Page 34 of If I Loved You Less
“Why don’t you just throw it?” she asks.
“I can’t!” I reply. “I need to bealoof.”
Naadia snorts. “Fine, but I’m just going to order food because I don’t feel like cooking.”
“Um, lame, but okay,” I reply. “I would come early to help, but I would rather show up late and have him wonder where I am. Ooh, and you could say you don’t know if I am coming or not! That would be a great touch. Have him wonder, you know? Give me a mysterious air.”
“Excuse me?” she replies. “You want me tolie?”
“Don’t be dramatic,” I say. “Remember all the trouble I went through to set you and Asif up! Need I remind you of a certain beach excursion?”
“Okay, okay, I get it.” She laughs. “You’re a crazy lady, but I will pretend to wonder where you are, or if you are coming at all.”
“Yay!” I clap.
“But you’ll have to make me chocolate croissants as payment.”
“Ooh, fantastic idea! I can woo him with my divine baking.”
“Um, no, because I’m going to eat them all. He can’t have any.”
“You’re delusional if you think you’re eating all of them.”
“You meanyou’redelusional if you think I’m not.”
“Hello, I’m trying to bribe the prospective great love of my life! You can’t have all of them!”
“Fine, but you’re making me a batch just for me next time.”
“Deal.”
After laboring for hours over the very sensitive croissant dough, I am gratified to find they have baked to flaky perfection the next morning. I hand one to Papa as I am heading out the door hoping it will distract him, but he makes me stop in his office for an interrogation.
“Where are you going?” he asks, even though I have told him half a dozen times I am going to Naadia and Asif’s apartment in downtown Brooklyn. Her medical school is in Manhattan, a quick subway ride away, and Asif’s law offices are in Brooklyn, walking distance from their place.
“To Naadia’s for brunch, remember?” I say patiently.
“You’re driving all the way to Brooklyn? For brunch?”
“Yes, Papa.”
“Doesn’t seem like a good idea.” He says this every time I go to Naadia’s, which is about an hour and a half away (without traffic it could go down to an hour and ten, but there’s always traffic). To be fair to Papa, driving in Brooklynisa headache, but they live in a very fancy building and there’s a parking garage right next door, so at least I never have to worry about parking.
“Well.” I tap my feet impatiently. He won’t stop me, of course; he’ll let me go, he just needs to be fussy about it first.
“Hm.” He chews his croissant, analyzing me. “Why so much makeup? Who are you trying to impress?”
“Maybe I’m trying to impress a boy,” I tease. Papa’s reaction is visceral and immediate.
“Impress? A boy? Why would you ... why would you even do that?” he sputters. “Or think that? None of these boys are worthy!”
“Papa, I was joking, please,” I reply. Obviously not the moment for some humor. Noted. “You know I wouldn’t do such a thing.” Though I did take extra care with my appearance today.
It’s as if he doesn’t hear me. He begins a lecture about “aaj kal ke larke” and how useless boys are these days. Surely he must know I will eventually have to marry one of them.
“Besides,” Papa adds, at the end, as if sensing my thoughts, “you cannot get married and leave me.”
“I know, Papa,” I reply, smiling sweetly to placate his frown. “But can I go for brunch now? I’m running late. I’ll be back by the evening.”
