It is true that I am both pretty and awesome.
AnaBGR
I’m serious. You’re my favourite virtual person.
StanleyP
Likewise.
AnaBGR
And I’m not friends with cowards.
StanleyP
Ouch. Okay, I’ll think about it. Thanks.
When I looked up, Zulfa was emerging from the florist shop, a bracelet of jasmine flowers curled around her slender wrist. After ourmeeting the night before, I felt a lot more comfortable around her. She was genuinely nice, unlike her moody, aggravating friend.
“Pretty flowers,” I called, and she made her way over to me.
“The florist gave it to me as a gift. Everyone on this street is so kind. I just put in a big order, for the grand opening,” Zulfa said. “Aydin asked me to shop locally whenever possible.”
That was surprising. I didn’t think our local resources would be good enough for Mr. Silver Shades. “That’s considerate of him,” I said cautiously.
“He’s planning to source all the meat from the halal butcher on Golden Crescent, and the vegetables and fruit from Brother Musa.”
Not the actions of a man whose goal was to evict every single business on the street. Though maybe that had been more Junaid Uncle’s hyperbole than Aydin’s actual plan. I made a noncommittal noise and then redirected the conversation.
“How long are you in town?” I asked Zulfa.
“A few weeks only. I’m here to help out with the launch, mainly. I should say, Aydin and I are helping each other out.” A slight blush stained her cheeks, making her look even more delicately beautiful.
“I can’t imagine Aydin helping anyone but himself,” I said, then wished I had kept my mouth shut. Whatever my personal feelings, he was Zulfa’s friend.
But she only laughed. “Don’t let that serious face fool you. Aydin is one of the most generous people I know. He’s helped me out a lot recently, but he has his demons, just like everyone else.” Zulfa hesitated. “Aydin is usually quiet around people he doesn’t know. He doesn’t seem to have that problem with you.”
“We seem to bring out the worst in each other,” I said. “Which makes sense. We can’t stand each other.”
Zulfa shook her head. “I can’t speak for your feelings, of course, but Aydin doesn’t hate you. You know he’s an only child, right? His mom died when he was really little and his dad never remarried. He’s always tried to live up to who his father wants him to be—this really focused, profit-driven businessman. I think he’s probably more like his mother. My parents say she was creative and gentle. It’s sad when people twist themselves up to be someone they’re not, isn’t it.”
“He’s lucky to have a fiancée as understanding as you. When is the big day?” I asked, hating myself. I didn’t care. Ididn’t.
“We’re still working out the details.” She winked at me. “I like that you call him on his bullshit, Hana. Maybe you both need someone who gives as good as they get.”
She left me at Three Sisters to continue her tour of Golden Crescent businesses. I tried to imagine what growing up with Junaid Uncle must have been like without the balancing effect of another, softer parent. Every time Aydin had turned cold, I realized now, his father had been nearby, or at least present in his thoughts. And Junaid Uncle had been the one to hurl threats at the neighbourhood and try to buy out the other businesses, not Aydin. The son had tried to talk down his father. He had tried to talk me down too, I acknowledged ruefully. Had I been wrong about Aydin all along?
Back at Three Sisters, the few customers finished their meals and I helped with cleanup before setting the tables for dinner. During the lull before dinner, Rashid insisted that we take advantage of our lack of customers to paste more summer festival flyers around the neighbourhood. Together we zigzagged down the street, taping up flyers on storefronts and lamp posts, at the mosque, church, and temple, and on the neighbourhood bulletin board in the community centre. We left a stack of flyers with Mr. Lewis and another at the halal butcher shop.
As we neared Wholistic Grill, I slowed down. Aydin was outside the restaurant, talking on his phone. My face grew hot.
“Why are you turning red?” Rashid asked, looking at me.
“It’s really warm out today,” I said, waving my hands in front of my guilty, blushing face. I looked around for a place to hide. There were no stores near us, so I ducked behind a tree.
“Why are you turning even redder?” Rashid asked, following me. He had a sudden thought. “Do Canadians get heatstroke if the weather rises above twenty-one degrees Celsius? Or are you trying to avoid Aydin?”
“I’m not avoiding him,” I said, contorting my body so Aydin couldn’t see me.
