When they returned, just as they’d been forewarned, ’‘ishah called them into the kitchen to help her with the meal, setting Waleed to work on making the salad, assigning Jâsim the task of washing and taking apart the chicken, and then set to work on the rice. As expected, Waleed grumbled and muttered under his breath until their mother sent him a warning look that immediately silenced the sounds. Jâsim somehow managed not to laugh. 

A little over an hour later, a large meal of rice, chicken, and salad was ready, and Waleed and Jâsim were dismissed from the kitchen after helping clean up to shower and change before the rest of the family arrived. 

“That was torture,” Waleed mumbled as they walked through the hallway together in the direction of their separate bedrooms. 

“Everything that isn’t a game is torture to you,” Jâsim replied. “Try living in the real world once in a while and enjoying the moment. It wasn’t as bad as you make it seem. Cooking can be fun if you have the right attitude.”

Waleed smirked. “You’ll make a great house husband.”

Jâsim didn’t rise to the bait. He knew Waleed was trying to be aggravating. He usually succeeded with Sumayyah, but Jâsim wasn’t so easily annoyed. “I know,” he said with a grin. “My wife will just absolutely adore me. She won’t be able to cope without me.”

Waleed rolled his eyes before disappearing into his bedroom. 

Jâsim grinned and entered his own to find a change of clothes before heading to the shower. As was the usual, Waleed took his time in getting ready, so Jâsim reached the bathroom before his brother. Ten minutes later, he was showered and dressed. When he left, carrying his dirty clothes, toward the laundry room, he peered into his brother’s room and found him sitting on the bed playing on a video game device. 

“I’m done,” he announced. “Better hurry.”

Waleed glanced up. “Okay.”

Jâsim left, dropped the clothes in the laundry room, which was in the basement, and then joined his parents in the den, where they were quietly talking as they waited for Badr, Fâtimah, and Sumayyah to arrive with the children. Instead of joining his parents’ conversation, Jâsim plucked a book off the bookshelf and sat down on the loveseat to read. 

He’d barely passed the first page when the doorbell rang. Waleed wasn’t even out of the shower yet, assuming he’d put down his video game and gone to take one in the first place. It wouldn’t be the first time the fifteen-year-old lost himself so thoroughly in a game he forgot everything else. 

When Zakarîyâ answered the door, the three adults entered the house, giving their salâm, followed by the gang of excited children, who were eager to head to the playroom Jâsim’s parents had set up for their grandchildren in the house. Said playroom had once been Badr’s bedroom, but he and Fâtimah had married before high school graduation and had taken an apartment soon after. Within seconds, the entrance hall had emptied as the children rushed to the playroom and only the adults remained. 

The group, except for Waleed who had yet to appear, settled in the den. With his assistance, ’‘ishah brought out trays of hibiscus tea, coconut-covered date balls, and chocolate chip cookies, setting them on the coffee table. Badr, who had a sweet tooth more than anyone else in the family, was the first to reach for a cookie. 

“How’s work going for you?” Badr asked Jâsim as he crunched on his cookie. 

“It’s tiring,” Jâsim admitted. “But fulfilling, too.”

Badr nodded. “It will be.” He was the closest to Jâsim in his field of work as a psychologist, though he didn’t work the long hours Jâsim was. 

Jâsim nodded. 

Conversation turned to other topics—Sumayyah’s studies, the children, and an upcoming wedding of a distant cousin who Jâsim had never met in Sudan where he’d never been. The conversation paused when Waleed entered the room, clothes changed, beads of water on his dark skin and kinky hair, and carrying the video game device Jâsim had seen him playing on earlier. As soon as he’d greeted the family members, he dropped into the vacant space beside Jâsim and turned on the video game device. 

“Children are in the playroom,” Jâsim said pointedly with a smirk. 

Waleed raised his eyebrow. “Then why are you in here? Don’t you think you should join the other kids?”

Jâsim grinned. “Touché.”

Waleed looked back down at his video game and started pressing buttons, the beeping sound of the game filling the room, until their father spoke. “Waleed put that away. If you want to play games while the visitors are here, you can join the children.”

Jâsim snickered. 

Waleed flashed him a glare. Then he switched off the device and set it aside. 

“How’s school, Waleed?” Badr asked him. 

The almost sixteen-year-old shrugged dismissively. “Fine.” That was his general attitude toward school—dismissive and careless. If their mother didn’t push for him to study and ensure he received any additional tutoring he needed to, he probably would have been failing out of school and couldn’t have cared less. 

Badr crossed his arms over his broad chest. “Define fine.”

Waleed smirked. “I haven’t failed anything yet.”

Badr smiled and shook his head. “You’re a menace.”

Waleed grinned. “Live with it.”

’‘ishah cleared her throat—loudly. She did that whenever she thought Waleed was becoming too free with his words and tone. Considering that there was about twenty years between him and Badr, she had clear rules of how Waleed should speak to their eldest brother. Being too much of a smart aleck was definitely not acceptable. Not that Waleed paid much attention. 

Waleed glanced at her, and she gave him a warning stare. He smiled. She sighed and shook her head. 

After the cups of tea were drained and the cookies and date balls were finished—mostly because of Badr—’‘ishah announced it was time for the meal. Though Fâtimah and Sumayyah had been invited as guests, they followed her into the kitchen to help her serve the meal, ignoring her protests. Several minutes later, after the meal had been divided into two parts—one for the women and children and the other for the men—the group separated. The men opted to eat outdoors on a picnic blanket in the front yard, while the women and children would be eating inside the house in the dining room. 

“Who’s up for a game?” Waleed asked as he picked up a handful of rice and chicken and popped it into his mouth. He nodded toward the basketball hoop Zakarîyâ had installed above the garage many years before when Badr had joined a basketball team in middle school. 

“Now that’s what I call a healthy game,” Jâsim quipped after swallowing the food in his mouth. “You should do more of that instead of being stuck to a screen so often.”

Waleed stuck out his tongue. 

“Mature,” Jâsim remarked. 

“You’re one to talk,” Waleed returned.

“Don’t you two ever get tired of picking on each other?” Badr interrupted, picking up his glass of water and taking a sip. “It looks exhausting.”

Waleed and Jâsim exchanged a glance and then looked back at Badr. “No.”

Badr sighed. “Figures.”

“At least you don’t have to live with them,” Zakarîyâ remarked. He scattered salad on his part of the platter of rice and chicken they were sharing. “They’re always poking at each other. You can have peace from it when you go home.”

“Oh, you want peace, Bâbâ?” Waleed asked a mischievous grin spreading across his face. “I can tell you how to get some.”

Zakarîyâ raised an eyebrow. “How?”

Waleed beamed. “Find Jâsim a wife. He’ll be a great house husband. He thinks cooking is fun. We can’t deprive girls of such a specimen. They’ll be lining up at the door if we advertise that he’ll cook.”

Jâsim didn’t throttle his brother, even if he was tempted. He didn’t even respond. He took a sip of water calmly and continued eating as if Waleed hadn’t spoken at all. 

“Husband who cooks seeking wife who eats,” Badr cracked with a laugh. “What age range are you looking for, Jâsim?”

Even his father chuckled. 

Jâsim rolled his eyes. “None. I’m not getting married now.”

“He wants to stay home and torment me,” Waleed said. “He doesn’t want a wife to torment him instead.”

“You should get married, Jâsim,” Badr said, this time sounding serious. “You already have a place, don’t you, and you have a job. There’s nothing like having someone to come home to after a hard day at work.”

Zakarîyâ nodded his agreement. “And someone to spend your time with.”

“It will protect you from zinâ,” Badr reminded him. “Fâtimah and I married very early and we don’t regret it.”

This is getting out of hand, Jâsim thought. He wasn’t adverse to getting married, but now wasn’t the time—not while his apartment had been loaned to someone. He hoped his family’s sudden interest in his marital status was temporary and short. 

“I’ll think about it,” he murmured vaguely, hoping for the subject to be dropped and eventually forgotten. 

“Your mother and I will see about which families have girls of marriageable age who might be suitable,” Zakarîyâ said. “I’m sure we can find someone who would suit you well.”

Jâsim barely restrained the urge to gulp. “Let me think about it first, Bâbâ. Don’t start anything now.”

Thankfully, his father nodded. “Alright. But you shouldn’t wait too long. If you do, most of the suitable girls in your age range will be married off and you’ll be left with girls who are too young and immature to consider.”

Jâsim nodded, and thankfully the subject was dropped. 

This is Waleed’s fault, he thought as he stared at his little brother’s smirk. He was obviously enjoying putting Jâsim on the spot. He would get him back—somehow.