Page 26 of You'll Love it Here

“Um, please don’t.” Sami’s eyes widen before they drift to me apologetically.

I suppress a giggle, and suddenly all my shame is gone. I’ve gotten coffee from Sami’s dad before, but he’s never talked to me like this. I must’ve bonded with him real hard last week.

Again, Abu waves Sami back with a shooing motion before returning to me. “So do you like zereshk?”

“Yes?” I say uncertainly as Ernest starts to sniff a dark wet pile of something on the sidewalk. I tug his leash right before he gets the first lick in. Zereshk polo is in fact a comfort food I haven’t had in years. My mom kind of stopped cooking as soon as I figured out how to make toast and macaroni. It worked out because she could work longer hours in the evenings, and I could eat alone in my bed.

“You don’t have dinner plans?” The way Abu asks feels more like an accusation. Valid, since I planned on eating an overpriced cranberry turkey salad I’d grabbed as a 2-for-1 from the Foodway Grocery. The romaine leaves are already going brown. “You took too long to answer. Come, we have lots.” The old man waves me in again.

“Dad.” Sami covers his eyes with the palms of his hand and wipes them down his face before looking at me with a plea for forgiveness in his gaze. “Feel free to ignore him.”

I don’t know if it’s the fact that Sami looks so uncomfortable (a refreshing subversion of our dynamic), my recent isolation, or most likely that I have nothing good at home to look forward to. My mouth is watering so badly at the thought of warm chicken with barberry rice, the decision seems out of my hands.

“Oh, I’msoin.”

Abu claps his hands together. “Good.” He reaches out to take Ernest’s leash from me and then hands it to Sami. “Are those boots? These Canadians with their dog babies, huh? Sami, go put the baby for little nap.”

Sami obliges as he picks up Ernest and carries him around to the side door, which I assume leads to their private home. I follow Sami’s dad through the front entrance into the café.

Entering the diner on a rainy evening is like slipping into a warm bath. The soft yellow lighting from the table lamps, the warm scent of saffron, the tinny 1970s ballad playing from the old jukebox—all of it fills me with a feeling that I can’t quite pin—like unearned nostalgia for a place I’ve never been.

It’s a small building, so the space is more like a narrow hallway with booths on one side and the kitchen bar lined with stools on the other. There’s a small TV in the corner currently playing a repeat episode ofProperty Brotherson mute.

“Please make yourself at home while I go tend to the kitchen before it burns.” Abu winks at me before making his way through the swinging door on the far side of the counter. The stiff limp makes me suspect he has pretty significant back pain.

As soon as I’ve hung my coat on the wooden rack in the corner, Sami comes down from a staircase that must lead to their apartment and slides on one of the dark aprons from a hook in the hall. “I’m going to make some tea. Want some?” he asks me.

“Sounds perfect.” I take a seat on one of the squishy stools as Sami lifts the flap to stand behind the bar.

He leans across the counter, his diner cap on backward, his hair peeking out from the sides. “Hey, so tonight is going to be weird as shit since my dad’s involved. I’m sorry.”

“Oh, come on.” I grin, kind of amused by his discomfort. “He seems sweet.”

“Oh, good, you’re still here.” Abu comes through the swinging doors, a large platter of food hoisted across each arm. “I worried Sami would throw you off again because of how he is.”

Sami runs to his dad. “Let me get those.”

Before Sami can reach him, Abu plops the plates on the counter. “This guy, huh? Thinks just because he’s a gym asshole, he’s only guy strong enough to carry plates.”

I snort at the echo of my words from the other night. Sami rolls his eyes. “More like I didn’t want you to drop all the food I worked so hard on.”

Abu returns through the swinging door. Sami’s gaze trails his father’s movements before he shakes his head and rounds his eyes on me. “Seriously, thanks for coming.”

“Um, are you joking?” I nod toward the platter of steaming rice and glistening meat, their saffron and turmeric scents warming my palate. “I’m not the one doing any favors here. Seriously, thank you.”

“Well, now I should disclose. There are ulterior motives.” He leans across the counter conspiringly. “Believe it or not, that weird man can cook, and I’ve always wanted to learn how to properly make some classic Persian dishes. But after years of hounding him for his secrets, trying itall, only now has he agreed to share his brain.”

“For real?” I grin, but then that weird sense of hollowness that I’ve felt a million times before hits. I can’t imagine I’d ever have voluntarily given that much of my time or patience to my dad.And I give my mom more than enough already. I swallow away the discomfort and say, “That’s sweet.”

He glances toward the doors to the kitchen and frowns. I follow his eyes and see his dad’s head peeking through the glass circle.

“Oh yeah, real sweet—so long as the guy doesn’t end up murdering me.” Sami pours hot water into a mug and pushes it my way, followed by a box of tea bags for me to pick from. “Tonight I asked him one question about measurements, and he threatened me with his slipper because only imbecilesmeasure things.”

But that one dimple appears. His love for his dad is so obvious, and it pulls to the surface memories I haven’t thought about in ages.

“You’re taking me back to when my mom taught me to drive,” I joke as I drop a bag of black tea into the mug. “She insisted, because my dad was the worst driver, but then she spent the next few hours panicking so hard anytime we moved, that my dad ended up having to teach me in secret. If it weren’t for him, I’d probably never have learned.”

I’d accidentally driven onto a curb and killed a little tree. My dad never told anyone.