Page 60 of Yours for the Season
Her friend replied immediately:“Never trust a billionaire” is my life’s motto. Also, waiting on that shirtless Tom pic.
Sameera smothered a smile.Not sure Lorenzo would like that.
Bee’s cheeky reply made her snort:He’ll consider it motivation. Love you!
Her friend’s brief interlude gave her some breathing room, enough to calm her anxious thoughts. She still wasn’t sure what to do, so the best course of action was to focus on what was happening right now. Sameera put her phone away just as Hiba brought out several trays of appetizers: hummus topped with aromatic olive oil and decorated with parsley; muhammara, a red pepper, garlic, and walnut dip, slightly sweet and crunchy; freshly fried kibbe, dumplings shaped like miniature footballs made from barley, stuffed with spiced minced meat. When she returned to the living room with another platter piled with freshly baked pita bread and a third with stuffed grape leaves, everyone protested that the family had gone to too much effort.
“We cook for our customers all day long,” Hiba said with a smile. “We are happy to share food with friends today. Eat, eat!”
They needed no further encouragement. The adults squeezed around the dining table beside the kitchen and passed around the appetizers, while the children, including Esa and Cal, ate on a sheet spread on the floor of the living room, reclining on cushions. From their peals of laughter, Sameera could tell the younger set were delighted by this arrangement.
Tom helped Abu Isra and Hiba transfer platters of grilled meat, fluffy white rice studded with raisins and sliced almonds, a curry made of eggplant and chunks of beef and tomato, toum garlic dip, a largefattoush salad, and another green salad garnished with olives and crumbling akkawi cheese, drizzled with a tangy dressing and topped with crispy fried pita bread. Everyone ate with enthusiasm, exclaiming over the burst of savory flavors.
While Sameera reached for another pita—the muhammara was truly addictive—she noticed Tom had disappeared into the kitchen. What was he up to? When she peeked inside, she spotted him deep in conversation with Abu Isra, who was putting the finishing touches on another platter of grilled chicken and lamb kabobs.
Back in the sitting room, Hiba was sharing her family’s migration story. “We applied as refugees at the start of the civil war. I have an aunt in Texas, and she helped us. We were the lucky ones.” Her face clouded with the memory of those she had left behind.
Barb reached out and squeezed Hiba’s hand. “It’s heartbreaking, what your family went through. I’m so sorry for all you have lost, Hiba, and I hope you can take solace in a new hope for the future of your country.”
Hiba’s eyes were wet, but she accepted Barb’s kindness readily. “Thank you,” she said quietly. “We have happy memories, too, and will make more when we return, inshallah. Would you like to hear how Younus and I first met?”
She called to her husband and coaxed him into sharing the story. “I was not a good student when I was younger,” he started, with a grin. “Too impatient to make money. I learned soon enough that I would always be considered less than a man with a degree, even though I was smarter!” The party laughed at Abu Isra’s bravado.
“I returned to school, to finish what you would call high school, and then I enrolled in the local university in Damascus. I was close to thirty by then, and even my mother had written me off as a hopeless case. All of my other brothers and sisters were married and settled, but not me. My father was more patient with me. He told me I was just like him, a late bloomer, and that when I met my bride, it would feel like fireworks. It had been like this with my mother.”
Sameera glanced at Tom, who was reaching for more grilled eggplant. He ate each dish slowly, evaluating and deconstructing every ingredient. He quietly excused himself and returned with salt, which he added to the eggplant curry. She liked the way he unobtrusively took care of those around him, unlike Andy, who turned everything into a big production.
Abu Isra continued his story. “I joined my first-year tutorial for a mandatory literature course, and who do you think was my instructor?”
Hiba smiled. “I had just finished my master’s degree when Younus joined my class. I found out later that he was five years older than me, even though he behaved as if he were ten years younger!”
Abu Isra waved off her words. “It was just as my father said. The moment I saw my Hiba, it was over for me.”
Sameera met Tom’s gaze, serious and intent on her; she knew they were both thinking of their first meeting at the firm’s holiday party, the way they had simply clicked.
Hiba picked up the thread; Sameera could tell that they both enjoyed sharing their story, and had told it so often it had become a central part of their family lore. “Of course, I had no idea of his intentions. When he asked me to go for a walk after class, I thought he wanted to beg me for a higher mark on his test. He still wasn’t a very good student.”
“I’m better at talking than studying,” Abu Isra countered, and the table laughed. “I wore her down eventually.”
Sameera reached for morefattoush salad. “How did you manage that?” she asked.
“I paid attention,” Abu Isra said. “I brought her gifts. I made her favorite tea. When none of that worked, I started to study for her tests.”
More laughter greeted this revelation. Sameera recalled the samosas, biryani, chai, and apple pie Tom had made for her and with her. He was constantly feeding her, nourishing her, making sure she was taken care of, comforting her. She met his gaze once more, and hoped her flushed cheeks weren’t too obvious.
“I could see he was trying hard to better himself,” Hiba confirmed with a fond smile at her husband. “After the class ended, he asked to speak to my father.”
“Her father told me I wasn’t good enough for his daughter, but by then, it was too late. Hiba would have no one else,” Abu Isra declared proudly.
“Actually, my father felt sorry for you, and said I should marry you out of charity because no one else would have you,” Hiba teased. “But yes, it is true. I wanted to be only with him.”
Sameera glanced from Abu Isra to Hiba. They had met under the most adorable of circumstances, and now lived together an ocean and a continent away from their beloved home. They had built a life here, and were now contemplating returning to their homeland, despite not knowing what they would find. Their bravery and steadfast hope felt like a beacon to her now, a model to emulate. She reached for a kabob instead, and the conversation moved on.
Finally, when there were only pita crumbs left and everyone was groaning and rubbing their full bellies, Rob sighed. “Delicious meal, my friend. Why don’t you have that eggplant dish on your regular menu?”
Their host laughed. “We have to keep some things for special nights, yes? In any case, that dish is not my recipe.”
“My compliments to Hiba, then,” Rob said, nodding her way.
