My late-night stroll ended at a small bungalow beside my old school. I sent a follow-up text to the one I had sent when I left my house. A few minutes later the side door opened and a shadowy form joined me on the front steps of the house.
“I just lost my second closet,” I said.
My best friend Lily balanced herself on my shoulder as she stretched one leg and then the other. She was shapely and tall, hair coiled in a neat high bun, face glowing with good health and an excellent skincare routine. “I was sleeping off a twenty-hour shift. So glad you woke me up for this,” she said, nudging me gently with her shoulder.
“I hear my family has been asking you for medical advice,” I said, my voice unsteady with emotion. My friend knew what I was really asking.
“Fazee is exhausted. She’s worried about the restaurant and about being a mom, and she hasn’t been taking care of herself. She needssome rest, but she’ll be back to normal soon. I promise,” Lily said with such calm assurance that I felt better immediately.
Lily had been on rotation at SickKids hospital for the past few months. We had attended the same elementary school, high school, and university, and we’d remained best friends throughout, even though we had nothing in common. She was studious and organized and loved all things science and math; I was into pop culture and radio and considered deadlines as merely suggestions. She had known exactly what she wanted to do with her life from the age of six. It had taken me a little longer: I realized my future was in broadcasting only in my final year of college.
Yet Lily and I had always had each other’s back, at least until the past few months. I knew she was busy. The residency program she was applying to was highly selective, and I hadn’t wanted to play the needy friend. But then, why hadn’t she said anything about my own sister?
“I thought I sent you a text last week so you wouldn’t worry,” Lily said, anticipating my question. She stretched elegant hands towards the sky and yawned. “When Fahim called, I recommended an ob-gyn I know, someone who specializes in at-risk pregnancies.”
“Is my sister at risk?” I asked, worried again.
“Not yet, but she’s being monitored closely.” She stood up. “Come on. I’m going to fall asleep if we stay here.”
We walked next door to the school, slipping past the metal fence into the playground. She took the swing to the left and I took the one on the right, as always.
Lily’s curly hair came loose as she swung. At the highest point of the arc, she jumped from the swing, landing lightly on the sand in front of me, high bun unravelled into a dark swirl over her delicate shoulders.
I followed and sailed through the air, landing with such force thatI lost my balance and fell backwards onto my butt; thankfully it was well cushioned from too many onion pakoras, so it didn’t hurt. Lily collapsed on the sand next to me, giggling, and I felt a sudden wave of fondness for my friend, the busy doctor who had come outside to play with me.
“I miss you,” I said, and her eyes softened.
“How’s your dad? The restaurant? Your mom?” Lily got along well with both my parents, but she had a soft spot for my mom. We had spent many hours as kids completing homework at Three Sisters, inhaling whatever food my mom had made for us that day. Lily had a serious addiction to palak paneer—Indian cheese cooked in a spicy spinach curry—and fresh naan.
I shrugged. “She’s convinced it’s just a slump, but I don’t know how much longer we can go on.”
Lily reached across and hugged me tight. “Ghufran Aunty is the smartest, most hard-working woman I know. But if the restaurant has to close, maybe that wouldn’t be the worst thing...” She trailed off as I shook my head slowly, rejecting her words.
“We can’t shut down Three Sisters,” I said.
“You don’t even like working there,” she said gently. “Your future is in a sound booth.”
“It would kill my mom. Baba isn’t healthy enough to work full-time, and I’m just an intern. We’d lose the house. And now with Fazee on bedrest...” I closed my eyes, willing myself not to cry, and Lily sat with me in the dark until my breathing steadied.
I opened my eyes and she stared at me, blue eyes steady on my face. “Your family will be fine. Inshallah,” she said, smiling. She had picked up some Muslim lingo over the years. When she made a promise, she even addedwallahi—“I swear to God”—despite being quietly agnostic.
I needed to change the subject. “Yusuf misses you too. What’s going on with you two? Are you together again or not?”
Lily shrugged and traced circles in the sand. It was dark, but the street lamp illuminated the faint blush spilling across her cheekbones. I couldn’t help feeling proprietary about both of them; I was the one who had introduced them all those years ago.
Lily had been the new girl in Grade 4, and Yusuf hadn’t been too happy about the new addition to our twosome. Yusuf and I were already best friends by then because of the proximity of our parents’ stores, and we attended the same mosque. Lily hadn’t known anyone, and I was determined to adopt her from the moment Mrs. Walker introduced the grave-looking girl to our class.
Lily had been dressed in white tights, a demure plaid skirt, and white blouse buttoned to her chin, her hair in two thick, dark braids. I had been wearing my usual school uniform of black tearaway track pants and a cardigan with a bright red, yellow, purple, and green swirly pattern, a throwback to early 2000s cool. My black hair was wild and frizzy, the neat braid unravelled five minutes after my mother had plaited it that morning. I didn’t start wearing hijab until years later, in high school, after Fazeela started wearing it first.
That day on the playground, I introduced Lily to Yusuf. “We’re going to be friends,” I told him. “Like the Three Musketeers. She doesn’t know anyone else here.”
Yusuf ground his sneakers into the dirt, not making eye contact. “She can’t play in a skirt,” he said, voice mutinous.
Lily spoke up. “I can play in a skirt, and I can do it better than you,” she said serenely.
We both looked at her in astonishment. She hadn’t said a word all day, only listening as our classmates chatted. I had thought she wasshy and in need of mentorship. I was delighted to be wrong.
“Boys against girls!” I crowed, grabbing my new friend’s hand and running away from Yusuf. He was beautiful even as a child, but when he frowned, he looked like a sulky baby. I laughed back at him. “Baby Yusuf!”
