Habibet Albi (Incomplete)

Chapter 13: Pillow Talk

"If you expect nothing from somebody you are never disappointed." ~ Sylvia Plath

PHOENIX HELPED LUBNA set up the silverware and plates at the table for dinner. She carried a large metal tray stacked with stuffed grape leaves which Malik referred to as "War'a Dawali". She rested it in the center of the table and noticed Malik trying to reach over and grab one. With a light smack to his wrist he retreated his hand and pouted, pushing his lower lip out.

"Wait till everyone is seated." She scolded with her hands glued to her hips.

Dinner began when Lubna's husband Mohammed sat at the head of the table. Everyone, except Phoenix, at the table murmered "In the name if Allah" in Arabic. If she would've known that was a custom she would've said it despite her conflicting views on religion in general. Her mother was a devoted Catholic but her beliefs didn't rub off on her daughter.

Phoenix couldn't wait to finally try Arabian cuisine for the first time. Her mouth salivated at the sight and all the unfamilar zesty spices filled her nose.

Malik piled food onto his plate and she did the same. She put everything on the table onto her plate. Glancing down at her plate she didn't know what to begin with. Coming to a decision she scooped up the rice with cauliflower and chicken mixed in it and tried not to moan in delight.

"How's the maqluba?" Malik inquired, worry sprinkled his tone.

"Ah-mazing."

His eyebrows shot up, "Really?" He said in astonishment.

She nodded, of course why wouldn't she like it? More importantly, why would he think she wouldn't?

For a mere moment some indiscernable emotion infused his eyes, "My ex Giselle didn't like it." He added in a nonchalant voice.

Even though his voice was relaxed and the muscles in his face were not tense in, the way his hand curled around that fork indicated otherwise. Whoever this Giselle bitch was she didn't like her. Not. One. Bit. Anyone that had the ability to make Malik this upset deserved her animosity. Wasn't Giselle the girl who cheated on him with his bestfriend?

"Well I love it. Forget about that..." she dropped her voice to a whisper so that the others at table couldn't hear it, "sharmota."

The tight corners of his mouth lifted and he left out a laugh, she loved the sound of it. And would do anything to hear it again.

"Who taught you that word?" He asked.

"Google." She answered with a grin before sliding the chicken breast impaled by the fork into her mouth.

"Only you would look up how to curse in Arabic." He shook his head.

"Malik, how did you meet this girl?" The loud, unmistskably male voice demanded more than questioned.

Malik's smiling face scrunched into a scowl. He turned to face his uncle by marriage out of respect. "At NYU." He brusquely said, evidently not wanting to continue the conversation.

Phoenix knew that was a lie but didn't want to intrude in case he had a story to share. But she hated lying more than she hated running. When people told little lies they usually spiralled into big ones. That's what her grandmother always said. You should never trust a man that lies.

Phoenix muttered "liar" under her breath.

Malik heard her and said in an annoyed tone, "No I'm not."

"What are you majoring in young lady?" Mohammed asked, his dark eyes bore into hers making her uncomfortable.

She felt Malik's hand land on her thigh and entwined her fingers into his.