How I Met Mr Jinn ✔️

Chapter Eighteen

Change The Subject

        We weren't turkey fans- and by that, I meant that we rarely celebrated thanksgiving. And if we did- it'll be a simple homemade-medium-sized chicken my mom would try to have taste good, by adding a whole lot of peppers and spices I hardly knew the name of.

"And what's that one called?" I asked. She paused and turned to find where my finger was pointing. She studied it for a while before she said, "Those are the coriander spices your aunt got from her trip to Iraq last summer. Good spices, really."

"So why are you putting them in our Thanksgiving chicken?" I asked, raising my brow.

"Ruqaya," She began, "If you don't try new things you won't achieve anything in your life."

"Mom, that has nothing to do with the chicken," I replied.

"Just trust me, it'll taste good." She assured me. I wasn't sure whether I trusted her or not, but I can't quite recall the last time she ruined something. Dad didn't like spending unnecessary money, so my mother would always take it upon herself to cook something that won't end up in the trash. It'll be a waste of food. I mean, there are hundreds- even thousands of children out there who were unfortunate enough to have never had fine chicken.

We should be thankful. It is Thanksgiving after all.

"Alright," I sighed, walking out of the spice-filled kitchen. Just as she saw me on my way out, she told me to call Hassan to take out the trash, and I did.

*

       I was starting to get rather impatient, (especially with the tempting smell coming from the oven), so i decided it'll be best to solve a few problems on the porch until it was ready. I grabbed my papers, shawl, and coat, then headed to the front door. I walked past dad who was busy watching the news. He wasn't aware of my presence until I put my sneakers on. I was always a noisy dresser, usually humming tunes.

Must be dreadful news again. I thought.

"Where are you going? Dinners almost ready." He said, as he lowered the volume and gave me a suspicious look. I wouldn't blame him for that, he more then anyone else knew I wasn't a night person. So why would I go out just before sunset? And most importantly, why would I miss dinner? The only time we gathered in one room was dinner or at nine, watching that poorly directed yet addictive Arabic series. Ahmed would be out with his friends, dad would be at work, the kids go to school leaving only Zainub and mom home. That is until we all come home just before dinner time. Except for Ahmed, he sometimes slept in or came home early.

"The porch dad. The porch. As in five inches outside the house." I replied in annoyance. I wasn't used to him questioning me like that- unless a teacher would call him- so I didn't know how to reply. I just said what was the first thing that came. I was sprouting bad habits these days.

"I know what a porch is." He replied, annoyance knitted with his words, "I just don't want you to miss out on dinner, or the prayer."

"Well... Thanks, Dad," I tried to smile, but he played that game well. Too well, if I say so myself. That was why the arranged marriage between them actually worked. Dad wasn't one for temper (that was mom), so he always played the cold blizzard at times. When things got really rough between the two, he would be there to apologize, even if she was in the wrong. I guess I inherited that from her, depending on the other side to apologize. Even if it felt so wrong at times.

To my surprise, the girl I expected to be in her room watching Riverdale or Another Netflix series in her room with a giant bowl of popcorn, was outside, reading a book. And wow, it was odd.