StanleyP
I think I know it all now.
I texted Big J.Did you get into a lot of trouble?
My phone rang. “Pretty sure Marisa was about to break down the door to the studio, until the calls and texts started pouring in,” Big J said. “People wanted to tell us their secrets, they wanted to know what happened to your aunt, they demanded pictures to go with the story. And they wanted to know when the next episode would air. We got plenty of hate too, but people have to listen to get pissed, right? Marisa was so angry she had to leave the room. Davis called me right after, wondering if we should replace the old show with this new one, especially since Thomas has quit.”
“I wish I could have seen that,” I said.
“I turned Davis down, of course. Even when he offered you a permanent job and a pot of money,” he continued.
“Wait, what?”
Big J laughed. “Just kidding. He said he’d give you back your unpaid internship, but you would be on probation for three months and would report directly to Marisa. I politely declined on your behalf. I hope that’s okay.”
I thanked him again for taking a chance on me, and we discussed plans for the next episode. With any luck, this would lead to more opportunities.
In the meantime, the street festival was the next day, and I had to make sure we were ready for whatever happened.
Still no response from Aydin.
Chapter Forty-Seven
The day of the summer street festival dawned like any other. Mom and Baba were already in the kitchen, drinking their morning chai. They made space for me at the table, and Rashid joined us a few minutes later.
My apprehension must have been apparent, because Mom placed an arm around me. “I will be there. Fahim will be there. Rashid will be there. Your father and Yusuf and Brother Musa will be there. We won’t let anything happen to you,beta.” With a final squeeze, she stood up. “Besides, you never know. Sometimes people can surprise you.”
Usually in the worst possible way, I added silently.
I SPENT THE REST OFthe morning setting up tables for vendors, mostly local businesses and some others who had rented booths to sell clothing, jewellery, or snacks. Rashid had secured a permit to close Golden Crescent to traffic for the afternoon. We blocked off one end of the street with makeshift wooden barricades, festooned with signs and streamers advertisingGOLDEN CRESCENT ANNUAL SUMMER STREET FESTIVAL! FAMILIES WELCOME!
Constable Lukie arrived and began to direct traffic. The Golden Crescent business owners who had agreed to participate set up folding tables and canopies outside their stores, nearly a dozen stalls in total. Rashid caught my uncertain glance around the street, and reassured me. “Don’t forget there will be food and entertainment, and Mr. Lewis has donated a bouncy castle. It will be fine, Hana Apa.”
I remembered that Aydin had promised to invite his desi dance group friends to perform. I didn’t know if that would still be happening.
We started stringing up the huge banner Rashid had had printed at the south end of Golden Crescent, but he nearly dropped his side when he caught sight of Zulfa. She was dressed in a colourful salwar kameez, dark hair loose around her shoulders. He ran after her as soon as the banner was in place, and I saw him taking out his phone for a selfie.
The business owners began to bring out their merchandise, though the table we had reserved for Wholistic Grill remained empty. Mom emerged from Three Sisters carrying an enormous pot filled with meat biryani. She was followed by Fahim and Rashid with massive containers of haleem, a thick stew made with lentils, grain, and beef, and a fragrant lamb korma. They disappeared back into the restaurant and returned with a large tray overflowing with freshly made tandoori naan, plus a large barbecue grill. They had made enough food to feed hundreds.
Mom expertly lit the charcoal grill and shut the lid so it could heat up. She looked up and threw me a quick smile, that same reflexive expression I had seen so many times before, and I was filled with a sudden gratitude for my hard-working mother. I hoped that I would one day be as good at what I had chosen to pursue as she was right then.
The other stalls were slowly starting to get busy. The air was filled with conversation and a hum of excitement. Brother Musa had movedhis vegetable stall out onto the street and was setting up a juicer. Luxmi Aunty had prepared two gigantic cauldrons. In one she was making fresh jalebi, a bright orange dessert made from dough piped into thin pretzel shapes and deep-fried, then soaked in sweet syrup. The other pot was filled with peanuts boiling in salted water.
A few stalls had beautiful salwar kameez and hijabs for sale. Another booth showcased a henna artist, who was laying out patterns and mehndi cones filled with dark green henna paste. A few curious neighbours were waiting for the festival to officially start.
I spotted Gary setting up at the booth reserved for Wholistic Grill. “You made it!” I said, going over to him.
“Special instructions from the boss man. He told me to close the store and put up a sign directing traffic here.” He issued a few quick orders to his helpers. “It’s going to be great,” he said.
“That’s what everyone keeps telling me,” I said. For the first time all day, I actually believed it.
Which was when the first protestor showed up.
Chapter Forty-Eight
DOWN WITH SHARIAH LAW!”
My attention jerked from Gary to a heavy-set man standing in the middle of our cordoned-off street. His black T-shirt displayed the now familiar raised white fist, and he held a placard emblazoned with the wordsMY CANADA DOESN’T INCLUDE: MUSLIMS/GAYS/IMMIGRANTS/YOU!
