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Authors: Randa Abdel-Fattah
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other. Then he invites me to sit down at a table he’s reserved at the back of the café.
‘Have you hurt yourself?’ he asks once we’ve sat down.
‘Pardon?’
‘Just now, you were walking like you’d had a fall or something. Are you okay?’
I stare blankly at him. ‘Um ... yeah, twisted my ankle at the photocopier today.’
‘Apply some Deep Heat tonight. Works wonders.’
‘Ah, yes, sure.’ I’m mortified. ‘Good advice.’
‘Are you hungry?’ he asks as he rolls up the sleeves of his shirt. ‘It’s a scorcher today, isn’t it?’ He pours me a glass of water from the jug the waitress brought over to our table as soon as we sat down.
‘I know. I’ve been in the office all day, so I didn’t notice until I made my way here. Thank God for air conditioning.’
‘I’m with you on that,’ he says with a grin. ‘I was planning on wearing my suit jacket and tie. A friend told me I’d look more impressive. But when I left the house I just couldn’t do it. I mean, how much influence is a tie and jacket going to have? Not to mention that I would have arrived here hot and sweaty. Not exactly appealing, right?’
I give him a cheeky smile. ‘Sorry to have to tell you – the tie and jacket would have made a world of difference.’
‘Really?’ He sighs. ‘Is there any way I can redeem myself?’ He has a real sparkle in his eye.
‘I’ll think about it.’
We order some food and spend the next hour talking and flirting easily. There are no rules for first dates, but I’ve been on enough to know there’s a standard repertoire of safe topics: travel, personal interests, friends, taste in music, film and books, and a bit of current affairs (we’re Muslim, so the whole ‘no religion or politics at the dinner table’ is just not going to happen). Then the conversation turns to work and I ask him what he does.
‘I’ve been a builder for about two years,’ he says. ‘Before that I was an accountant.’
‘Ahh,’ I murmur knowingly.
He chuckles.
‘What’s so funny?’ I ask, although I’m smiling too.
‘I think accountancy, up there with law or auditing, is one of those professions you can leave and people don’t even bother to pretend to be surprised. They just give you a sympathetic look.’
I laugh. ‘You’re right. In fact, they don’t wait to hear why, they wait to hear why you didn’t do it sooner.’
‘See, you get it.’
‘Well, some people would argue building is like throwing money into a fire, so it would make sense to have a builder who actually understands that most people don’t have a blank chequebook when they’re building their house.’
Yasir feigns a look of horror. ‘You don’t trust builders?’ I shake my head. ‘Who would have thought? We enjoy such popularity.’
I let out an exaggerated laugh.
‘Burnt, huh?’ he says and I nod.
‘My parents renovated our kitchen and bathroom some years back.’ I shudder. ‘It’s still a painful topic in our family.’ He laughs. ‘Seriously. It was a disaster. The tiler laid the bathroom tiles on a slant. You go cross-eyed looking at them. And then he had the audacity to try to convince us that we needed to get our eyes checked.’
‘Ouch,’ he says, drawing in his breath. ‘Did you take it further?’
‘I wrote a bunch of letters and he came back and supposedly fixed it. But we’re still not very happy with it.’
‘You should have gone straight to the Department of Fair Trading.’
‘I know, I know,’ I say with a shrug. ‘But – this is going to sound silly – I felt sorry for him. He’d just split up with his wife and it was obvious he was distracted and going through a crisis. In the end I thought it just wasn’t worth the fight. Not in the larger scheme of things. There are worse things in life than a less-than-perfect tiling job in your bathroom.’
‘I would have fought it all the way,’ he says. ‘I can’t stand being taken advantage of.’
This is true for me too,
‘Have you hurt yourself?’ he asks once we’ve sat down.
‘Pardon?’
‘Just now, you were walking like you’d had a fall or something. Are you okay?’
I stare blankly at him. ‘Um ... yeah, twisted my ankle at the photocopier today.’
‘Apply some Deep Heat tonight. Works wonders.’
‘Ah, yes, sure.’ I’m mortified. ‘Good advice.’
‘Are you hungry?’ he asks as he rolls up the sleeves of his shirt. ‘It’s a scorcher today, isn’t it?’ He pours me a glass of water from the jug the waitress brought over to our table as soon as we sat down.
‘I know. I’ve been in the office all day, so I didn’t notice until I made my way here. Thank God for air conditioning.’
‘I’m with you on that,’ he says with a grin. ‘I was planning on wearing my suit jacket and tie. A friend told me I’d look more impressive. But when I left the house I just couldn’t do it. I mean, how much influence is a tie and jacket going to have? Not to mention that I would have arrived here hot and sweaty. Not exactly appealing, right?’
I give him a cheeky smile. ‘Sorry to have to tell you – the tie and jacket would have made a world of difference.’
‘Really?’ He sighs. ‘Is there any way I can redeem myself?’ He has a real sparkle in his eye.
‘I’ll think about it.’
We order some food and spend the next hour talking and flirting easily. There are no rules for first dates, but I’ve been on enough to know there’s a standard repertoire of safe topics: travel, personal interests, friends, taste in music, film and books, and a bit of current affairs (we’re Muslim, so the whole ‘no religion or politics at the dinner table’ is just not going to happen). Then the conversation turns to work and I ask him what he does.
‘I’ve been a builder for about two years,’ he says. ‘Before that I was an accountant.’
‘Ahh,’ I murmur knowingly.
He chuckles.
‘What’s so funny?’ I ask, although I’m smiling too.
‘I think accountancy, up there with law or auditing, is one of those professions you can leave and people don’t even bother to pretend to be surprised. They just give you a sympathetic look.’
I laugh. ‘You’re right. In fact, they don’t wait to hear why, they wait to hear why you didn’t do it sooner.’
‘See, you get it.’
‘Well, some people would argue building is like throwing money into a fire, so it would make sense to have a builder who actually understands that most people don’t have a blank chequebook when they’re building their house.’
Yasir feigns a look of horror. ‘You don’t trust builders?’ I shake my head. ‘Who would have thought? We enjoy such popularity.’
I let out an exaggerated laugh.
‘Burnt, huh?’ he says and I nod.
‘My parents renovated our kitchen and bathroom some years back.’ I shudder. ‘It’s still a painful topic in our family.’ He laughs. ‘Seriously. It was a disaster. The tiler laid the bathroom tiles on a slant. You go cross-eyed looking at them. And then he had the audacity to try to convince us that we needed to get our eyes checked.’
‘Ouch,’ he says, drawing in his breath. ‘Did you take it further?’
‘I wrote a bunch of letters and he came back and supposedly fixed it. But we’re still not very happy with it.’
‘You should have gone straight to the Department of Fair Trading.’
‘I know, I know,’ I say with a shrug. ‘But – this is going to sound silly – I felt sorry for him. He’d just split up with his wife and it was obvious he was distracted and going through a crisis. In the end I thought it just wasn’t worth the fight. Not in the larger scheme of things. There are worse things in life than a less-than-perfect tiling job in your bathroom.’
‘I would have fought it all the way,’ he says. ‘I can’t stand being taken advantage of.’
This is true for me too,
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