Did my therapist also recommend I sing it like Dory? No. It happened once and now I can’t do it any other way.
“Alia, are you okay?”
My sweet cousin blinks at me, brows furrowed in concern.
“Just breathing. I’m good.”
I distract her by asking about her work instead and, for the rest of our journey home, Irsia regales me with the drama from the last party she photographed. I’m chortling at her ridiculous imitation of the two horrified women who’d shown up wearing the same couture dress as she unlocks the front door to our apartment.
I follow her down the foyer and into our kitchen, dumping the bags on the clean island counter. From where I stand, I have a good view of the open layout of this place I call home. A few steps away from the kitchen is a comfortably sized living room with a TV mounted on the wall. The hallway past that leads to two bedrooms with an ensuite each—a massive luxury in this city. As much as I love it, I only wish the circumstances for our living together had been different for Irsia.
She flicks open a carton of cherry tomatoes, popping one in her mouth.
“Wash them first!” I scold, making her grin. She passes me the box and I run it under cold water, tapping it on the side of the sink before dumping the tomatoes onto a chopping board.
“Salmon tonight?”
I nod, knocking my knife on the board. “I’ll get the salad going. Marinade is in the fridge.”
“I love that you’re my roommate, and it’sdefinitelynot because you’re always experimenting in the kitchen.“ Irsia grins, happily waving the jar of sauce I’d made for us. She gets busy slathering it onto the fish.
“Do you think you’re ready to date?” I ask eventually.
“Are you trying to gauge your readiness by mine, Aloo?”
“I don’t know. Maybe. I feel like I want to take the next step, but I also don’t.”
Irsia hums in implicit understanding. If anyone comes close, it’s probably her. She seems content and anyone watching would think she was okay. I know otherwise. I’ve seen the faraway look in her eyes when she’s surrounded by family, because she’s missing the one person who’s no longer there. I’ve heard her quiet sobs in the middle of the night, after she thinks I’ve gone to sleep. I’ve crawled into bed beside her when the pain of loss rendered her immobile.
We are both heartbroken. She’s grown quiet and I’ve become afraid. Afraid to make mistakes, afraid of becoming too reliant on my family and achieving nothing of worth in my life.
Irsia sprays the baking tray with oil, plopping the marinated salmon on it before addressing me again. “Dating can be fun with the right person. It’s hard to step into, but you’ve got to start. You’re only twenty-six.”
“So are you.”
Her smile doesn’t reach her eyes when she turns to look at me.
“I have memories of Samar.Goodmemories. I’m not dating because it’s unlikely I’ll find love again.”
“Is that what you want?” I ask, tossing the makings of my salad into a large bowl so I have something to occupy my hands.
“No.”
I place the bowl on the counter, unsettled by her answer. “Aren’t you lonely, Ish?”
“I am,” she admits, wrenching our fridge open to pull out two ginger beers. She shoves the door close with her shoulder and leans her back against the stainless steel, sighing. “Some days are worse than others. But our situation is not the same.”
“We’re both alone.”
“My loneliness is because I lost someone I loved. And I know I was loved deeply in return. Namik never loved anyone but himself. Youdeserve the experience of a good relationship. Don’t give up before you even start.”
I can’t deny it. Looking around, I know I’ve missed out on a lot of life people my age take for granted.
“Give yourself a chance, Aloo. This time, you get to pick. Find yourself a gentleman,” Irsia suggests, swinging a ginger beer toward me.
I lunge to catch it, using muscles that haven’t been engaged in a long time. In the few seconds it takes for the bottle to settle into my hands, I relive the feeling I used to have on the pitch: my palms on fire after I’d captured a particularly tough ball, holding it securely within my fist while the flush of victory overtook any pain from the force of contact.
My arms tingle with the ghost of those memories and I can’t help but consider this a good sign.