Disaster's Aid

Good thing we cleaned our house before we left.

Tariq is cooking in the kitchen. My kitchen. Well, Mama's kitchen, because it is where she always is. But now there is someone new and he wants to make me biryani.

At first Tariq was going to get a hotel for us and then I mentioned my house and now we are here and he is cooking for me. Then when I mentioned that I was hungry he had the taxi driver stop on our way from the airport while he ran inside for some ingredients. His face full of glee when he returned.

He looks handsome when he chops onions. The wooden cutting board and the black knife Mama always uses are carefully being handled.

"Don't worry your Ammy won't even know I was in the kitchen." He catches me staring at his hands and I look out the window. "Ammy never noticed when Jamil and I had Iron Chef cooking competitions in Ramadan because we were too charged up to fall asleep." Tariq drops the onions into the sizzling oil and throws the peels in the garbage can.

I lean against the kitchen table. The farthest place from him. He crosses his arms and looks deep in concentration as he stares at the tomatoes.

"No, it's okay. You can use it as much as you want. Mama likes when I try cooking, and she'll think it's cute too if you are." He glances at me.

"Oh, so you look cute when you're cooking?" He walks over to me and pulls my forearm towards the cutting board. "Mind chopping these tomatoes?"

"I, um, okay." My face and the tomatoes probably match right now. I slide around the counter as close to the marble as possible. He steps beside me and I stare at the tomatoes.

"You didn't wash these yet?" I peel off the stickers on the tomatoes and turn around. Tariq's arms go around me.

I freeze.

I melt.

My face rests on his chest and I can hear his heart beat.

"Sara. I'll always take care of you. Please don't be scared of me." He pulls me at arms length and I search his eyes. He seems a little sad. His jaw is tense too.

"I'm not scared Tariq." I shrug his hands off my shoulders and turn to wash the tomatoes. "I'm just nervous."

"Oh. Well, just tell me then whatever will make you more comfortable."

Oh Allah, where did you pick this guy from? I try to do one task and all he does is make me so nervous I can't even think straight.

"L-let's just make the rice."

I wipe the marble counters down with a towel and wash the dishes. The backyard window brings in fresh light as I stare down. I finish and stand by the counter, out of his stadium as he paces back and forth for more ingredients.

Tariq mixes in the chicken and finds all the spices and tosses them in and pours in the rice and covers the pot with a metal lid and turns to me grinning. He leans on the counter I'm resting my elbows on.

"You're mom's right. You look cute when you cook." He says staring at my eyes with his hands under his chin.

I stare at him with my jaw hanging loose. Seriously, could he just let my heart chill for a few seconds?

I drop my head on the counter.

"Now what am I supposed to say to that?" I mumble.

He laughs.

"You're really annoying." I slump into a wooden chair and watch as he puts rice into two plates.

He raises his eye brow, that grin never stuttering.

He lounges beside me and rests the plates in front of us on the dark wooden table.

Steaming rice with spicy chicken.

"Bismillah hirahmaaniraheem" He says.

"Bismillah" I breathe.

We eat.

Our first meal alone.