starts decorating as soon as the Thanksgiving leftovers are put away. My stepmother bakes treats and freezes them, and we used to spend hours picking out our tree. Every year, my dad experiments with a new eggnog recipe. Last time I was home, he tried lime mojito.” He made a face.
“Not his finest, but we drank it anyway.”
“It sounds magical,” Sameera said, sighing.
She had never celebrated Christmas before, but her family went all out for the two Eid celebrations, especially for the feast after the month of Ramadan.
Her father would make delicious snacks for the evening iftar meal throughout the month, while her mother made sure to buy everyone special Eid outfits, new salwar kameez with matching accessories.
During those lost years, when she had stopped coming home for Eid and observing Ramadan entirely, she missed the little daily rituals most of all.
The memory of that time still felt like an open wound; she had taken to working through both Eids, just to keep her mind occupied, yet the feeling of loss never abated.
“Will you be spending Christmas with them this year?”
Tom shook his head, and she was about to ask why not when one of her favorite aunties, Fazila, walked into the kitchen.
“Beta, can I have some water?” she asked, holding out a cup. She stared at Tom in frank appraisal while Sameera filled her glass. “You’re much more handsome than her last boyfriend,” Fazila Aunty remarked, and Sameera wanted to sink into the floor.
“Thank you, ma’am,” Tom said, shooting her a grin.
Fazila Aunty accepted the glass from Sameera and patted her arm. “I know we’re supposed to pretend Hunter never existed, but at least this time, you found a man who can cook.”
“It was at the top of my list,” Sameera said. “Right after a good sense of humor and no white-collar financial crimes.”
Tom looked at her strangely once Fazila had left. “Have you considered leaning in?”
Sameera was sorting through the pile of take-out containers, wondering if she could take half without getting busted. “Huh?”
“Tell your family we’re together, and maybe they’ll lay off trying to find you a boyfriend,” Tom said. “At least over the holidays.”
Sameera straightened, shooting him an incredulous look. “They don’t want me to have a boyfriend. My family are observant Muslims—they want me to get married.”
To her shock, Tom jokingly got down on one knee. “Will you pretend to marry me?”
Sameera laughed. “Sure thing, weirdo.”
He took a selfie of the two of them smiling into the camera and shared the picture with her.
“Just so you know it’s an option,” he said, and she shook her head. Tom was a shameless flirt—but she was enjoying the attention. It felt nice, and easy. Not much had felt easy, lately.
Sameera left her parents’ Eid party with a stack of food, and maybe a new friend. Not a bad haul for one afternoon.