“Oh,” Marisa said, a note of disappointment in her voice. “I was hoping to set the two of you up.”
Thomas and I looked at each other in dismay and she left us to it.
Marisa called me into her office a few hours later. “I hope you weren’t offended, sweetie,” she said, indicating that I should take a seat. Her office was small and cramped, but she did have a small window that faced the parking lot. “I thought you and Thomas looked cute together.”
I stifled my sigh. Marisa meant well—as much as someone who wanted to match up people by their skin tone could mean well. She didn’t get that, although our parents were born in the same country, it didn’t follow that we were destined to fall in love. I liked Marisa, somy tone was gentle when I replied. “We don’t see each other like that. Also, he has a girlfriend.”
“And do you have a boyfriend?” she asked.
My boss was trying to be friendly, but I suspected she also had a bit of a saviour complex, which I could use to my advantage. I thought quickly. “I just dumped him. I’m very committed to my job here at Radio Toronto.” I tried to look earnest and deserving of opportunity.
Marisa fingered the scarf at her throat and smiled faintly. “I’m sorry to hear that,” she said. “Though it’s probably for the best. I’m sure your parents wouldn’t approve of you dating before marriage.”
I blinked.What?“I have no plans to marry until I establish my career,” I said firmly.
Marisa looked doubtful. “I didn’t know that was an option in your culture,” she said. “But if that’s the case, I need someone to help me produceThe Wrap-Uptonight. Interested?”
I decided to let her comments go, because now she had my attention.The Wrap-Upwas a big deal. A news and pop-culture commentary, it was Radio Toronto’s most popular show, aired during our most coveted time slot, the afternoon rush hour, and hosted by our most popular host, Big J. Even my mother listened to the show.
Bonus: Thomas might actually choke with jealousy.
“Sure, I could do that,” I said casually.
Co-producingThe Wrap-Upmeant I would miss my evening shift at the restaurant. When I called, Mom said they could manage without me, that I could help close the store after the show. She hesitated for a moment before she hung up. “Hana, we need to talk when you get home. Things are happening,” she said carefully.
“What things?” I asked.
Silence. “We will talk tonight after closing.”
BIG J WASN’T SO BIGin person, despite his booming voice. He swaggered into the studio an hour before his show began at four p.m., his presence filling the room with a warm, bouncing energy. He looked to be in his late twenties, with a sparse beard that lined full, smiling cheeks. His eyes were an intense blue and he was dressed in low-slung, baggy dark jeans and a white T-shirt that emphasized the slight pudge around his middle. His outfit was topped with a vintage purple Toronto Raptors hat.
Big J greeted Marisa with a quick hug and then, with a discreet glance at my hijab, nodded instead of trying to hug me too. Respectfulandaware of my religion’s practice of not casually touching a member of the opposite sex. I loved this guy.
“Hana is one of our interns, Jonathan. She’ll be helping produce today,” Marisa explained.
“What’s up, my sister?” he said in the deep, melodic voice that would no doubt make him famous one day.
We spent the next hour going over the show, and at four o’clock Big J began with his characteristic catchphrase, “I hear you, Toronto. Are you ready forThe Wrap-Up?” And then he was off, regaling his audience with local tidbits and anecdotes gleaned from the day’s events, cracking jokes about celebrities and reality television one minute and making reference to French philosophers and Canadian history the next. Marisa watched intently, and I helped by keeping an eye on the screens for messages and answering questions posted by listeners on Facebook and Twitter. I posted pictures of the day’s viral meme, of Big J drinking coffee from an enormous mug emblazoned with his catchphrase. His fan base had been growing steadily over the years, and he had already attracted the attention of several large broadcasters in the United States and Canada.
The show finished at eight p.m., and Big J flashed me a smile and a thumbs-up as he headed out of the studio. I was grinning so broadly my cheeks hurt, drunk on the rush of producing my first show. When I asked Marisa if she wanted me to help again the next day, she offered an approving smile.
“Of course, sweetie. You’re a natural.”
Chapter Five
On my walk back from the bus stop, I spotted my best friend Yusuf outside his family’s grocery store. He waved and crossed the street, long legs swallowing the distance between us.
Yusuf looked a bit like a Syrian version of Prince Eric fromThe Little Mermaid—dark hair, green-hazel eyes, warm smile. He was ridiculously beautiful, but, save for a brief crush in Grade 6, I was immune to his gorgeous-man superpowers. Besides, his heart belonged to our other best friend, Lily. Yusuf was kind too, always volunteering for the mosque or raising money for his latest activist project. Right now he was finishing up a graduate degree in social work, public policy, and general do-goodery.
“Any aunties hassling you today?” I teased as he approached. Yusuf flushed, making me laugh.
As the local vegetable grocer, his family store was routinely mobbed by people—mostly women, I enjoyed pointing out—buying fresh produce for dinner. His father’s customers loved him. Everybody loved beautiful Yusuf.
“Every time I look over, you’re not here,” he said instead.
“Busy. The restaurant, the radio station, my dad.”
Yusuf nodded, his eyes softening. The pitying looks from friends, neighbours, strangers had become hard to bear since my father’s accident. Thankfully, Yusuf knew when to change the subject. “It’s been a long time since we all hung out. Lily has been working so hard, but she’d come out if you asked her,” he said.
