Page 38 of Three Holidays and a Wedding
“Hello, Mr. Taylor, I’m Saif Rasool, attorney-at-law,” he said formally, sticking out his hand to shake. “I saw about half ofCaptain Eagleman. You owe me ten bucks.” He smiled unconvincingly, and Maryam tried not to laugh. Saif clearly didn’t like being overshadowed by a movie star.
“You must meet my grandfather,” Maryam said hurriedly, feeling sorry for Josh. “He’s a retired Bollywood film director.”
Dadu, who had been sipping his coffee and watching the show, got to his feet with a genial smile and shook hands with Josh, who towered over him. “Young man, you flirt on-screen almost as well as Shah Rukh Khan,” he said. “If I was still in the business, I would hire you to teach the young actors how to make love to the camera.”
Josh laughed, taking the comment in stride. “The key is eye contact, but not so much that you look like a serial killer,” he joked.
“I am sure you are putting your acting powers to good use with Ms. Barlowe,” Dadu said cryptically, and Josh blinked.
“Um... yes,” the handsome actor said. He made a show of looking at his watch. “I’ll meet you all on set, I just”—he glanced across the street at the same shops Anna was browsing—“have an errand to run.”
Maryam felt a surge of protectiveness, but what could she do? She wasn’t Anna’s minder. Besides, Saima and Dadu were practically running out the door, determined to be earlyfor their call time. They accepted a box of treats that Sarah insisted was a gift, and then headed out into the snow once more, following Josh’s directions toward the set.
Saif took the bakery box from Maryam, his eyes trained on the actor, who had just reached the door of Kate’s Kurios. “He’s not that good-looking in person,” he muttered, and Maryam hid her smile.
“Yes, he is,” she teased. “And that unfamiliar feeling in the pit of your stomach is jealousy.”
“I’m not jealous, I just didn’t think you’d be so easily taken in by a guy who clearly has his teeth whitened, and probably travels with his own hairstylist.”
This time Maryam didn’t bother hiding her amusement—she laughed out loud. “I’ve never seen a man more obsessed with his hair than you. I watch you fiddle with it every time you spot a shiny surface.”
Saif flushed, but relented. “Fine. Mr. Taylor is gorgeous, and maybe I’m a tiny bit jealous because you looked at him like he was a delicious piece of baklava,” he grumbled, and this time it was Maryam’s turn to flush. Did it really bother him that Maryam found the actor attractive?
“I’m pretty sure he only has eyes for Anna,” Maryam allowed, and glanced over her shoulder again, half hoping Anna would be running to catch up.
Saif only shrugged. “Anna is a stunner, but a guy like Chase... He might like Anna’s company, but I’d hate for her to get hurt. Right now, he has nowhere to go and nothing better to do than flirt with pretty women marooned in the same town as him.”
Maryam pondered Saif’s words. Maybe he had let on morethan he realized, revealing how he felt about her, too. Was he also being friendly and passing the time before he returned to his regular life, with his regular girlfriend?Pull yourself together, she told herself sternly. She wasn’t some teenager with a crush. This was a snow day, and the magic of a snow day was not worrying about tomorrow and all the missed homework it would bring.
They approached the outdoor set, which had attracted a small audience. Maryam recognized a few people from the inn, no doubt enjoying this unexpected opportunity. They were all on snow day time, too.
Dadu wandered up to a tall Black woman dressed in an orange puffer vest and oversized glasses, braided hair piled artfully on her head, and Maryam recognized the director Katrina Wakes. He murmured something to her that Maryam couldn’t hear, and gestured to the camera. The director glanced over at him, then threw her head back in laughter.
Her grandfather, making friends wherever he went, Maryam thought. After the death of her dadi-ma three years ago, Dadu had been completely lost in a sadness he described as a fog. He slept at odd hours and visited her grave every day with flowers—fresh jasmine when it was in season; otherwise lilies, daffodils, and white carnations. At the grave, he read his late wife Urdu poetry and spent hours updating her on the lives of the family. And of course, Dadu being Dadu, he made friends with everyone who had visited the small section of the cemetery reserved for their Muslim community—fellow grieving spouses, parents, children, each in different stages of their own grieving process. It felt good to see him vibrant once more, taking an active interest in the world of the living.
Except, looking around at the crowd, Maryam felt a sudden case of nerves. She hadn’t thought this whole being-an-extra-in-an-actual-film thing through. As much as she enjoyed watching movies, she wasn’t sure she wanted to be in front of the camera, even as a background extra. As if sensing her unease, Saima turned to her.
“I’ll be okay here with Dadu,” her sister volunteered. Saima was avidly absorbing the film set, eyes bright with interest. She gestured toward Saif, who was leaning against a storefront nearby. “Why don’t you take your hot lawyer for a stroll around town?” she suggested, eyes dancing. “Take in the sights. Plan your future. Discuss how many babies you intend to have. You know, all the important stuff.”
Saif looked over when he felt both sisters’ eyes on him. When Maryam told him she was going to walk around Main Street instead of waiting around, he instantly volunteered to accompany her.
“Are you sure you wouldn’t rather stay?” Maryam asked.
“I live in California. I’m immune to Hollywood magic,” he joked.
“I thought you lived in Sacramento?” Maryam asked innocently, and Saif pretended to be offended.
Together they trudged through three feet of snow, down to the main strip. She spotted the knit shop where Anna had purchased her adorable sweater, as well as places called June’s Cauldron and Kate’s Kurios, but it wasn’t until they ducked into a side street that the fabric of the town began to fully reveal itself.
Snow Falls wasn’t only the picture-perfect postcard of a classic Christmas town—it had layers, just like Anna hadmentioned. Maryam spied contrasts all around her. A kosher deli beside a halal butcher next to an Afghan bakery advertising fresh-baked naan, which was neighbors with a Sri Lankan grocer. An old-school barbershop alongside a repair shop that advertised services to “send money back home.” A Lebanese restaurant beside a Jamaican restaurant next to a Pakistani clothing store beside a Guyanese roti takeout shop. All independently owned stores, she noted, with no chain establishment in sight. Saif and Maryam looked at each other in confusion.
“Is this the UN of small Ontario towns?” she asked out loud, and Saif shrugged. Plus, everyone was so friendly. At the roti shop, Maryam finally broke down and asked the friendly shopkeeper Abdullah about the overwhelmingly warm reception.
“Maybe this is where multicultural Canadian hospitality goes for corporate training?” she asked after he offered to cater dinner for the entire wedding party for free and, when she refused, insisted she take home a dozenphilauri—pillowy-light deep-fried dough balls—to eat with her tea after breaking fast.
Abdullah, an older man with a pot belly and gray in his beard, laughed at her joke. “Many of us used to live in the big cities. Toronto, Montreal, Vancouver. But we were looking for something different, something else. Yes?”
Maryam nodded, still not understanding. She leaned close, so as not to be overheard. “But aren’t small towns a little...” She trailed off, raising her eyebrows in unspoken communication:A little small-minded. A little conservative.
