Chapter Twenty-Eight
Before
“Honey, I’m home!” I called out as soon as I came in through the back door from the garage.
It was a familiar ritual between us. Me jokingly parroting the old TV husbands, whose perfectly coiffed stay-at-home wives doted on them the moment they got home from work.
Ali always had the same reply. “Welcome home.” But he said it warmly, like he meant it, which never failed to make me feel cared for.
He stood at the sink rinsing plates and neatly arranging them in the dishwasher.
He still wore his work clothes, but in a deconstructed way that never failed to turn me on.
His tie and suit jacket were discarded, the sleeves of his white dress shirt rolled to his elbows and still tucked into his belted navy suit pants.
I always loved the way dress pants draped over his hips.
He smiled at me over his shoulder. “How was your girls’ night out?”
“Good. I think Iman is doing Botox. She looks amazing.” I set my purse on the built-in kitchen desktop. I’d had dinner with old girlfriends that I’d met at the Arab student club during college. “I was surprised to see your car parked outside. You’re home early.”
“Something came up.”
“What could possibly come up to send you home early in April?” Ali always worked late during tax season. “Or,” I teased, “are you too big a TV star now to work long hours?” A week earlier, Ali had appeared on a local TV news segment offering tips on preparing income tax returns.
“You’re never going to believe this.” Closing the dishwasher, he reached for the kitchen towel to dry his hands. “Channel Three wants me to become a regular contributor.”
“A regular contributor of what?”
“They want me to appear a couple of times a month and give financial advice, answer money-related questions, that sort of thing.”
I dipped my chin. “Are you kidding?”
He chuckled. “It’s crazy, right?”
“How did that happen?”
“The news director called the firm today. He says I have a good TV presence, whatever that means.”
“It means you’ve still got it. You hottie, you.” I went in for a hug and was rewarded with a very sweet welcome-home kiss. “We need to go out and celebrate. Where should we go?”
“I don’t know,” he answered. “Somewhere nice but—”
“Not too expensive,” I finished for him since I knew where that particular sentence always ended.
He shrugged. “Who knows if it’ll work out. They want to do a few test runs over the next couple of months and see how it goes.”
My arms still around him, I slid my hands lower to squeeze Ali’s butt. “How could they resist you?”
“Gross.” Fifteen-year-old Ayla walked into the kitchen. “Do you have to do that in public?”
“Your dad’s about to become a massive TV star,” I told her.
In the end, the trial run went well, and Ali became a regular contributor on Channel 3 news. I wasn’t surprised. After all, Ali’s good looks and quiet charisma reeled me in from the moment I met him.
But I was caught off guard when people started recognizing Ali while we ran errands or ate out. That was the only way Ali’s new side gig impacted our everyday lives. I started making sure to look halfway decent whenever we went out. I didn’t want random people thinking Ali had a sloppy wife.
Meanwhile, the kids took Ali’s new minicelebrity status in stride.
“Whatever, Dad” was Adam’s response when he heard.
Most people his age didn’t watch local television news.
But Adam’s enthusiasm skyrocketed once Ali started getting VIP passes to the Washington football team’s training camp.
Then came the occasional free tickets, always for great seats, to other local professional sports events.
After that, Adam informed Ali that he could never quit his TV gig.
“Never?” Ali teased him. “How about once you’re in college?”
“Never,” Adam reiterated. “Cuz I’m still gonna love sports even when I’m in college. And basically all of my life. Until I’m old like you.”
“Before you know it,” I said to my husband, “you’ll be taking both Adam and his kids to games.”
“How fun is that going to be?” Ali smiled at the thought. “I can’t wait.”