She nodded and started plating the appetizers onto a large platter. She’d actually entertained the idea of making appetizers herself this week—or at least with Asha’s help, since she didn’t want to risk destroying any more kitchen appliances. She even found time to duck into the library a few days ago to look at a Burmese cookbook. But after skimming the table of contents, she learned that spring rolls featured in the cuisine of Burma. Or technically, Myanmar, as it was now called. She’d actually gotten caught in a research tangent that night prompted by the cookbook and ended up reading a lot about the fragile politics of the region and the devastating plight of the Rohingya people there. After a quick donation to an aid agency working with refugees from the region, she placed an order at her local Indo-Chinese Hakka restaurant, which made the best spring rolls in Toronto. Asha wouldn’t have had the time, anyway.

She frowned at the overladen platter of samosas, pakoras, and spring rolls. “I ordered too much. I’ll send some to Rashida’s for your card party later. But go easy—you’re only allowed three, okay?”

Dad chuckled as he headed toward the hall mirror. “You’re so good…taking care of a troublesome old man.”

“Nonsense, Dad. You aren’t troublesome.” She looked into his eyes. He seemed okay. But mentioning Mom and the past, and then calling himself troublesome? Self-loathing wasn’t a good sign.

“Dad, when do you think you’ll hear—”

There was a knock on the door followed by Darcy tearing down the stairs and barking. Dad answered it while Kamila held Darcy’s harness so she didn’t bolt. It was Rohan, a huge aluminum foil tray in one hand and an overloaded tote bag in the other.

“Speaking of troublesome old men,” Kamila said, grinning, while she released Darcy. No way the dog would be going anywhere now that her favorite human was here. Darcy immediately jumped up onto Rohan’s legs.

He chuckled, placing the foil tray on the kitchen counter. “They had an interesting-looking coconut cake at the restaurant, too, so I got one.” He bent to scratch Darcy’s head. “Hey, girl.”

Kamila peeked at the foil tray. “This is huge! This looks like biryani for fifty, not twelve.”

He shrugged. “So you’ll have leftovers to eat later,” he said. “This way you won’t try to cook again. I have a busy week—not sure I can be here to put out any fires.”

“First of all, ha ha. Second of all, firefighters exist. In fact, a strapping fireman might be a welcome addition to my life. Remind me how I started that fire again?”