Page 54

“I told you, we’re fine. What are you really doing here? Samir could have sent anyone to be his courier.” His words were barely civil, and he knew he was being unfair, but he didn’t care. She needed to leave, right now.

“Lucky . . .” his mother started, but Dina shook her head, already standing up.

“It’s all right, Huma Aunty. Lucky is right. It’s none of my business. I’ll just take that package Samir wanted and head back to Crescent House.”

Lucky was about to stomp to his apartment to throw some rusty tools into a box—he knew Samir didn’t really need the lights—when to his surprise, Huma spoke up.

“Stay for a little longer, Dina. We will have some chai, and then you can drive back. Okay? Lucky, why don’t you show Dina around the house?”

Lucky shot his mother a suspicious look, which she returned with a bland one of her own. He changed his mind: His mother was an inveterate meddler determined to push her own agenda. Which made no sense, because Dina was married. To Arshad. Which meant she had to leave, now.

“I’d like that,” Dina said, surprising him. “Thank you, Aunty.”

Fortunately, the house was small, and showing her around took under five minutes.

“What about that?” Dina asked, pointing out the window to the stand-alone garage. “Is that where you hide your girlfriends so your mom doesn’t find out?”

Lucky shook his head, his lips twitching. “My girlfriends would never step foot in my apartment.”

Dina’s eyes widened. “You retrofitted your garage? This I have to see.”

When they had first moved here, they had used the space for storage, mostly for restaurant supplies. When Saleem had broached the idea of marriage to Jiya, Lucky started working on converting the garage into a studio apartment. He didn’t want his brother, who was still in school, to pay rent in the city when he could live at home for free, and he knew Jiya would feel more welcome if Lucky moved out. Living in the converted garage was a compromise—he could stay near his mother and provide his new sister-in-law with some privacy. He’d finished the apartment the month before Saleem’s wedding.

He unlocked the door, then stood back to let Dina inside. She looked around, her eyes growing wide at the revamped space.

He hadn’t had a lot of money when he had fixed up the basement, but by the time he started construction on the garage, their family’s financial situation had improved. He was working steadily, taking on more and more complicated projects. It had felt good, being busy. Coming home tired every night, handing money to his mother on a regular basis, confident they could pay the mortgage, cover car payments, food, and insurance and have some left over felt even better.

When it came time to renovate the garage, he had been ready. After applying for the proper permits, he had knocked down the original structure and built on top of the concrete bed. The apartment was loft-style, his bedroom on a partial second floor. The main space boasted twelve-foot ceilings and was compact but functional, decorated in muted gray, white, and black, softened with wood trim and finishes handmade by a carpenter he worked with for framing jobs. The windows facing the backyard were large, and he had installed a real wood-burning stove, which he used during the winter, and ceiling fans in the summer. The entire effect was of a cozy cabin, everything compact and multifunctional. Dina looked around, eyes wide.

“You . . . made this? With your own hands?” she asked in hushed tones.

Lucky laughed. “I made some of it. I hired people for most of it. But I put the project together. I guess you could say the vision was mine.” He scratched the back of his head. “It’s not that impressive, really. Pretty standard garage conversion. It’s all legal, though—I have the permits.”

Dina laughed, the sound music to his ears. “So you say. I need proof, you know.”

Lucky held up his hands in mock surrender. “I’ll send you the paperwork.” He watched her smile, then give his apartment another admiring look, which filled him with pride. Which was ridiculous. He was a professional. Moreover, he was an experienced tradesperson who knew he was good at what he did, and he didn’t need Dina’s, or anyone else’s, approval.

It still felt good, though. He watched as she paused in front of his bookshelf, fingers lingering over the spine of his old law books, his small collection of paperbacks, mostly thrillers that he liked to read in the evenings, if he wasn’t too tired. She opened every cupboard in his small kitchenette, and every drawer too, and even climbed the stairs to the loft bedroom upstairs. He watched her the entire time, not moving from his spot by the door. When she rejoined him, the air felt charged between them. Maybe it was because he had let her inside his real home, the place where he slept and spent his leisure time, where he showered and shaved and worried about his family. And sometimes, though less often as the years passed, where he thought of her.

“Why are you here?” he asked when she joined him in his living room, and this time the question was gentle rather than angry. It held his longing, his hurt, and his vulnerability.

“Samir wanted me to get something, and because . . . I wanted to see my friend,” she said.

He was silent at this. “I’m glad you came,” he said finally. She smiled, and something shifted between them, intangible but real.

“The chai is probably ready by now,” he said gruffly, and led the way back to the main house.

Dina had been so close to blurting out the truth—that she couldn’t stop thinking about him and wanted to spend time with him. That the feelings she thought long buried had only been banked, and seeing him again, laughing and teasing and exchanging confidences once more, had brought them roaring fully back to life.

Maybe it was time to finally come clean and tell him how she truly felt. She could tell him that she wasn’t married to Arshad anymore, she thought as she followed Lucky back to the main house. But how would he react? What if the news only confused him, or made no difference whatsoever? She wasn’t sure she could stand his indifference. It had been her idea to keep the news of her divorce secret until after Hania’s wedding festivities, which would conclude in just thirty-six hours after the walima tomorrow and the brunch the following day. For better or for worse, she was committed now.

Besides, Lucky had his life here, with his family and his business, and maybe with Aliyah too. Meanwhile, Dina had her life in Toronto, working for her father, tolerating Arshad, and being a lawyer. What sort of future could they possibly have? She had nothing to offer him.

Yet she couldn’t stay silent. “I don’t really want chai,” she said to his back. Lucky stopped immediately. Turned to look at her, the expression in his eyes watchful, and something else. She took a deep breath, gathering her courage.

“You never answered my question, from before. Why didn’t you come to my wedding?” she asked.

Something in his eyes flared. “Because I didn’t want to watch you marry Arshad. Why have you barely spoken to him these last few days?”