Ismail is familiar with that glance: Are they allowed to order chicken here? He shakes his head. Arshad is already forming words: “But Seema Aunty—!” Ismail tries to preempt Arshad but is too late. He sits back, letting Tahera deal with this misadventure. After all, this dinner is on her insistence. He’d given in with reluctance.

Seema looks up from her menu. “What?”

“You can’t eat chicken here,” Arshad says. “It’s not zabiha.”

“Your Seema Aunty can order what she wants,” Tahera says. “We won’t be sharing.”

“Oh, I can order tofu,” says Seema. “I don’t have to eat meat.”

Arshad is disappointed he can’t display his newly acquired knowledge, the relevant ayats from surahs Al-Ma’ida and Al-An’am regarding the rules of slaughter. Large questions foment in his mind. Why did his mother say Seema Aunty could eat nonpermitted meat? Won’t Allah punish Seema Aunty for this sin? And doesn’t his mother care what happens to her sister, as he cares for Amina?

25

When the children greet her with “Assalamu Alaikum, Seema Aunty,” Seema is taken aback by how easily the response, “Alaikum Assalam,” rolls off her tongue. She remembers using only the first half of the greeting as a child toward her elders, never the response. And here she is, responding to the children so naturally. She senses a collapse in time: for the moment, she’s both adult and child, both here in San Francisco and back in Chennai.

This sensation is heightened by seeing Tahera and her daughter side by side. Amina’s face is Tahera’s from years ago, while Tahera looks shockingly aged and drawn now.

Both mother and daughter are wearing hijabs, and Seema thinks: The girl is so young, give her a chance to decide for herself. Neither father nor brother is wearing a prayer cap, after all. Ismail is in a white kurta and a leather jacket, Arshad in a bright yellow T-shirt and black jeans. Ismail’s beard is trimmed.

Uncomfortable silences persist till the food arrives. The curries are spicy but delicious, and the fried rice is served in a hollowed-out pineapple, which draws cries of delight from the children. Arshad and Amina grow animated as they crunch happily on cashews and pineapple chunks that stud the rice. They compete with each other for their Seema Aunty’s attention, excitedly recounting the day’s adventures—the barking sea lions, the bungee trampoline, the carousel ride at Fisherman’s Wharf—interrupting each other, amplifying, disagreeing.

Arshad is wistful about the Ripley’s museum they were unable to visit. Amina wishes they’d gone to the aquarium. Their father had promised to take them the next day, but he now has a meeting in Santa Clara, and they have to accompany him, since their mother will be busy at the conference. How lucky Seema Aunty is to live in San Francisco! Does she live near the Wharf?