Page 27 of Nocere

"Nope."

She chuckled, her socks sliding on the floor as she gestured to the sofa. "Okay. Dinner should be here soon. I went with Tai. Sound okay?"

"Definitely." I sat down, leaning my purse on the floor by my feet.

Samirah returned with two glasses of white wine and handed me one before joining me on the sofa. "Sorry about all the boxes. Literally moved in the day I texted you."

"It's lovely here regardless," I said, and sipped my wine. "Thanks for this."

"Welcome. You look very pretty, Rose. If you don't mind me saying so."

"Thanks. You always look pretty. Without even trying." The words tumbled from my lips without much thought.

"It's my eyebrows. They're thick and dark. Makes me look like I put effort into how I look," she said, her face deadpan and it made me laugh.

"C'mon. You can't blame everything on your eyebrows."

A grin parted her lips when she chuckled. "It's the effort that counts."

"Hardly."

The doorbell rang and Samirah set her glass down to scuttle over to answer it. She returned a moment later with the takeout bags, and joined me in the living room.

"We're going totally casual and eating around the coffee table with paper products. I hope that doesn't make me appear gauche," she said, unpacking all the containers.

"Not at all. It's better than some fancy pressure-filled formal thing. Makes me nervous." I helped her set out the containers while she scurried off for the dishes and utensils, all in paper and plastic category.

In barely a heartbeat, we sat together and shared our first meal alone. Samirah spoke about what made her move out here, similarly to Ainsley's disclosure, and my ease in her presence increased. Our conversation seemed less date-like and more normal.

"Do you have family around here?" I asked her after she disclosed that living in Olympia and commuting made for a lonely existence.

"My mom lives in a local retirement community, but that's all. My dad died a few years ago," she said, then took a bite of pad thai. "She returned to her Middle Eastern roots after he died. An Irish-Romani dad and a Middle Eastern mom made for an interesting combination growing up."

Her disclosure brought a smirk to my lips. "That sounds unusual."

"It was. Mom came to Canada in her teens and married my dad as a way to defy her parents. It worked for them, for the most part. Though they were both ultra conservative and critical."

"Of you?"

She nodded, crunching on a noodle. "I was married to a man in my twenties. We divorced after I came out to him. It was amicable. He was a doctor, too."

"How old were you when you realized you were gay?"

"Twenty-eight. We were married for about three years."

"Wow." My brows lifted, and my interest in her story increased with all the disclosures. "That's a lot of conflicting experiences. Culturally, sexuality."

"Oh yeah." She laughed, her eyes twinkling with delight. "But eventually, I found my way."

"I'm glad. Where in the Middle East is your mom from?"

"Syria, though some of our family was in Iran. She came to Canada as a refugee in her teens and met my dad. He was an American citizen. They married in Canada then moved to Washington for his work. He worked at a multinational corporation so they moved him around a lot," she said, finishing off most of her plate by then. "My mom stayed at home with me all my life. Taught me about her culture and language, but always allowed me to explore both sides of my heritage. We even took a trip to Ireland one year. Not Syria though. It's still a war zone."

"She had to leave her family?"

"She was one of the few survivors in her family." She took out her phone and showed me a picture of her mom in traditional dress.

"She's just as beautiful as you, Samirah," I said while smiling at the two of them in the picture. "Was this your medical school graduation?" I asked, noting her cap and gown.

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