Normal Food #2
It’s perfect. The tangy barberries mix perfectly with the subtle sweetness of the saffron rice and caramelized onions, but
the true star is the most tender bite of chicken. Like a warm hug. I feel their eyes on me, so I try not to let it get awkward
by closing my own.
After a bit too long where the only sound in the room is my chewing mixed with the faint music, Sami ticks his jaw in anticipation.
“Well?”
I put him out of his misery. “It’s”—I pause, enjoying the curiosity in his eyes a little too much—“decent.”
“Really?” Sami’s face drops as he looks toward the dish, his eyes narrowing like he’s trying to make it reveal its errors.
“No!” I rush, feeling a little bad for teasing him now. “It’s amazing!”
Sami looks at me skeptically.
“Truth?” Abu grabs his own fork and comes to join me. He chews thoughtfully, then gives one micro nod. The way Sami’s shoulders
drop in relief, I suspect that may count as a gold seal of approval from the guy.
I take another bite. This one is somehow better than the last. “It’s so delicious. Are you kidding?”
Sami looks at his dad, who is now on his third gigantic bite. “It is good.” Abu grabs a plate and begins to gather himself
a meal. “Now, I’m going to finish it in front of the TV and have peace.” His eyes shift to side-eye Sami. “Teaching this guy
has been giving me a headache: always asking how many teaspoons everything, like I’m a fucking chemistry man. He thinks cause
he went to culinary school he’s like a food scientist.”
An odd, distant look touches Sami’s eyes for a flash, like something his dad said cut deep.
“I kid, I kid.” Abu grins. “Mona, was nice to see you again. Come back next lesson, huh?”
I almost protest, but challenging this man’s hospitality seems pointless. Abu waves to me with his free hand, then moves toward
the stairwell to their apartment.
Sami rapidly follows him. “You need help upstairs, Baba?”
“Of course not.” His dad shakes his head, irritated. “What next? You want to help me watch TV?” He gestures in my direction.
“Hang out with this lovely lady and stop bothering me.” Right before he steps onto the staircase, he looks toward me and says,
“He knows how to cook a little, plus he’s single.”
I giggle at what I’m sure is a typical move of Abu’s. He disappears up the staircase with a playful glint in his eyes.
Sami’s face has the thinnest rouge as he comes back behind the counter. “Don’t mind him. He’s got problems.”
He leans against the countertop, and I take a moment to appreciate his muscular biceps from this angle. I imagine touching them. Then, I imagine introducing him to my friends, and the impulse fades.
I’ve made enough impractical decisions lately. I better not linger here.
I basically inhale the next few bites, eager to clear my plate. Sami takes a seat on the other side and does the same.
“That good?” Sami says, noticing my renewed focus on the meal.
I nod. “I’m going to be honest now that he’s gone. This was the best random meal I’ve ever had.”
“You just couldn’t say it in front of him?” He rests both his hands on the counter, those arms in my field of vision.
I look down to my plate, searching for something to say to distract myself. “So, you went to culinary school?”
Unexpectedly, Sami’s eyes droop. He removes his cap and brushes his hair back with his fingers. “How else was I going to take
over a diner that serves exclusively deep-fried food?”
I chuckle, but there’s a distant gaze in his eye, like I pressed on something delicate.
“Well, I’m no expert on fine dining, but I have been to a few Holiday Inn Express breakfast bars and can confidently say,
this is fantastic.”
“I appreciate it.” The side of his mouth lifts and the dimple returns.
“You should add it to the menu.”
His head shakes so fast it seems almost on instinct. Again, it’s like I touched on something that isn’t quite right.
I shift in my seat. “So . . .” I start, searching for safer ground. “How long has your family had this place?”
“Oh, let’s see. I was about nine and I’m thirty-five now. So, us Zekers have had it for two and a half decades?” His expression brightens. “The funny thing is, it was a Persian restaurant for like two seconds when my parents first bought it.”
“Really?”
He nods. “But it was the nineties in Calgary and there were already enough Persian restaurants in the city.” At my raised
eyebrow, he smirks. “All three of them.” He leans just a little closer to me. “This one night, my parents were freaking out
that we hadn’t gotten a single customer all day, so I told them they should just sell normal food. To a nine-year-old, that
meant burgers and fries. But they actually listened. They must’ve been desperate.” Sami winces. “My dad originally wanted
to rebrand it as Corner Coffee and Normal Food. I wish he’d done it, would have been hilarious.”
I chuckle. “And it worked?”
“Yeah, after that my parents were kicking me and my friends out because we took up space for real customers.”
My fork scrapes against the plate as I gather the last bite of juicy chicken. “You must really love it, to keep working here.”
“Yeah, I mean . . .” Again, his stare is distant. “It’s special. It hasn’t really changed in twenty years and that’s comforting.”
I can’t relate, but I suppose if I had Sami’s sweet parents and this home I’d maybe understand not wanting to leave.
Sami cuts into my mind with “Obviously, the neighborhood changed a lot. Things have gotten quieter.” There’s a mournful look
in his eyes. “Every time they tear down a building to make a high-rise, we lose another group of regulars. And if it’s a Northern
Properties project, then we get a two-year- minimum shit show of an empty lot, followed by years of construction.” He points
his fork out the window, toward the site across the road beside Valleyview Apartments. He’s right. Despite all that drilling
the other week, the pit hasn’t changed much this month, apart from some weeds growing and poking through the ugly orange fencing
they’ve erected, and all the lovely garbage and broken beer bottles that have sprouted.
“Hopefully when that’s built, the new residents will love the diner too?” I try saying optimistically.
Sami shakes his head. “The land proposal for that place says that thing is going to be a massive tower with condos that aren’t
affordable for most anyone, and a bunch of chain restaurants below. Not a single individual-owned business in sight. And that’s
if we’re lucky and they actually finish it.”
I stare at the empty seats around me that seem to echo a different time. “Ah,” I say awkwardly, dropping my fork against the
empty plate.
“But hey,” he says. “There are still some holdouts who value the community, like Irene.”
I focus on my mug, then drain the last gulp. “Speaking of Irene, I better get back there. I offered to help out around the
building while she’s recovering.”
“Seriously? Irene’s always been so bad at accepting help.” His eyes soften. “It’s nice of you.”
He reaches for my plate and the motion brings him closer to me. Even though he isn’t touching me, it sends shivers up my skin.
“What do I owe you?” I rush, standing up and rooting into my pocket for my wallet.
He shakes his head. “No, your money’s no good here today.”
“Oh god, don’t say that. I insist.” I flush, suddenly feeling like this is the end of an awkward date. I imagine dating him
again. Yeah, he’s my type as far as looks go, but he seems pretty set on sticking around here.
“You can get me next time.”
I nod. “Sure.”
I grab my raincoat and head back toward the apartment. I glance at the construction site beside it with its giant wooden wall.
Maybe that wall will extend across Valleyview Apartments pretty soon too. Change can be sad, but it’s inevitable. These high-rises
are going up for a reason, anyway.
I fish my phone out of my pocket. There’s a new post from Lisa, with Corbin and Olivia. Caption: Work crew! This Monday was 35 hours long.
It snaps me back into the present. It’s like when I have a lot of work to do and I accidentally nod off at my desk, then snap
awake feeling guilty that I lost track of time.
I like the photo and comment: Love it!
Immediately Olivia likes my comment back.
Corbin replies: Monday roundup wasn’t the same without you!
I heart his comment.
I swipe the photo away and go to the internet to search for electricians with availability this week.
The faster I get this place up to par, the faster I can make it back to Monday roundup, Tuesday drinks, and all the rest.
The faster I can get my real life back.