CHAPTER SIXTEEN
“Sunday Dinner.”
By Sunday afternoon, Zara had almost convinced herself not to go.
She stood in front of her bedroom mirror for the third time, changing her earrings again.
Too much.
Too plain.
Too much again.
Miss Claudette knocked gently before pushing the door open.
"You've been getting ready for an hour."
"I've changed my outfit four times."
"So?"
"I never do that."
Miss Claudette smiled knowingly.
"That usually means you care."
"I don't."
"Mmm."
"I don't."
"Mmm."
Zara laughed.
"Why does everybody keep doing that?"
"Because everybody can see what you refuse to."
Miss Claudette walked over and straightened the collar of Zara's cream blouse.
"You look lovely."
"I'm just having dinner."
"I know."
"It's not a date."
"I didn't say it was."
Zara narrowed her eyes.
"You were thinking it."
"I absolutely was."
They both laughed.
Malik arrived exactly at five.
Not five minutes early.
Not five minutes late.
Exactly five.
When Zara opened the front door, he was standing on the brownstone steps holding a bouquet of white lilies.
"For Miss Claudette," he said.
Zara blinked.
"You brought my landlady flowers?"
"I was raised properly."
She couldn't stop smiling.
"They're beautiful."
Before she could invite him inside, Miss Claudette appeared in the hallway.
"So..."
She looked Malik up and down.
"You're the famous Malik Carter."
Malik smiled politely.
"I don't know about famous."
"I've heard enough."
He handed her the flowers.
"These are for you."
Miss Claudette accepted them with genuine surprise.
"No one's brought me flowers in years."
"My mother would've told me off if I turned up empty-handed."
Something softened in Miss Claudette's expression.
"I liked your mother already."
"So did I."
For a brief moment, silence settled between them.
Then Miss Claudette stepped aside.
"You'd better take Zara before she changes her outfit again."
Zara's eyes widened.
"Miss Claudette!"
Malik laughed.
"I wondered why it took so long."
"I almost didn't come."
"I'm glad you did."
The drive through Brooklyn felt different this time.
Comfortable.
The conversation came easily now.
"So," Zara said, fastening her seatbelt.
"Where exactly are we going?"
"My sister's."
"You have dinner at your sister's every Sunday?"
"Almost every Sunday."
"Family tradition?"
"My mother started it."
"And after she passed?"
"Keisha refused to let it end."
Zara looked out of the window.
"I like that."
"What?"
"Keeping traditions alive."
He smiled.
"So do I."
Keisha's townhouse was warm before Zara even stepped inside.
The smell of garlic, thyme and slow-cooked chicken filled the hallway.
Music drifted from the kitchen.
Someone was laughing loudly.
The front door swung open before Malik could knock.
"There you are!"
Keisha pulled her brother into a hug.
"You are late."
"I am two minutes early."
"You would've been early if you'd left earlier."
She looked past him.
"And you must be Zara."
Zara smiled.
"It's nice to see you again."
Keisha hugged her before Zara had time to react.
"We're huggers."
"I noticed."
"You'll get used to it."
The dining room was already full.
An elderly aunt introduced herself before Zara had even sat down.
A teenage cousin asked if she really worked for rich people.
Someone's twin boys were chasing each other around the table pretending to be superheroes.
It was loud.
Warm.
Chaotic.
Beautiful.
Malik leaned towards her.
"You alright?"
She looked around the room.
"Yeah."
"You sure?"
She nodded slowly.
"I've just..."
Her voice caught.
"I've never had anything like this."
He understood immediately.
He didn't ask questions.
Instead, he quietly reached beneath the table and gave her hand a gentle squeeze.
Just once.
Then let go.
Nobody else noticed.
But Zara did.
Dinner was exactly what she'd imagined family should feel like.
People interrupted each other.
They laughed too loudly.
They argued over whose macaroni recipe was best.
Keisha insisted everyone take second helpings.
"No one leaves my house hungry."
Malik whispered,
"Don't argue."
"I wasn't planning to."
"It's safer that way."
Across the table, Aunt Denise pointed her fork at Malik.
"So..."
He sighed.
"What?"
"You bringing this lovely young woman around means we finally get to ask questions."
"Absolutely not."
"Oh, absolutely yes."
Everyone laughed.
Aunt Denise turned to Zara.
"How long have you been putting up with him?"
"We're..."
Zara looked at Malik.
"...friends."
The whole table groaned dramatically.
"Cowards," Keisha muttered.
Malik covered his face.
"I'm never hosting Sunday dinner again."
"You say that every week," someone shouted from the kitchen.
After dinner, everyone moved into the garden with coffee and homemade peach cobbler.
Children played football on the lawn.
Keisha sat beside Zara on the patio.
"So..."
Zara laughed.
"I feel like that's becoming everyone's favourite word."
Keisha smiled.
"I'll ask properly."
"Okay."
"What do you think of my brother?"
Zara watched Malik across the garden.
He was helping one of the little boys fix a broken toy car.
"I think..."
She smiled to herself.
"...he's kind."
Keisha nodded.
"He is."
"I also think he's carrying something."
The smile faded.
"He always is."
"What happened to him?"
Keisha looked towards her brother.
"For years..."
"...I hated him."
Zara turned to her in surprise.
"I blamed him for every tear my mother cried."
The words were spoken quietly.
"But then I realised..."
"...he was just a boy trying to survive in a world that kept teaching him the wrong lessons."
She sighed.
"He's spent almost ten years trying to become a man our mother would've recognised."
A lump formed in Zara's throat.
"I think she'd be proud."
"So do I."
As the evening came to an end, Malik walked Zara back to the car.
The neighbourhood had grown quiet.
Streetlights cast warm pools of light across the pavement.
"Thank you," Zara said.
"For what?"
"For today."
He unlocked the passenger door.
"My family liked you."
"I liked them."
He smiled.
"They're already planning next Sunday."
She laughed.
"I've only just survived this one."
Before she got into the car, Malik spoke again.
"Zara."
She looked up.
"I know I still have things to tell you."
She nodded.
"I know."
"I'm not hiding them."
"I believe you."
"I just..."
He searched for the words.
"...don't want the worst thing I've ever done to be the first thing you know about me."
Zara stepped a little closer.
It wasn't a dramatic moment.
No music.
No fireworks.
Just two people standing beneath a Brooklyn streetlight.
"I want to know all of you."
His breath caught.
"The good."
She held his gaze.
"And the parts you're still learning to forgive."
For a long second, neither of them moved.
Malik slowly reached up and brushed a loose curl away from her face.
His fingers barely touched her skin.
"So beautiful," he whispered, almost to himself.
Zara felt her heartbeat quicken.
She thought he might kiss her.