Maybe Ma’s right. Maybe eventsismy thing. I’ve always been organised, I became even more so after Baba’s death, but the idea that could be a career path is something I’ve not given much thought to before.
We add the finishing touches to our pottery, leaving it on the table for the staff to collect when we’re finished. It needs to go in the kiln and it’ll be a few weeks before we can take it home. I pay the fee for both of us and then we head down the street.
‘How is it going, working with Salman?’ Ma asks when we reach the car.
‘Fine, I think.’ I open the door and take my seat, hoping that’s the end of the conversation, but Ma seems to have other plans.
‘All civil?’
I nod. ‘Yup.’
‘Good. I’m glad. Is he doing OK?’
I raise my brow. Ma is awfully curious for somebody who’s avoided the mere mention of his family for the past six months. ‘He seems all right. He’s good at what he does. He takes cool pictures and he’s ridiculously talented on the social media side, too.’
‘He always did love snapping photographs, didn’t he?’ Ma says with a wistful smile. I can’t help being drawn into the memories with her, remembering all the family gatherings we had when we lost track of where Salman was, only to find him watching us all with a camera, capturing our joy through the lens.
‘Sounds like Eternally Yours has been great for both of you.’
It has. As much as I hated seeing Salman at the beginning of the summer, things have taken a turn. Even with all the ups and downs, of not really knowing where I stand with him while at the same time feeling like nothing has changed, I don’t think I would have traded it for the world.
A short uncomfortable silence passes between us. I hesitateover whether to bring up his parents now that Ma has brought him up, or if this is the wrong moment entirely. She can’t just walk away from the conversation here like she did at home. At the same time, it feels fruitless to even ask. She’s shown time and time again that she doesn’t want to talk about it. That she’s not ready.
I sigh and lean my head against the window, watching the world pass by as we drive down the motorway.
21
‘You look nice,’ Salman tells me when I arrive at the location for Samira and Akash’s date. He’s already started to unload the two bags of items we need for setting up, his camera slung around his neck.
Sadia made some slight tweaks to their date upon further thought, but much of it remains the same as our initial proposal: Akash and Samira will arrive at the lake for a welcome drink and nibbles before setting off on a walk around the water with a deck of question cards, before coming back and preparing a meal together in the cabin. Once they’ve eaten, they’ll sit by the campfire we set up as an acoustic guitarist plays in the background.
‘Thanks,’ I say, absentmindedly tucking a rogue strand of hair behind my ear. ‘Did you remember to bring the cards?’
He pulls out a deck of cards from one of his bags. ‘You got the meal kit?’
I raise one of the two bags I carried with me on the bus journey. ‘I’ll go set up inside and put the ingredients in the fridge. Can you double-check that the trail they’ll follow is still OK? I don’t want them to injure themselves along the way.’ After all the summer rain we’ve been having, it could be muddy.
‘Sure thing. I need to check that the lights around the swing are strung up in the right places anyway, and take some photos of the setup for socials.’
Salman hands me the keys to the cabin where Akash andSamira will cook their meal later on. I swallow at least three bugs on my short walk there, mentally going through the list of things I need to do to make the date a success.
Inside, the cabin is bare and unappealing, just like I remember from the pictures on the website, but over the next hour I manage to transform it into something warmer. I drape the two beige armchairs with thick burnt-orange throws and light some unscented tapered candles on the edge of the reading nook for ambiance. I unfurl the emerald-green table runner and place it on top of the wooden table, scattering some wildflowers I picked on top for decoration. It’s wild just how easily something can be transformed with a few details. I go through my bag to see if there’s anything else I can do to make the space feel more homely, then I spot the fairy lights. I look for somewhere to string them up and decide on the wooden beams.
I look through a storage cabinet, where I find a stepladder among cleaning supplies and various tools and equipment. At first glance, I can tell it’s not going to be high enough for me to reach the beams, but maybe if I stand on tiptoe, adding an extra inch or two, I might be able to fling the fairy lights over the central beam and then wrap them around that way.
The ladder isn’t the most stable, but it does the job of holding me up. However, as soon as I balance myself on my toes, it begins to waver, and I wonder if this was a huge mistake. Still, I persevere, determined to make this the cosiest date possible.
‘Poppy, come on.’ Salman sighs when he steps inside and sees me. ‘Get down from there.’
‘I’ve .?.?. almost .?.?. got .?.?. it!’ I say, pausing between each word as I try to fling the string over the beam.
‘You’re a walking liability, and this is bound to end in disaster.’
I try again, putting more force than before behind my throw, but all it does is push me off balance.
‘Aargh!’ I shout, preparing to get intimate with the wooden flooring, but fortunately Salman catches me before I land, his hands instinctively reaching for me.
‘I told you so,’ he says, holding me up by my armpits. I should feel embarrassed that he’s had to save me but instead all I can think about is how safe I feel in his grip, which is firm and gentle at the same time. ‘You need to be more careful.’
