Page 32 of If I Loved You Less
We make it to the kitchen, where I take out all the ingredients. Fawad helps with chopping up the vegetables, while I make the noodles’ sauce.
“That was not as bad as the time Naadia made naked cake for my birthday,” I say, stirring by the stove, while he cuts on the countertop beside me. We fall into an easy rhythm. “We were lectured about it fordays. Papa’s still triggered if we ever mention the incident.”
We exchange such stories, and though I’m technically grumbling about Papa’s dramatics, I don’t feel I need to say I do not mind them. Fawad would not mistake my teasing for complaining, as others might.
While I finish making the food, Fawad sets the table with our Michael Aram dinner set, the porcelain plates decorated with black orchids. Papa joins us, chatting with Fawad while Fawad returns to the kitchen to whip up Thai iced tea for us all.
“What is this exactly?” Papa asks, when everything is done and we sit down to eat at the table. Fawad is sitting across from me with Papa at the head; he and I exchange a glance.
“Dru—” I begin, eyes mischievous.
“Thai noodles,” Fawad cuts in.
“Delicious. Well done.”
We eat together, and chat about random things. Fawad is over often, since I suppose he rather enjoys Papa’s company and probably gets bored being all alone. I can’t possibly think of any other reason why he might be over so often.
It’s nice when he’s here. The house feels more full. Since he’s over quite a bit, it doesn’t feel like a guest is here, so we can all be casual and comfortable together, and it’s enjoyable.
After we finish eating, Papa retreats to his office. I look at Fawad, expecting he’ll follow Papa, but he sticks around and helps me clear the table. He brings our empty glasses to the sink as I stack the plates.
I’m just going to take them to the dishwasher when he comes back for them. He holds out a hand to take them from me. I hand them to him, and as I do, his hand brushes against mine under the porcelain, his slender fingers soft yet steady.
It is a small act, lasting just for a moment. It should be something that goes unnoticed – but time slows, and I get this strange feeling, tightening and unspooling all at once in the pit of my stomach.
After having cooked together in the kitchen, eating together at the table, now cleaning together … it is as if I glimpse into the future.
I withdraw my hand quickly, alarmed by the thought.
Fawad is unperturbed and turns to carry the dirty dishes to the sink. My pulse quickens.
How strange. Perhaps I was really thinking of Rizwan and our future together, and my mind got confused because Fawad is here.
Fawad is always here, so it is an easy mix-up to occur.
Later, after he’s gone, I lie down on the couch and call Naadia. She’s back from her lunch and details how spectacular it was, and I listen before going into Lecture Mode. As the younger sister, you would assume I am usually on the receiving end of such lectures, but Naadia and I love to subvert cliches in such a manner.
“I’m glad your lunch was amazing,” I say, “but please be gentle with Papa. You know he takes things personally.”
“I didn’t even do anything,” she says, automatically defensive. I make a face she can’t see, but know from the pause I take before replying that she’ll understand.
“Miss Ma’am,” I reply in a warning tone. She groans.
“Papa is just dramatic,” she says. “I just said I couldn’t come for lunch, that was it! You know Asif and I have been trying to get a reservation there for weeks! Besides, I spent all day with you guys yesterday.”
“I knoooow,” I respond. In a way, what she is saying is right, too. “But you know Papa misses you, and he was looking forward to Thanksgiving break, and all that. Come over for dinner at least.”
“Ugh, whatever, fine, I’ll come for dinner,” she says. “He’ll be fine.”
Of course he would. I would manage him, as I always did. But she still ought to be considerate.
I don’t say any of that because I’m tired of the subject, and when I’m right all the time, Naadia gets irritated with me.
Instead, my voice brightens and I gear up to tell her something much, much better.
“Anyways,do you want to hear a saucy story?”
“Always,” she says. “But what could have happened in the past twenty-four hours?”
