Holding Hands

Chapter 6

Zero

My two younger sisters, Sarah and Shaheedah, were already in the kitchen tasked with whatever work mom had assigned them in order to get ready for the guests. My guest. Hakeem. The vacuum was running. Most likely my brother, 13 year old Joseph, was the one making sure the lines on the carpet were perfect. Mom was a bit over the top like that. It drove all of us crazy since everything had to be perfect all the time, including us and our friends. Show me your friends and I'll show you who you are. How many times a day did mom use that one?

"What can I do to help, Sister Ayana?" Laila asked my mom. She was standing by the kitchen stove with the lid of a pot in her hand.

"You're such a sweetie pie for offering to help, Laila." Mom beamed at Laila, smiling broadly. Then she looked at each of us, her own children sternly, poking her lips out. Were we not up to par? Laila took the opportunity to wink at me behind mom's back. She knew mom wouldn't put her to work with so many hands already in motion. Instead, she order her to sit down while me and my sisters actually did all the work.

Mom continued giving orders. "Laila, you just have a seat right here by the island. You can be my taste tester." She pointed to a stool by the cold granite slab and Laila hopped onto it. "Malika, grab the new maidah and spread it out in the dining room. Put out the matching glasses, teacups, and the little saucers. We need 10, but just put the whole dozen out."

"Yes, ma'am." I got to work. Every time I had to go into the kitchen to grab the items needed to set on the table cloth, I would glance in consternation at Laila smacking her lips on a fataya, those tiny meat filled dough pies she loved, or a grilled shrimp and veggie skewer. Since Laila was on her period, she was the only one not fasting on the holy day of Ashura, the 10th day of Muharram. When I left the kitchen for the third time, mom was handing Laila a small glass of my favorite freshly squeezed ginger lemonade and asking her if it was sweet enough. "Should I add more honey?" Mom asked. I suppressed an eye roll as Laila smacked her lips in delight. 

My little sisters, Sarah and Shaheedah didn't seem to mind the blatant eating right in front of their faces so close to the time of iftar. With only 30 or 40 minutes before the sun set, we would soon finally break fast. They seemed undisturbed as they sliced fruit for a decorative platter and stuffed medjool dates with chunks of cold cream cheese.

The sound of the vacuum cleaner abruptly ended and in the silence, the singsong of the front doorbell shook us all out of our peaceful countenance. I stopped in my tracks at the kitchen threshold. My body went rigid as my stomach dropped into my knees. Sarah and Shaheedah shared excited glances as Umi quickly removed her soiled apron and began to walk out of the kitchen. Laila, not to be bothered, finished the last shrimp on her skewer and drained her glass of lemonade.

"Mashallah, that was good." Laila belched, not realizing that the silence would make her flatulence sound much louder than it actually was. She put her fingers over her mouth. "Alhamdulillah!" She exhaled just as loudly and followed it up with a small "Excuse me." Too busy smacking her lips to catch the action. "What's going on? Wait, they're here?" Laila whispered loudly.