Page 80 of Hana Khan Carries On
“There’s a lot I need to catch you up on.” Lily looked back at the protest, and I understood. She wanted to be where Yusuf was, and from the look on my best friend’s face, he felt likewise.
I would always be the third musketeer in our trio, but that was okay. I was learning to find my own place.
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Things settled into an uneasy sort of rhythm for the rest of the week. Mom sent food to Abdul Bari every day, but I suspected the Imam didn’t have much of an appetite. When I saw him walking down the street, he looked thin and grey, though he mustered a smile for me and asked how my radio career was coming along.
I hadn’t spoken with Aydin. Things still felt raw and strange between us, but he had been clear that he was waiting for me to make the next move.
I could see the lineup at Wholistic Grill from our front window, while our own dining room remained empty. Mom had taken up working on the crossword in the newspaper while we waited for customers, and I continued to edit.
“What were you talking to Kawkab Khala about this morning?” I asked, fingers drumming on the counter. Their heads had been bent close together when I came downstairs.
“She offered me money. I turned her down,” Mom said.
“I thought she wasn’t rich anymore.”
A faint smile crossed my mother’s face. “That’s because she keepsgiving away money to any family member who asks. I told her to save it for herself. She can use it to visit again soon.”
“Why didn’t you take the money? Just until things get better...”
But Mom shook her head. “I won’t borrow money I can’t pay back,” she said firmly.
“You can pay her back,” I said. “In a few months, maybe a year.”
Mom looked around the dining room. “No other woman in my family has ever started her own business. Everyone in India thought I was crazy, except Kawkab Khala. Her father was anawaband she was always wealthy, but she was born a rebel. She appreciated that I wanted to swim against the current. You’re like us both in that way, Hana.” She smiled at me, and I was touched by her acknowledgement of my wayward instincts. “But I’m not sure I want to do this anymore,” she added softly.
“What about Fahim? What about Fazeela and the cantaloupe?” I shook my head. “We have a lot of interest and sympathy going for us right now, after the attack on the street.”
She only smiled at me and returned to her crossword.
I looked around the dining room. I could ask Kawkab Khala for the money myself, buy some new chairs, invest in proper tablecloths and new cutlery. A coat of paint, maybe some pretty decorations, better light fixtures...
“Carry with difficulty,” Mom said out loud, interrupting my train of thought.
“What?” I said, distracted.
“Six letters,” she said. “Carry with difficulty.”
“Schlep,” I said.
She filled in the word and continued working on the puzzle. Grey strands of hair escaped from the black cotton hijab she always worewhen working and dangled over the newspaper. She tucked them back with blunt fingers, dry and cracked after a decade and a half spent chopping, stirring, cutting, nourishing.
I had grown up in the restaurant. A part of my heart would remain right there: crouching behind the chairs when Fazeela and I played hide-and-seek as children; watching my mother prep and cook while I did homework in elementary school; taking orders for the first time as a server and sharing the meagre tips. Who would my mother be if she weren’t peering into the pots of boiling water that had kept her face clear and unlined, presiding over her kingdom like a powerful, stoic queen? Three Sisters was home.
I straightened. We would make it through, even if I had to schlep her through this trial myself.
Kawkab Khala joined us at lunchtime to remind me that the Business Owners Association meeting was scheduled for that night. As if I could forget. I still didn’t know why she wanted to attend.
Rashid, who had come with her, perked up at that. “Will theullube there?” he asked.
I shrugged. “His name is Yusuf. Wait, why?”
“No reason,” he replied.
I was instantly suspicious. “You’re both up to something,” I said.
My aunt and Rashid looked at each other. “A healthy amount of suspicion is the key to long life expectancy, Hana Apa, but in this case your fears are misplaced. I simply wish to make amends with theullu,” Rashid said.
