LEFTOVER KHICHRI

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Eighteen

The donuts and coffee did little to numb the sense of despair knocking on her door, but it did a lot to distract her and make her feel loved that day.

However, that balm didn't extend into the work week. By Monday afternoon, all her positive affirmations were falling flat, and she felt ready to have a good cry. When she was sitting with one of her younger patients in a chemo session, she felt tears pool her eyes as soon as the little patient started crying. She held herself together then, she was there to be a support, not a sobbing mess. She considered shedding a few tears in the bathroom, but decided not to because of the jinns, and then when she tried to in her office, the colleague who shared the room didn't leave long enough. Like a task on her to-do list, Shasmeen scheduled her cry for once she got home. But that too, didn't happen, because soon after she returned, her mother told her that Zubaidah Aunty was coming over to visit.

"She's been at Aaliyah's since earlier today, but she wanted to wait until you came back," Reema explained, taking out gold rimmed plates and setting them on a serving glass cart.

"She won't ask about the Abdullah situation, right?" Shasmeen cautiously asked, flipping over the frying shami kabab.

"I doubt she knows any of it. Aaliyah doesn't speak before time."

Shasmeen made a sound of agreement. It was a smart choice to keep it private until it was permanent, that way it was easier to grieve over a loss without answering questions of how and why. She had learned her lesson from the Jamshed experience. Her friends and extended family had called for weeks after that, asking about updates of dates and venues and plans, and then being politely told how there was nothing to report.

"It's nice that she wanted to meet me too," she said, pushing back her scrub sleeves. "I like her praises. L.O.L."

Reema shook her head, both at her daughter's need to verbalize her laughing out loud, and her honest vanity. Usually she would remind her daughter that fishing for praise was not good for her soul, but keeping recent occurrences in mind, she let it go.

"Go shower before she arrives," she finally commanded her daughter. "We don't want her fainting when she hugs you."

"Mama!" She protested, laughing along.

Zubaidah was, in all ways, the opposite of her son. Where he was reserved, she was outgoing and friendly. Where he was direct, she was compassionate. It was like her personality balanced out his deficiencies, which was a thought Shasmeen felt guilty about thinking (it was possible to appreciate one person without degrading another, and she was, in no way, blind to Mubashir's strengths). She really liked her sister-in-law's mother, she liked how she could light up a room, shedding her warmth on everyone like the sun; she did not discriminate.

"The chai at your place tastes the best," Zubaidah Aunty said, addressing Shasmeen's mother. "Because you pour in so much love." The tea leaves were the same ones used at Zakariya and Aaliyah's house, there was no need for Zubaidah to praise the tea, but her doing so conveyed a sense of gratitude.

"Uh, Zubaidah, don't say that," Reema countered, setting her cup back in its saucer. "It's the love you have for us that makes it taste so good."

"No, no, it is the love and respect you give to your guests that drives them to mirror that love." She gestured towards the array of food dishes spread across them. From shami kabab to chicken patties to strawberry and cream puff pastries to gulab jamun, the ladies of the Abdul Wahid house went to great lengths to serve their guests.

"What you speak of is not mine to give," Reema said, lowering her head. "Each morsel you consume has your name on it, we are just chosen as a medium."

"Allahumma barik, this humbleness of yours gives me so much relief that my daughter is in your home."