They were scheduled to come at eleven and he used the morning to bake some blueberry muffins, grate some potatoes for hash browns and shred some cheese for omelets.
The thought of the girl in the hijab coming to his house was no longer exciting, but he did want to make a good impression with his cuisine.
At ten to eleven, he switched on the coffeemaker and put the hash browns in the frying pan.
At eleven, Gran was answering the doorbell. Today she was wearing a red sweater, black slacks and some gold bangles. She looked like herself, but Boneh thought he detected a touch of lipstick. Gran rarely bothered with makeup. Maybe it was just coloured lip gloss.
“Ah, it is nice and cool in here,” Boneh heard Mr. Hafiz say as he came in. “It is already becoming a warm day outside.”
“It must be quite hot in Baghdad these days,” said Gran.
“Yes, indeed,” said Mr. Hafiz. “It can go as high as one hundred and twenty degrees in the summer.”
Poor Uncle Cawley, thought Boneh, cracking some eggs into a bowl.
He could hear light conversation going on in the living room although Leila didn’t seem to be contributing anything. Maybe she hadn’t even come.
But she had come, he found out, when the food was ready and they were all seated at the kitchen table. She hardly looked at him.
It was Gran who got her talking, asking her about her job at the pharmacy. Yes, she liked it very much. It was good to have a summer job. If she had been in Baghdad, she would not have had a summer job.
“It is best these days for the women there to stay home,” said Mr. Hafiz. “It was not always like that, though.”
There were a few moments of silence and Gran turned the discussion to some of the current events she had read in the morning paper.
Between Boneh and Gran, Uncle Cawley’s newspapers were getting read.
Mr. Hafiz had an opinion on every topic Gran brought up – genetically modified foods from the United States, rising hydro prices in Ontario and a possible war between Iran and Israel.