There was no Muslim-owned cemetery in the city, so our mosque had bought a small piece of land in an existing Catholic cemetery, to the east of the city, where we buried our dead.
Muslim burial rites are simple. Coffins are plain pine, bodies wrapped in a cotton shroud after being givenghusl—ritual purification—by community volunteers. Graves are traditionally unmarked by anything more than a number. Some families have plots with simple engraved plaques bearing names and dates, but many graves don’t evenhave that. The Muslims in our community who cared about being buried among their brethren tended to be those traditional enough to eschew the ornate symbols of death that adorned the Catholic part of the cemetery.
A fleet of cars was already there, and at least a hundred people milled around outside. The sky was overcast but the sun sat high, shining determinedly through the clouds. It was warm, and I could see the Imam wipe a light sheen of sweat from his forehead before he dabbed his eyes with the same handkerchief. He had removed the long robe he usually wore in front of the congregation, revealing a bright pink Hawaiian shirt, two flamingos in a heart-shaped embrace on the front. Nalla had told me once that he wore those shirts for her, because he knew she loved them, because they made her laugh. A secret message of hope for his wife. I turned away from the crowd as grief rose once more.
Mom gripped my shoulder before pulling me close. I allowed myself to be held for a moment, breathing in the faint smells of turmeric and garam masala that always seemed to cling to her, no matter how much she used her favourite Clinique perfume or kept her nicer clothes away from the restaurant. It was as if the spices had sunk into her skin. The fragrance of those spices had always been synonymous withMomandhome.
We faced the crowd now, edging closer to the coffin. Imam Abdul Bari had his hands up indu’aand I raised mine too, joining in the group prayer as he recited slowly in Arabic. I spotted Fahim behind the Imam, his usual grin replaced by a serious expression.
“Ameen,” the congregation murmured as thedu’aended. The people at the front of the crowd gathered handfuls of dirt and one by onedropped them onto the coffin, which had already been lowered slightly into the grave.
When it was our turn, Mom moved forward, picked up a clump of dirt, and dropped it gently on top of the coffin. She lay a hand on the pine lid and closed her eyes. “Khuda hafiz, my friend,” she said softly. I followed suit.
The crowd slowly returned to their cars, a wave of people receding from the shore, leaving behind a lone figure in a pink Hawaiian shirt, saying his final goodbye.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Though I spent the next few days continuing to deal with media inquiries about the Golden Crescent attack, my heart was heavy. Nalla’s death had put a damper on everything. At the same time, I felt a greater sense of urgency.
Constable Lukie and I were in almost daily contact, but thankfully the chatter online had stopped almost completely. The rest of my free time was spent working onSecret Family History. Big J had loved the small segment I sent him and wanted to hear the rest when I finished.
Between working on my podcast and the new show and my shifts at Three Sisters, I was busy, but my mind kept wandering back to Aydin. Things between us were so tangled up I didn’t know how to begin to loosen the threads. Instead we avoided each other. I hadn’t seen him on the street all week, though he had been on my mind constantly.
The work on Wholistic Grill had intensified in preparation for their launch. The day before, balloons were secured near the restaurant’s entrance and placards announcing the festivities were placed strategically around Golden Crescent. If Rashid’s excitement was any indication, Wholistic Grill could expect a full house. The rumours I hadstarted online had been overshadowed by more recent events, and the community was eager for a reason to celebrate.
Kawkab Khala had no interest in attending the grand opening, and Mom and Fahim were busy at Three Sisters. Mom waved away my excuses. “You must take Rashid,” she said. “He will not let us have any peace otherwise.” She smiled at her nephew, who was bouncing with excitement—at the prospect of seeing Zulfa again more than anything else. I hadn’t had the heart to tell him that his efforts in that direction were in vain, that her heart belonged to the perfectly named Zain.Zainfa—even their couple moniker was cute.
As Rashid and I approached Wholistic Grill, I realized there was something else I had forgotten about, namely Yusuf and his promise to protest the launch of Aydin’s restaurant. Though the turnout was less than his promised five thousand, my friend had managed to round up a few dozen protestors on the sidewalk in front. Lily was in attendance, and my friends held handmade signs:SUPPORT LOCAL BUSINESS, NOT CORPORATE SELLOUTS!andTHERE’S NOTHING HOLY ABOUT WHOLISTIC GRILL!As I watched, Lily leaned close to Yusuf, her hair brushing against his cheek. I guessed they had made up. I wondered if Yusuf had proposed yet. Probably not; he would have told me.
“Hana, we made a sign for you,” Yusuf called at my approach. The placard in his hands readTHREE SISTERS NEEDS YOUR HELP! SUPPORT LOCAL BUSINESS, NOT BULLY BUSINESS!Three stick figures in hijab stood arm in arm above the message. “We can make one for you too, Rashid!” he yelled when he caught sight of my cousin. Lily smacked Yusuf’s arm, but my cousin only smiled and went inside the restaurant.
“I’m going to scope out the enemy first,” I said, and followed Rashid.
Although we were early, a sizable crowd was already present, and I nodded at people I knew. The crowd skewed young and Muslim, butthere was plenty of diversity. Three chefs in kitchen whites chopped and prepared meals amid the whir of blenders whipping up frozen concoctions. The smell of burgers and poutine made my mouth water. Zulfa was running around welcoming people, handing out goody bags to small children, calling for extra chairs, and directing overflow to the patio outside.
I realized I was looking for Aydin when my eyes snagged on his familiar form. I had something I needed to say to him, I realized.
Aydin was dressed for the occasion in a slim-cut black suit that emphasized his broad shoulders. His crisp white shirt set off his warm brown skin. He was in the middle of the crowd, making small talk with customers, joking around with kids and parents. He looked happy. Until he spotted me, and his expression turned to wary resignation.
“Assalamu alaikum,” I said.Peace be with you.My voice was steady, not like the angry whip I had used to berate him when we fought.
He nodded. “Walaikum assalam,” he replied.And upon you be peace.Tension marked every inch of his body, as if he were bracing for a punch.
“You look nice,” I said, eyes perusing his suit once more.He’s falling for me, my mind whispered.He’s destroying Three Sisters, another voice reminded me.I tried to put him out of business too, the first voice countered.“Congratulations on the launch,” I said instead.
Aydin’s lips quirked. “It was a close thing for a while there.”
A young child jostled me, and he suggested we move to his office. I followed him through the crowded space to a tiny room in the back set up with a desk, chair, and filing cabinet. Words bubbled up as he half-closed the door.
“I shouldn’t have said that about your mother,” I blurted. “If she were alive, I know she would be proud of the man you’ve become.”
“You mean the coward who can’t stand up to his father?” His lips twisted and he looked down. I saw how my words were haunting him, as his own haunted me. “Everything you said was true, Hana. I would have put your family out of business without another thought... if I hadn’t gotten to know you first.”
His words didn’t make me feel vindicated, and I realized I wasn’t there to continue our argument. I peered into his lowered face. “Pity party, table for one?” I said, and Aydin smiled wryly. “So you’re a shitty disappointment. So you’ve made mistakes. At least you can acknowledge doing wrong. You stood there and took my abuse without flinching.”
“I deserved it,” he muttered.
“Yes, you did. Now do better,” I countered.
