“Nope,” I said. “I’ll try anything once.”
Bodhi snorted, and I gave his shin a love tap under the table.
“Ow,” he hissed, rubbing his shin before pinching the toe of my shoe in retaliation. I flashed him an angelic smile.
“Alright,” Maroun said, opening the menu. “If you like hummus, you must try thebaba ghanouj, andtabouleh—parsley, mint, bulgar, tomatoes?—”
“We’ll have both,” I said instantly. “To share.”
Maroun scribbled it down. “For mains we havekofta meshwi,kabab,falafel,foul moudamas?—”
“Maroun!” his father barked from behind the bar. “We will make a bit of everything for them.”
“You don’t have to do that,” Bodhi said, and I nodded. “We don’t want to be an inconvenience.”
“Bah,” the man waved us off. “It is fine. We are quiet tonight.”
I glanced around. Quiet was an understatement. We were the only people here. I guess it was a slow night.
“That alright with you?” Bodhi asked.
I shrugged. “More food for us.”
He grinned at Maroun. “Alright, then. We’ll try it all.”
And I’d love to say we regretted those words when plateafter plate after plate appeared. But that would be a lie. Every dish was more delicious than the last, from the fluffy pitta bread with spiced hummus to the lamb kebabs that practically melted on my tongue.
When Maroun asked if we’d like to try some Lebanese ice cream for dessert, I couldn’t refuse, even as I rubbed my protruding belly like a lucky Buddha statue. Hell, I even asked Bodhi if he wanted to give it a rub to increase his good fortune, only to be met with his middle finger.
After food, I nursed a tiny cup of Arabic coffee. Liquid warmth and bitterness in perfect balance.
“You know,” I said, glancing around the restaurant. “My grandad was the kind of guy who thought ‘Lebanese’ was just another term for lesbians.”
Bodhi choked on his drink. “He sounds like a, uh... special kind of guy.”
“He’s dead,” I replied, conversational as ever.
“Jesus, Iggy.” Bodhi scrubbed a hand over the back of his neck.
“What? It’s not like he was a decent person.”
He settled back, hands wrapped around his cup, watching the steam curl upward. “You never really talk about your family.”
“There’s not much to tell.”
Bodhi tilted his head. “You know about mine?—”
“Sort of?—”
“Tell me about yours.”
I let out a breath and leaned back too, hoping if I looked relaxed enough, my body would eventually get the memo. “I have two parents, and a younger brother, Jethro.”
Bodhi’s eyebrows arched. “I didn’t know you had a brother.”
“Well, now you do.”
“Are you close?”
