Fahim parked in the driveway and, together with Rashid, unloaded the luggage. My aunt walked to the door with only a slight curl to her lip and a single “This is where youlive?” remark.
I helped her inside and, after checking on my father and giving Fazee a quick update, headed back to the restaurant. I had a few questions to ask Mom, specifically about my alleged aunt and where she would be sleeping.
Rashid dashed out the front door and joined me. “Don’t you want to rest after your long flight?” I asked hopefully.
He shook his head, his body vibrating with youthful energy. “I want to greet your mother. Also, I must see the restaurant and familiarize myself with the family operation. I don’t want to look foolish when I begin my post tomorrow.” His eyes were intelligent and took in every detail of the street. “I thought your restaurant was the only one in the neighbourhood.”
“It is,” I answered.We were approaching the south end of Golden Crescent, passing the lone empty storefront before heading into the strip proper.
“Then what is that?”
Rashid had stopped in front of the abandoned building. Except it was no longer a hollowed-out shell. Various vehicles were parked out front and a construction crew milled around. A large sign was plastered across the front.COMING SOON! WHOLISTIC BURGERS AND GRILL. GOURMET HALAL DONE RIGHT. TRY SOMETHING DIFFERENT!
My world tilted on its axis.
Rashid was still talking, but I heard only Aydin’s words from a few nights ago.The only reason you’re still open is because you don’t have any competition. You’re the only halal restaurant in the Golden Crescent.... It’s clear this area is about to change, maybe one day soon.And Zulfa’s words at the airport:I can’t wait for the grand opening,followed by Aydin’s abrupt response.
That sneaky spy. He had come to Three Sisters to scope out the competition in the neighbourhood. He had been digging for dirt and then trash-talking our restaurant to my face, once he realized I was the daughter of the owner.
I stalked towards Three Sisters, Rashid trailing after me.
“Assalamu alaikum, Hana!” Yusuf called from across the street. I remembered that Yusuf’s dad, Brother Musa, was the president of our local BOA, the Business Owners Association. I gestured him over.
“Whose restaurant is that?” I asked.
A startled expression crossed Yusuf’s face before it settled into understanding. He had known, I realized, and he hadn’t bothered to warn me, or my mother.
My friend shrugged as if it were no big deal. I wondered if he would have the same reaction if a Whole Foods decided to open beside his father’s grocer shop. “Dad said it’s someone from outside the neighbourhood. The new owners will be at the BOA meeting tomorrownight.” Yusuf looked from me to Rashid, expectant. “Aren’t you going to introduce me?”
The problem with living in a close-knit community is that everyone knows everything, or wants to. “We have family visiting from India. This is my cousin Rashid.”
Rashid put out his hand to shake. Instead of taking it, Yusuf took a step closer and bellowed, “ASSALAMU ALAIKUM! My. Name. Is. Yusuf. What. Is. Your. Name?”
“Ra-shid,” my cousin said, echoing Yusuf’s slow pronunciation.
Yusuf nodded and put an arm around my cousin. “WELCOME TO CANADA!” he boomed. “YOU ARE FREE HERE!”
Rashid looked over at me and waggled his brows. I motioned my cousin into Three Sisters and pulled my beautiful, idiotic friend to the curbside. “What’s wrong with you?” I whispered to Yusuf, furious. “He’s from India, not a time traveller from the 1700s.”
Yusuf shifted uncomfortably. “I just thought he might be, you know, too poor for the stuff we take for granted. You don’t know the situations I’ve read about in case studies at school.”
I rolled my eyes. My beautiful friend was a bleeding heart. “Rashid will be here for a while. Maybe the two of you can hang out and you can expose him to some of those Canadian values we take for granted,” I said.
Yusuf brightened at that, the green of his eyes glowing in the afternoon light. “Bring him to the BOA meeting, so he can see democracy in action.”
I had heard tales from my sister and mother about the antics of the Business Owners Association. I only made a noncommittal noise and reminded him that India is already a democracy.
“You know what I mean. Hey, did you hear back from Lily?”
“She’s pretty busy with her residency,” I said, shifting uncomfortably. I didn’t want to be dragged into the middle of whatever was currently going on between them.
“Could you and I hang out without Lily? I really need to talk to someone, and I could use your advice. Coffee sometime this week?” he asked.
I looked across the street to Yusuf’s family store, where I could just make out the outline of his father, Brother Musa. Then my gaze drifted diagonally to the future location of Wholistic Burgers and Grill, and my eyes narrowed. I could use Yusuf’s advice too, maybe get some more information about the not-so-mysterious owners of the new restaurant, and why my best friend had not thought to give me a heads-up. We made plans to meet the next day.
Inside the restaurant, Rashid was chatting with my mother. When I entered a few moments later, he had begun to sweep the dining room. “Your friend Yusuf is funny,” he said.
“I hope you weren’t offended. He wants you to come to the Business Owners Association meeting, so he can introduce you around.”
