Page 27 of You'll Love it Here

The memory unspools without warning. I haven’t thought of that day in probably a decade. A heavy weight presses on my chest.

I take a sip of tea to obscure the discomfort. It grounds me back in the present.

But, as though reading the void inside my head, Sami cuts in with, “Are you two still pretty close?”

I shake my head without thinking, then realize I need to say something. “My dad passed away in March, so not really.”

I try to make it sound like a joke, but Sami doesn’t laugh. His wince isn’t great either.

“Oh, don’t worry, it’s totally okay,” I explain, hoping to get ahead of theI’m so sorrything. Sami raises an eyebrow, and I clarify, “Or, it’s complicated. But, like, I’ve grieved properly and stuff.Done all the therapy.” I firm up my smile to showcase how very unbothered I am, even though my insides are still squirming.

He nods, giving me a grin that looks equally forced. “I’m glad you got that checked off your list, then...”

“So.” Desperate for a change of topic, I cast my eyes toward the food. “Am I the guinea pig for your lessons?”

One side of Sami’s mouth lifts higher. “I’m afraid so?” The door swings open and Abu returns with a colander overflowing with fresh herbs. Sami flashes me a regretful look. “But I assure you that if it sucks, we can order something from Uber Eats.”

Abu drops the colander onto the counter and jabs Sami in the ribs with a finger. “This piece of shit, huh?” he says to me, before poking his son again. Sami flinches back, swatting at his dad’s hand playfully. “Talking about ordering takeout to a restaurant. What are you, a secret tech billionaire asshole?”

“See what I mean about this guy?” But Sami’s smiling. He moves out of his dad’s reach and winks at me.

A spark lights in Abu’s eyes. “Now, Mona,” he says, growing somber. “I invited you because you seem very honest when we spoke the other night. So eat and tell me what you think.”

I pick up a fork and gather a bite. The chicken falls off the bone onto my fork. As soon as it hits my tongue, I’m overwhelmed. It’s perfect. The tangy barberries mix perfectly with the subtle sweetness of the saffron rice and caramelized onions, but the true star is the most tender bite of chicken. Like a warm hug. I feel their eyes on me, so I try not to let it get awkward by closing my own.

After a bit too long where the only sound in the room is my chewing mixed with the faint music, Sami ticks his jaw in anticipation. “Well?”

I put him out of his misery. “It’s”—I pause, enjoying the curiosity in his eyes a little too much—“decent.”

“Really?” Sami’s face drops as he looks toward the dish, his eyes narrowing like he’s trying to make it reveal its errors.

“No!” I rush, feeling a little bad for teasing him now. “It’s amazing!”

Sami looks at me skeptically.

“Truth?” Abu grabs his own fork and comes to join me. He chews thoughtfully, then gives one micro nod. The way Sami’s shoulders drop in relief, I suspect that may count as a gold seal of approval from the guy.

I take another bite. This one is somehow better than the last. “It’s so delicious. Are you kidding?”

Sami looks at his dad, who is now on his third gigantic bite. “It is good.” Abu grabs a plate and begins to gather himself a meal. “Now, I’m going to finish it in front of the TV and have peace.” His eyes shift to side-eye Sami. “Teaching this guy has been giving me a headache: always asking how many teaspoons everything, like I’m a fucking chemistry man. He thinks cause he went to culinary school he’s like a food scientist.”

An odd, distant look touches Sami’s eyes for a flash, like something his dad said cut deep.

“I kid, I kid.” Abu grins. “Mona, was nice to see you again. Come back next lesson, huh?”

I almost protest, but challenging this man’s hospitality seems pointless. Abu waves to me with his free hand, then moves toward the stairwell to their apartment.

Sami rapidly follows him. “You need help upstairs, Baba?”

“Of course not.” His dad shakes his head, irritated. “What next? You want to help me watch TV?” He gestures in my direction. “Hang out with this lovely lady and stop bothering me.” Right before he steps onto the staircase, he looks toward me and says, “He knows how to cook a little, plus he’s single.”

I giggle at what I’m sure is a typical move of Abu’s. He disappears up the staircase with a playful glint in his eyes.

Sami’s face has the thinnest rouge as he comes back behind the counter. “Don’t mind him. He’s got problems.”

He leans against the countertop, and I take a moment to appreciate his muscular biceps from this angle. I imagine touching them. Then, I imagine introducing him to my friends, and the impulse fades.

I’ve made enough impractical decisions lately. I better not linger here.