I ignored her and greeted her guest. Kawkab Khala introduced me to Sad Aunty, whose real name was Afsana. We settled down before mugs filled with my aunt’s signature strong chai, milky and sweetened with a heavy hand.
I took a sip and watched my aunt converse with her friend. She was much gentler with Afsana than she was with me. They spoke of common acquaintances in Delhi, where they both still lived. Afsana was married, with two teenage daughters; she must have married in her late thirties—not common for a woman of her generation. And she had made this first trip to Canada alone, which struck me as strange. Perhaps my aunt enjoyed surrounding herself with unconventional women like herself.
“What a coincidence you both decided to visit Canada at the same time. Girls’ trip?” I interrupted to ask.
Kawkab Khala and Afsana Aunty exchanged a look. “Naturally,” my aunt drawled. “And if I have anything to do with it, also a shopping trip for you.”
She was changing the subject. I turned my attention back to Afsana Aunty. “Do you have family in Toronto?” I asked her.
Afsana looked to Kawkab for help. “Yes,” she answered, voice a near whisper. Then, more firmly, “No.”
Curiouser and curiouser.
“While you’re in town, you should make sure to check out some of the famous sights, maybe go to a musical,” I said, trying to make conversation.
Afsana Aunty looked bemused. “I come from the land of musicals. Do you enjoyfilmisongs?” she asked, referring to the popular music in Bollywood movies.
“I used to watch Bollywood films with my sister when we were younger. I love the dances,” I answered, and Sad Aunty smiled slyly at me.
“In Delhi your khala and I would sneak into the theatres late at night. She was in love with Rishi Kapoor,” she said, referring to the famously baby-faced actor from the 1970s and ’80s.
I burst out laughing, and Afsana Aunty’s eyes danced with her revelation of my acerbic aunt’s long-ago crush. I was beginning to understand how those two could be friends.
“That was a different life,” Kawkab Khala said, smiling indulgently.
Afsana Aunty nodded and played with her empty cup. When she looked up, I could see that Sad Aunty was back. “Thank you for the suggestion, Hana,” she said finally. “But I am not here to play tourist.”
“Then why did you come to Toronto?” I asked, unable to help myself, knowing I was being rude.
“Because I could not forget,” she said, her voice sure.
Afsana’s words must have meant something to my aunt, because Kawkab Khala smiled grimly. “Fetch us some of those biscuits from the cupboard, Hanajaan, and then you can go. I’m sure you have far more interesting things to do than spend the afternoon with two old ladies,” she said. “Perhaps you can work on your poker face. I suggest you practise lying to the men in your life—they tend to be the most gullible.”
“I’m not a liar,” I grumbled as I set down the tin of sugar cookies between the women.
Kawkab Khala raised an eyebrow at me. “Good choice,beta. I doubt you have the constitution for deception.”
In a battle of wits with my alleged aunt, I was starting to realize, she would always get the last word. I grabbed my hijab and my phone and left the house.
Chapter Twenty
As I walked into Golden Crescent looking for a man to lie to, I noticed that Wholistic Grill was not surrounded by its usual bevy of trucks, contractors, and construction equipment. An official-looking man with a clipboard stood with Aydin and his father by the entrance. Junaid Uncle noticed me and turned to say something to his son. When Aydin looked up, I gave him a little wave. He didn’t wave back.
What was I doing? I shook off my guilt. Maybe the man with the clipboard was their architect. Maybe they were having a perfectly normal meeting at their extremely empty worksite, right before their launch. Sure.
It was lunchtime, but our restaurant was empty. Mom was in the kitchen, talking to Fahim, when I poked my head inside to greet them. Rashid leaned against a wall near the sink, looking serious for once.
“What’s going on?” I asked Mom. She glanced at Fahim, who nodded.
“It is time you knew. Hanajaan. I’m sure you are aware that things have been difficult lately. Unless something changes, we will be forced to consider our options by the end of summer,” she said.
I inhaled sharply. “Do you mean close the restaurant?” Mom nodded. “Why didn’t you tell me things were this bad?” I asked.
I watched a parade of emotions cross my mother’s face: sadness, fear, and then resignation. She had lived with the knowledge for months, I realized. She was prepared for this, even if she had stayed positive for the rest of the family.
“We’re not making enough money to cover basic expenses, and I’m afraid once the other restaurant opens...” She trailed off. “Your father and I talked it over last night, after looking at our accounts. I had hoped we would be okay, but we are not.”
Rashid piped up. “Hana Apa and I have volunteered to organize the summer festival this year, and I am certain it will be a success. Allow us to work on advertising and publicity, and I am sure the increased attention will turn things around for the restaurant. We will rise to the challenge like the Chicago Cubs in the World Series.” He tapped his nose. “We must think as they did inMoneyball.”
