Page 13 of Even If the Sky is Falling
Maya’s eyes widened. “There is a creepy clown doll in the antique hall?” She shuddered. Why did she open her spice storehere? There were hazards everywhere she turned. Possibly racist and ageist Southerners. Creepy clowns. First crushes looking as tasty as they had back when they were sixteen.
“What happened? Don’t tell me the truck is an offshoot of one of those big restaurant conglomerates? Because you cannot compete with the Walmarts and Targets of food service.”
“No. Worse.”
“McTikkas?”
Maya exhaled, imagining the horror of desi food by American McDonald’s. “Radha, I don’t know who the fuck owns that food truck, but Idoknow the person working it.”
“Who?”
Maya still couldn’t believe it. She spat out the name, surprised that her mouth was still capable of making the sounds. “Tarek Mizra.”
“Who’s that?” Radha asked.
Maya blinked at her friend. Maya and Radha had been friends since college, and Radha had joined the family for Dad’s chicken charga every Christmas. Radha was fully aware of the impact the Mizra family had on the Jafari family, even if she didn’t know details.
“You know how my dad almost opened a restaurant years ago with a friend?”
“Yeah—he talks about it all the time. His friend betrayed him and deserted the partnership. OMG, that’s who was in the truck? Your dad’s old best friend?”
Maya shook her head. “No. His son, Tarek.”
Radha leaned down and whispered in Maya’s ears, “If the guy’s a hot brown dude in a yellow chef’s jacket, he’s right behind you.”
“So, youdidrecognize me,” a voice behind her said.
Maya closed her eyes. He’d followed her here. Because of course he had. Because Maya was not just gifted in her ability to imagine worst-case scenarios, but apparently also in attracting them.
Maya took a deep, cleansing breath and remembered her therapist’s advice of finding three positives in any situation. One—at least it was Tarek, and not his father, Arif Uncle, here. Two—Tarek now knew that the Jafari familydidopen their spice business, despite the Mizras’ sabotage, and even if it wasn’t anything impressive yet, it existed. True, the best revenge was living well, but livingadequatelyafter sabotage had to mean something, too, right? And three—Tarek was just as sexy as he’d been back when they were teenagers. Maybe more. Which might not be a positive for Maya specifically, but she was fully in favor of increasing brown joy in the world, and a face like that would bring a lot of joy to a lot of people.
“Excuse me,” a female voice behind Maya said. “Is biryani masala the same thing as garam masala?”
Radha gave Maya a little pat on the arm before squeezing out from behind the counter to help the customer. Maya had no choice but to turn and face Tarek.
And there he was. Tarek was a couple years older than Maya. Their fathers had been best friends when they first moved to Atlanta from Pakistan in the eighties, so she didn’t remember a time when she hadn’t known him. She still remembered the moment when she’d realized the weird hollow flutters in her stomach whenever Tarek said her name meant Maya had her very first crush. That crush only got stronger each year until the Mizra family moved out of Atlanta when Maya was fifteen and Tarek was seventeen.
“I can’t believe it’s you!” he beamed. “Little Maya! How long has it been? And look,” he pulled on his yellow chef’s jacket. “We match!”
It looked like the fabric for his jacket came from the same bolt as her apron. And also, why was he being so cheerful? Did he forget that their families were in a decade-long feud?
But that was another thing she remembered about Tarek. He was very...good-natured. Easygoing. The opposite of Maya in every way. As a teen, Maya had no interest in dark and brooding boys, since she was broody enough all by herself, thank you very much. Bright and sunny boys were more her catnip, although that preference could be because Tarek’s sunniness combined with that jawline had imprinted in her brain in her formative years.
But unlike Tarek, Maya wasn’t going to pretend everything was sunshine and roses in their past. Or, hell, in their present, either. Because the cherry on top of thehis father betraying her fathersundae was that Tarek was selling the damn sandwich that had unseated Masala Girls’ tikka throne, and effectively taken money straight out of her till.
“Tarek Mizra,” Maya hissed.
He smiled, apparently not picking up on theI put a hex on youtone in her voice. Glancing around the booth, he whistled with appreciation. “Masala Girls... This yours? I kept hearing about this awesome spice shop. Who’d have thought we’d have businesses in the same flea market!”
So,heowned that truck? “Curry Junction is yours?”
He rocked back on his heels. “Yup. You ran off before I could show you around.”
Maya had no intention of faking any niceties. “You have to stop selling your tikka sauce.”
“What? Why?” He looked confused.
“Because you are arestaurant. You sell prepared food for immediate consumption.” She waved her hand to show the spices and sauces on the Masala Girls shelves. “I sell spices and sauces. You arestealingmy customers, and I was here first.”
