The Chai Factor Page 7

  Nanima nodded. “I heard they all are, except for Sameer, of course. I don’t know how much I like renting to those people, but I promised Shirin before I met them. She says Sameer needs to be around Ismaili Muslims more. He needs better influences. I am glad you are down there with him. You’re such a good girl.”

  Nanima obviously hadn’t discovered her friend’s grandson was a poof just like the rest of them, but unless he was careful, she would find out. Amira’s gut tightened. She still didn’t think Sameer liked her very much—Duncan probably told him she was a spoiled brat, but she really felt for the guy. Having to hide his true self from his family and from his community had to be torturous. She wasn’t going to out him—no one deserved that—but she hoped one day he would be able to be honest with his family.

  But right now, she needed to change the subject away from the boys downstairs. “Where’s Mum going later?”

  “To a play with friends from the hospital. I’m glad she’s getting out. Farida works too hard. I want her to come with me to Shirin’s daughter’s anniversary party next weekend. There is a nice man I met at Jamatkhana who just moved here from Winnipeg.” Nanima leaned in and whispered, “Divorced, like her. He’ll be at the party. But your mum only wants to go out with work friends. You know your mother . . . I can’t tell her what to do.”

  Amira smiled to herself, remembering Zahra’s suspicion that Mum had a new relationship. Was that who was taking Mum to the theatre? If there was a relationship, it seemed Nanima hadn’t figured it out yet. “Mum is almost fifty. She doesn’t need her mother telling her what to do.”

  Nanima smiled. “Then what is a mother for? Can I pour you some chai, beta?”

  Amira was about to agree to the chai when the guys started a new rendition of the chorus of “Stand by Me.” This time louder. And clearer. The singer sang alone, with no accompaniment from the others. She had been right. It did sound better.

  But someone down there obviously didn’t agree. Voices raised in a heated debate before they even finished the chorus. How were these guys supposed to win a group competition if they couldn’t make it through a song without snapping at each other? She heard a door slam.

  Amira rubbed her face before shutting down her computer. “You know what, Nanima? I’m not going to get any work done here. Can I borrow your car to go to the library?”

  “Of course,” Nanima said.

  Amira needed to retreat and regroup. She had been home with these guys for less than twenty-four hours and she was already pulled into their drama.

  Chapter Eight

  RETURNING LATE FROM the library, Amira had dinner with Nanima and Zahra before heading downstairs. She could hear the guys’ voices and found the four of them crowded around the small television in the family room watching baseball.

  “Amira!” Travis grinned. “Come join us. These jocks are so engrossed in this game, I swear I could strip naked and sing ‘God Save the Queen’ on the coffee table and they wouldn’t notice. I can’t do sports . . . I wouldn’t know a baseball bat from a fruit bat.”

  Duncan, Sameer, and Barrington seemed to be taking the game seriously. None of them so much as glanced at Amira as she sat on the couch with Travis.

  “Did you get your work done?” he asked.

  She shrugged. “Some. I wish the library was closer, though. I borrowed my grandmother’s car today but I won’t be able to do that every day. Your rehearsal earlier sounded great.”

  He waved his hand dismissively. “We were terrible, but I guess it’s to be expected. It’ll take us awhile to really gel as a group. Rome wasn’t built in a day.” Travis’s last sentence was belted out in song, which elicited loud shushing from Sameer. Travis’s mouth upturned with mischief as he sang the next line of the Morcheeba song.

  Amira chuckled, fascinated to learn two things about Travis. One, although he had a lovely voice, his was not the best voice in the group she had identified earlier. And two, Travis appeared to annoy Sameer as much as Amira annoyed him. Duncan seemed to be the only one who didn’t irritate Sameer. They were definitely a couple. “Haven’t you all been singing together for a while?” she asked.

  “Technically, but not all in the same room. We just formed this group. We don’t even have a name yet. We registered for the competition with a place-holder name, but we can change it.”

  “What’s your temporary name?”

  “Sam I Am What I Am . . . Sameer’s choice, of course.” He glanced at his co–lead singer, eyes narrowed. “He doesn’t want to keep the name, though. Honestly, I’m not sure this whole experiment will work. Sameer’s been in a mood since he went to his grandmother’s last night. I’m half-expecting him to call it all off and send us packing . . .”

  “No one’s packing to go anywhere,” Duncan shot out, eyes not budging from the screen.

  Experiment? Definitely a story there . . . but Amira didn’t want to know it. Staying out of the boy-band drama in her family room was the best survival strategy she could think of to get through this. She smiled at Travis.

  “You know what? I’m going to make some chai and see if I can get some papers read before bed. Have a good night.”

  “Good night, Amira. Oh, and”—he glanced at Sameer and Duncan—“I’m sorry if we were disruptive earlier. Some of us need to learn not to swing our testicles around to see what they’ll hit, and some of us need to learn to ask for help when we need it.”

  She snorted. Travis was a funny guy. In other circumstances, he would be exactly the kind of person she would love as a friend, but not now. School work now. Not getting sucked in further with this band of merry men.

  After another hour of work in her room, Amira called Reena and filled her in on the boy drama in the basement.

  “For someone who wants to stay out of it, you’re certainly taking an interest in this singing group.”

  “How can I not? They are literally just outside my door.”

  “Who do you think that Travis guy meant was swinging his nuts around?”

  “Duncan, I’m assuming. An ‘asserting his masculinity’ thing.”

  “Humph. Men.” She paused. “I’m trying to picture them. All the guys are hot, right?”

  “Yeah, but they’re all gay!”

  “You don’t know that for sure, do you?”

  Heated male voices erupted in the family room, followed by heavy footsteps heading up and out the door. “They’re arguing again,” Amira said.

  “Maybe they’re a new and modern polyamorous family?” Reena suggested.

  “If so, I think Mum and Dad may be splitting up.”

  “Which ones do you think are Mum and Dad?”

  Amira laughed. “No clue . . .”

  “You know, Meer,” Reena said between giggles, “I’m going to have to come over for a visit. I want to meet these Boyz II Men wannabes.”

  An hour later, when the place was once again silent, Amira padded out to the kitchen to make a hot turmeric milk. She couldn’t sleep, and this old Indian home remedy always did the trick for her. As she put the cup in the microwave, she cringed at the sound of footsteps behind her. It was probably Duncan. She braced herself for another argument as she turned around. It was Sameer.

  “Can’t sleep,” he mumbled, not making eye contact. His hair was mussed and he wore plaid pyjama pants and a white T-shirt. Amira looked closely at the man for the first time. There was no denying that Sameer was good-looking, with fresh features and a youthful gaze. She also couldn’t miss the faint frown lines and the dark circles under his eyes.

  “You like haldi doodh? Turmeric milk? It always helps me sleep,” she offered.

  His face softened. “My mum used to make me that when I was little. Haven’t had it in years.”

  Amira smiled as she silently prepared a cup for him. Some milk, a half spoonful of turmeric, a pinch of ground cardamom, and a squirt of honey. As it warmed in the microwave, Duncan joined them and pulled a beer out of the fridge. He nodded to Sameer.

  �
�You okay, Sam?” he asked.

  Sameer ran his fingers through his hair. “Yeah . . . no. I don’t know. Was this a mistake?”

  “That’s for you to decide. You have the most at stake,” Duncan said.

  This little chat was getting serious. Amira smiled awkwardly and started to inch out of the room.

  “Amira, wait,” Sameer said. “Can . . . can we speak to you for a second? Just a few minutes.”

  The microwave chimed. Amira took the hot milk out and stirred it before handing it to Sameer. What could they possibly want to talk to her about?

  “We need to ask you a huge favour . . .” Duncan said. Amira’s brows shot up. How huge? He smirked. “Don’t worry, Princess. You’ll be fine. I’m your knight in shining armour, remember?”

  “Just give us a minute to explain,” Sameer added, his expression pleading.

  “Fine. Let’s go sit in the family room.”

  She settled into the old armchair, watching the two men carefully. Duncan was sprawled comfortably on the couch, legs out in front of him and crossed at the ankles. He leaned back and rested one hand behind his head. In contrast, Sameer perched tensely next to him.

  “So . . . what’s this favour?” Amira asked, clutching her mug to her chest.

  Duncan glanced at Sameer, obviously wanting him to start. Sameer took a deep breath.

  “Okay. Um, here’s the thing. When we agreed to stay here, we were told that even though we weren’t renting the whole basement, just the two bedrooms and shared use of the common areas, there wouldn’t be anyone else here. But you are here, and well . . . you are . . . you know . . . you, and you have the right to be here. This is your home, not ours. And we don’t really know you . . .”

  The kid was clearly upset. And he clearly had trouble making any semblance of sense when he was upset. Amira had hoped that the obvious tension in the basement would be enough to make his band of minstrels leave her house, but Sameer’s nervous posture and runaway mouth melted her resolve, just a tiny bit. She felt for the guy.

  “And we thought we’d have privacy down here,” he continued, staring directly at his own knees. “I didn’t want to stay here at first, I didn’t want to be living with, you know, friends of the family, but we couldn’t afford anything else, and I told your grandmother we needed our own space, and, you know, not be expected to socialize, go up for chai and samosas every day, but then—”

  “Sameer,” Duncan interrupted. “You’re rambling.”

  Sameer lifted his eyebrows as he looked at Amira. Poor kid. He looked like a lost puppy. She decided to throw him a bone.

  “Relax, Sameer. What is it you need from me?” she asked.

  He shifted in his seat. “I don’t know you, but I hope I can trust that you . . . can you keep anything you see down here to yourself?”

  Amira tensed. What kind of stuff were they expecting she would see? Was the barbershop quartet scene some sort of kinky, exhibitionist community? Had Travis been serious about singing “God Save the Queen” in the buff?

  “You can put your eyeballs back in your head, Princess. Sameer just doesn’t want you to tell anyone he’s gay,” Duncan said.

  Sameer looked at Duncan, relieved he said the word for him.

  “Is that all?” she asked. Of course she wouldn’t tell anyone, not if he didn’t want her to.

  He frowned. “My grandmother doesn’t know, and she keeps asking me why I don’t have a girlfriend. In Ottawa, it’s just me and my mom, and she’s been okay with it, but when I told her I was coming here, she made me promise not to let the Toronto family know. I just don’t want gossip to spread.”

  Amira cringed. “I’m sorry, Sameer, I think it already has. I heard gossip you were gay from a friend here.”

  “Fuck.” His shoulders crumpled in on themselves. He sat quietly for a few seconds before looking at Duncan. “Maybe we should go back . . . I hate feeling like everyone’s watching me.”

  Duncan’s nostrils flared. “We can’t go back, Sam. The only way to make this work is if we rehearse together. Running off to Ottawa means the end of our chances.”

  “But gossip is already spreading; my grandmother will find out . . .”

  Amira looked at Sameer carefully. Poor kid had one of the most expressive pair of eyes she had ever seen. He wore his heart on his sleeve, and something about him kicked her protective instinct into high gear. If they left Toronto, Amira could get the quiet place to work she wanted, but then these four boys would have to give up on their dream of winning the competition. As bizarre as it seemed to her, this barbershop quartet competition obviously meant a lot to Sameer, and to Duncan. Not that she cared two bits about what Duncan wanted, but she had started to develop a soft spot for her grandmother’s friend’s grandson in the last ten minutes. She had an urge to keep him safe. He could be the little brother she always wanted. In fact, if he weren’t gay, he would be a perfect . . .

  That’s it. Amira half-expected a light bulb to appear atop her head. There was a way to solve all his problems. But it would be a big sacrifice from her. Unless . . . unless she could barter with the barbershop quartet.

  “I have an idea,” she said with a smile. “I propose a truce. You guys keep quiet every morning for me to work. Say, till about noon. You wake up later than me, anyway. If I want to keep working after that, maybe one of you can take me to the library since I don’t have a car.”

  Sameer looked hurt. “You’ll only keep my secret if we stop rehearsing in the morning?”

  “No,” she reassured him. “I’ll keep your secret no matter what, honestly. But if you agree to my terms, I have a way to make sure no one gossips about you. At least not the kind of gossip you’re afraid of.”

  Duncan was obviously quicker on the draw than Sameer, as his face slowly transformed into a wide grin. “You’re good, Princess. I think that might work.”

  “What?” Sameer asked, looking back and forth between Amira and Duncan.

  Amira smiled. “No one will think you’re gay, because I am offering to be your beard.”

  “My beard?” Sameer asked, brows knitting together.

  Duncan grinned as he ran his fingers over the red strands on his face. “Yeah, and she’s not talking about my fine specimen here. Princess Jasmine is willing to be your fake girlfriend while we’re in town.”

  She shot a sneer at Duncan. “Don’t call me that.”

  Sameer looked at Amira with wonder. “You’d do that? I don’t know . . .”

  “I think it’s a great idea,” Duncan said. “If your family thinks you’re dating the hot Indian chick in the basement, the rumour mill will change course and your grandmother will stop nagging you to settle down. Then we can stay here, focus on the quartet, and win the competition. You two can break up when we go back home.”

  Duncan thought she was hot?

  Sameer didn’t look convinced. “So, we’d go on dates?”

  Amira wrinkled her brow. She hadn’t really thought this idea through. Actual dates could get awkward—and she really didn’t have time for dating right now.

  “We probably wouldn’t have to,” she said, thinking aloud. “It would work if all of us just hung out together, but we’d let people think Sameer and I are together, instead of you two.”

  Duncan nearly spat beer out his mouth. “I’m not with Sameer!”

  “What? You two aren’t a couple?” Had she read this wrong?

  Duncan exploded in laughter, his loud cackle filling the room. “No. I’m as straight as a fly rod, Princess.”

  A what?

  Sameer also laughed, his face brightening as his frown lines finally eased. “Duncan and I only met in person the other day. We’re not dating! We met on a barbershop quartet forum.”

  There were barbershop quartet forums? “But . . . you’re sharing a room, aren’t you?”

  “No,” Sameer said, still laughing. “Travis and I are sharing a room. We’ve been together for a year and a half. Barrington and Duncan are sharing the other
room.”

  “I’m sleeping on the floor,” Duncan added. “On an air mattress. Barry is engaged to a woman in Waterloo.”

  “I’m confused,” Amira said.

  Duncan blinked away his tears of amusement. “I don’t know why you never asked us, but here are our details. Sameer and Travis are from Ottawa and are, quite honestly, made for each other. Barrington hails from Waterloo, where he left behind the beautiful Marcia, who has him whipped stiffer than a cheese soufflé. I’m from Omemee, a small town about forty-five minutes north of Port Hope, where you and I met. Barry and I have known each other for a while through music, but we only met Sameer and Travis in person once we got here. We’ve all been really close online for about six months.”

  “It doesn’t matter who sleeps with who, anyway,” Sameer said. He paused, a small smile still on his face. This was the first time she saw a real smile on him, and she was struck at how much it transformed him. After a few seconds, he nodded. “I’ll have to discuss it with Travis, but you know what? I think this might work.”

  Duncan smiled widely as he patted Sameer on the back. “Congratulations, buddy. Like me, you now have a beard.”

  Chapter Nine

  “SO, THE LUMBERJACK is not gay, then,” Reena asked.

  “So he says. Half the quartet plays for one team, the other half for another.” Amira swirled her spoon through her bowl of fragrant Thai curry soup, letting the spicy aroma of chili and lemon grass soothe her stress away. It was Friday—a few days after she had made the deal with Sameer and Duncan, exchanging silent mornings for her services as a fake girlfriend. And even though her “relationship” with Sameer hadn’t seemed to have taken off yet, the boys kept up their end of the bargain faithfully, staying out of sight and sound before noon each day. She assumed they stayed in their rooms, but she didn’t hear them at all. She got a solid five hours of work done each day before they started singing, and her stress was reduced from full-on tactical assault to mere irritation. To reward herself, she had taken the subway downtown for some afternoon window shopping and a Thai dinner with Reena.