Page 43 of If I Loved You Less
“The debt is settled,” he says dramatically. I slip off my glove to brush the snow aside from my face, my skin frozen. He does too and our fingers brush, ice-cold but warming quickly.
When I finally go inside, I press my fingers to my cheeks, catching my breath.
“Oh, you’re flushed!” Phuppo exclaims when she sees me. “Is it windy outside? Your cheeks are positively red.”
“Oh, yes, it is,” I say, heart beating fast. “Excuse me.”
I rush to the guest room and close the door, leaning against it. Across the room, I catch sight of myself in the mirror: my cheeks are rosy.
I meet my eyes and grin.
ChapterTen
When I arrive home, Naadia is not there.
“She is down the road,” Papa responds when I ask. He is holed up in his office and does not look up from his papers.
“Have you eaten?” I ask.
“I’m not hungry,” he grumbles, nibbling on a bowl of nuts. I sigh. So he is in a mood again. I wonder who could possibly be the cause.
Though we are in our twenties, Papa is still recovering from us no longer needing him. Which is why he handles everything car-related, tax-related, shoveling-snow-related. Even if he hires someone to fix it, he still deals with it. It makes him feel useful, like he still has a purpose.
I allow it, but Naadia does not. She wishes to be Independent and Self-Sufficient.
I call Naadia to ask what has happened, but she does not let me get a word in.
“If you’re going to lecture me, I’d prefer you do it with Asif present so he can defend my honor and duel you to the death,” she says. “Come over for dinner. I’m making mac. And brownies.”
Before I respond, she hangs up. She and Papa are both ridiculous. It’s a good thing she’s making brownies to soften my mood; her brownies are to die for.
I change into comfortable shalwar kameez and a cardigan, then drive over, since it is a bit chilly out, and I do not want to put Papa in a further state by walking.
When I get to the Sheikhs’s, Fawad lets me in, taking my coat.
“Humaira,” he says, and his voice is ordinary. Any awkwardness I might have imagined between us is gone. “How are you?”
“I suppose we’re about to find out,” I say, raising my brows. I share a smile with him and head into the house.
The Sheikhs’s house is of similar size and layout to ours and is decorated with a classic interior that mirrors ours, though it isn’t as ornate or thorough. I believe it used to be more so, before Fawad’s parents shifted to Islamabad; I think Fawad prefers minimalism.
I walk to the kitchen, where Naadia is making sauce, and Asif is watching over her shoulder, his arms wrapped around her waist.
I say salaam, and she turns to respond. Her face falls when I give her an unamused look.
“Don’t look at me like that,” Naadia says, waving her spoon at me. Asif looks between us.
“I think I’ll go,” Asif says, moving away from her.
Naadia’s jaw drops. “Asif, you traitor!” She throws a cube of cheese at him, which he catches and promptly eats. Naadia makes a disgusted sound, shaking her head at him.
“I get enough lectures from Fawad!” he calls, exiting swiftly.
“Yes, but he is yourolderbrother,” Naadia grumbles to herself.
“Since when do I lecture you?” I ask, offended. “All I was going to say was stop fighting with Papa. I am the one who has to live with him. You can say whatever you please and retreat here or back to your own apartment, but I’m the one who has to see him upset.”
“That doesn’t sound like a lecture to you?” she asks, though she is chagrined. “There is something seriously wrong with him, he is only getting more unpleasant and it doesn't help that you coddle him like a child.”
