Page 38 of You'll Love it Here

A sudden crash sounds behind Ava. All three of us whip around to where Abu has half fallen into a red leather stool and knocked it over, its metal frame clanging against the counter. Sami races to grab him by the shoulder and helps him up before straightening the stool.

“You okay, Baba?” He rubs his dad’s shoulder.

“I’m fine.” Abu smacks Sami’s arm. “This guy’s hitting on me orsomething?” he jokes toward me. “A little weird since I’m his dad, huh.”

Sami’s expression is pure exasperation. “That’s not a good joke, even.”

I laugh anyway, to Abu’s delight.

“Well, we must get going.” Abu starts moving toward the front door, his leather shoes slapping the linoleum teal-and-white checkered flooring. “You kids don’t want us old people here too long.”

“You’re still going out?” Sami’s voice strains with unease.

“But of course, our taxi’s right there.” Abu casts his hands toward the window, where indeed a yellow cab is waiting next to the curb.

Ava takes Abu’s hand and grins at me. “It was nice to meet you, Mona.”

“My pleasure—” I begin, but Sami interrupts.

“Is that really a good idea?” Worry lines are imprinting on his forehead. “What about your heart?”

Abu’s grin slips off his face before he regains himself and stands taller. “That was almost five years ago, and I don’t have stress like that anymore, unless you try to keep me from dancing.” Abu raises a brow in my direction. “First he hits on me, now he doesn’t want me to leave him.”

Again I smile, despite the tension. Or because of it. Abu claps Sami on the shoulder. “Don’t worry about everything I do. My heart is good now.” As if to prove his vitality, he lifts his foot. “That was just my fancy shoes being too smooth.” There’s a sweetness to the way Abu looks at Sami, so much love below the surface.

“Okay, yeah.” The tension eases from Sami’s face. “Have fun, guys. Call me if you need a lift. Love you.” Sami gives a small wave and rests his hands on the metal edge of the counter as he watches them go. Once they’re out the door he mutters, “He needs to take it easy.”

“His heart isn’t good?” I don’t mean for my voice to croak, but I realize how disturbed I am by this news.

Sami’s gaze cuts to me. “It’s better, they say, but I thought it was fine five years ago, when he had a heart attack, so who knows.” He’s doing that thing where he phrases it almost like a joke to defuse the tension, but I can see the weight in his shoulders.

“I’m so sorry. That must’ve been scary.”

“Thanks, but honestly I wasn’t here when it happened, so I don’t know what it was like.” His jaw ticks like he’s holding back some big emotion, then he lets out a breathless chuckle. “I was working an intense shift under this militant head chef, so I didn’t even look at my phone. I didn’t even know that he was in hospital until like seven hours after he fell in front of Carmen, actually. I could’ve missed the whole thing had he...” He doesn’t need to finish.

Behind my eyes, it plays on repeat: myself rushing to the hospital, staring at my mom’s text on my phone. Sami was lucky, I want to tell him.

“You worked elsewhere?” I say instead as I gaze around this cozy place that seems so much a part of Sami. It’s hard to believe he ever left.

“Briefly, yeah.” He grabs a cloth and wipes a clean part of the counter that he’d just wiped again. “I was the sous at this up-and-coming restaurant on Stephen Ave. It was cool, but it was a lot.”

I try to picture him in chef’s whites, plating an intricate little dish, but I don’t quite see it. “You didn’t like it?”

His smile is sheepish. “It’s wild, because I really loved working there, but after that day... I guess I just never thought about how Abu was too old to be working so much, and there was so much to do here, and...” He chuckles. “Long story short, I never returned to that restaurant. I basically broke my apartment lease too. I’m probably blacklisted as a ghoster, but maybe I was never meant to leave.” He chuckles again, but there’s pain in it.

“Oh, Sami, I’m sorry.”

“Don’t worry about me.” Sami’s expression brightens just a bit. “It wasn’t exactly what I planned, but I like making people happy with food, and what my parents built is special. I’m lucky.”

If my parents were like Sami’s there’s no way I’d want to leave either. I sip my wine to hide my dejection. “I get it. Abu’s great. It’s great you have this time together.”

“Ha.” Sami’s smile becomes real. “Mostly he spends his time pestering me. He’s really found his stride.”

We both laugh, and I try not to think about all the unanswered messages my dad sent me those last few months. There was a reason I cut him out, I remind myself. My dad wasn’t like Abu. Sometimes coming home isn’t a comfort.

“Oh shit, I almost forgot.” Sami disappears into the kitchen and quickly emerges with a whole plate of sandwiches that look like juicy mini burgers with crusty buns and an herby cream sauce. “Kotlet sliders,” he announces. “My dad thinks it’s messed up, but I think it works.”

Sami holds out the plate to me. I pick one up and take an initial bite. The pickles, onion, sabzi, and garlicky cucumber yogurt mix together so perfectly that I could almost cry. Mouth too full to express my euphoria, I slap Sami’s arm, but then my fingers kind of graze over his forearm and it turns into a squeeze (totally by accident). He instantly locks eyes with me, and I realize I’m an idiot.