On an Impulse

"Sam is such a cute nickname for a woman," Jess grinned at Tiffany before Samaira could reply.

"You're obviously not from here, are you?" Sean followed up, taking a bite of his Cajun wrap.

"I've equally spent my time between here and Kent in the UK, where I'm from. It's southeast of London." She took a quick bite of her vegetarian chili, anticipating she'd be doing more of the talking despite everyone there being Ultan's friends.

"There were protests outside an embassy there the other day, weren't there?" Doug asked. "It even made the news here."

"Yeah, I saw that," Ultan chimed in, to Samaira's relief. "The Indian embassy in London was vandalised and the UK government said there was nothing they could do about it."

"When they didn't post enough security there in the first place," Samaira added.

"Right," Ultan agreed. "So then in New Delhi, they removed all the security from the UK embassy and told England to pay for it themselves. Talk about a ballsy power move." There was a beat of silence before Doug spoke up.

"I don't know if I'd call it ballsy," he said pensively. "It comes off as kind of immature to me." Samaira looked over to Ultan, as if she needed context.

"Doug teaches political science at U Guelph," he told her.

"Really," Samaira said. "Would you see the situation as any different if the American embassy in London were threatened?"

"What do you mean?" Doug looked at her blankly.

"Meaning, the method and level of retaliation. Would it come off as 'kind of immature' if Washington did it rather than New Delhi? Or would they be calling it a 'bold decision' on the news?" The slightest wince crossed Doug's face as he took his time chewing his burger before he responded to Samaira's question.

"You're comparing apples and oranges there," he finally said.

"Alright," Samaira pivoted, "do you find it interesting, at least, that last month when someone drove a truck through a crowd in France, it got a lot more coverage than the US air strikes in Somalia and Iran?"

"You're definitely comparing apples and oranges there," Tiffany said. "One of them was during an outdoor concert and the other was in a warzone."

"Everyone killed or injured in both attacks was a civilian," Samaira pointed out. "And the places bombed in Iran and Somalia were marketplaces. Five times as many people were killed there, most of them families. If Guelph was air-raided by foreign powers as much as those places, it'd be thought of as a warzone as well, don't you think?"

In all of this, Samaira was flummoxed as to why Ultan was so silent. Every one of his friends was peppering her with arguments about world politics and he was more engrossed in his onion rings?

What if he agrees with them? The insecurities she thought she'd suppressed were flaring up, and she couldn't stop them. Is he as one-dimensional as his friends are? she wondered, suddenly aware of a slight gap forming between them.

"Regardless, I think we can all agree Iran shouldn't be testing nuclear weapons," Jess offered. The table nodded in agreement.

"Why not?" Samaira shrugged, deciding to go for broke in the absence of her boyfriend's support. "I mean, I personally think no one should have nuclear weapons," she added. "But in world history, there's only one country that's dropped them on another country. Twice. After they surrendered in a war. And no one's asked that country to give up their nukes, so..."

"Are you kidding me?" Tiffany spat out.

"I merely think it's hypocritical for me to lecture you to never, ever go into a knife shop, while I'm holding a knife in each hand."

"You really don't like England or America, do you?" Sean asked.

"I don't think it's a question of liking them or not liking them," Samaira said. "I think it's more of a question of treating Black and brown countries with the exact same rules that we treat white ones. Especially white ones that are the root cause for those Black and brown countries' everlasting poverty."

It was bit of a quiet dinner after that final remark, but the odd part that Samaira noticed was, Ultan seemed to talk more. And not at all about what they had previously been discussing.

At least he's not upset at me for putting off his friends, she thought. She vowed to stay as quiet as possible for the rest of the meal, or minimally answer questions.

"This chicken tikka masala is amazing," Jess said once the conversation had gotten lighter. "Samaira, I read once that it's one of the most popular Indian dishes in England. Did your family used to make it back in India?"

"Uhhhh, no," Samaira tried, spooning her chili and hoping someone would change the topic yet again.

"Really? Your grandparents didn't have their own recipe for it in India?" Jess pressed.

"No, actually, they didn't," Samaira relented, "because chicken tikka masala isn't from India. It's thought to have been created in Glasgow in the 1970s." Jess's face shrank but Samaira didn't look up. "Also, I'm not Indian," she added. "I'm from Bangladesh."

She was successful in her quest to remain silent for the rest of the meal, and was relieved when Ultan suggested they split.

"I didn't want to make things awkward since it looked like they might stay for drinks," he told her when they were walking toward his car.

Yes, because that would have been the thing to make this dinner awkward, Samaira thought, feeling like she'd been subjected to an evening at the cool kids table in high school. These people all think exactly the same, and it's not from a world I'm comfortable in. She looked at her boyfriend, who was gazing up at the darkened sky as though he was seeing it for the first time.

And he didn't think anything was off. Maybe we're not as compatible as I thought.

"I can't believe we're only on season six of MASH," Ultan said as they were buckling their seatbelts. "Think we can get through a few more episodes tonight?"

"You know, maybe I'll just head home," Samaira suggested.

"I thought you had tomorrow off."

"I do, but I have a tonne of things I need to get done around the house."

"It's over an hour back to Ajax and it's kind of late, don't you thi—"

"Ultan, it's fine," Samaira said, more tersely than she would have liked. "I'll see you another time."

When they reached his place, she gave him a peck on the cheek and jumped out of his car, straight into hers. Ultan sat in his driver's seat long after she'd driven off, wondering if something wasn't quite right about what had just happened, or whether it was his imagination.

***********

"I really appreciate you bringing in those posters for next week, Ult," Felix said as he and Ultan sat at their desks, quite confident that none of their students would drop by for office hours yet again that Thursday. "Shows me to order this shit on time."

"Don't waste your budget," Ultan waved him off. "I have these things sitting at home and I don't even teach French contempor—"

"Knock, knock," said a familiar voice at the door. Ultan looked up and smiled, not registering the look of dread that crossed Felix's face.

"Doug! What brings you all the way to this building?" Ultan asked.

"I was downstairs at the kiosks anyway to get a snack," Doug said. "Just here to ask you guys if you wanted to join a few of us tomorrow night. We're watching the game at a pub."

"Yeah, sure," Ultan replied, prompting a raised eyebrow from Felix, who knew his friend to avoid more than one get-together per fortnight. "Let me just text Samaira and ask her if she's free."

"Actually," Doug interrupted just as Ultan pulled out his phone, "it's fine if she's busy or if it's just too long a drive for her."

"Oh, okay. So it's just the guys?"

"No, no, Jess and Tiffany are coming too." This was when Felix decided to go there.

"So hey," he casually started. "No one told me how things went Sunday evening. Samaira's fantastic, isn't she?" he turned to Doug.

"She's... certainly got some interesting viewpoints," Doug tactfully answered. "To be honest, she seemed like she was upset about something that night."

"Upset?" Ultan asked. "No, she was excited to meet you guys."

"What made you think she was 'upset,' Doug?" Felix crisply asked, knowing exactly where this line of questioning would lead.

"It's not important," Doug quickly responded, turning to leave.

"No, no, this is something I have to know now," Felix prodded. He had never liked Doug and maybe this would finally be the day Ultan would see why. "You said she was 'upset' and that it would be okay if Ult showed up alone tomorrow evening. Jo and I love Samaira so I'm curious where we differ here."

Felix was sure Doug was pissed at him, but he was glad. Anything to get this asshole to say the quiet part out loud instead of hiding behind code for once.

"Doesn't she seem... argumentative to you, Ultan?" Doug broached. "I mean, suddenly, she was talking about how really undiplomatic behaviour from India was fine, and then she just had to bring race into it." Felix's eyebrows shot up, as he'd heard this familiar subtext before among his own family members.

"And then she was rude to Jess," Doug went on. "She just came off as kind of bitter, don't you think? Maybe way too radical for you?"

"Right, like a radical Muslim, perhaps?" Felix nodded his head, hoping Doug would hear the mockery seeping through.

"Whoa, you're putting words in my mouth," Doug protested. "I don't see colour." Felix snorted, then surreptitiously covered his mouth.

For what it was worth, he was relieved that Ultan was staring at Doug as though he'd grown another head. He was satisfied with the embers he'd sparked and simply leaned back to let this play out.

"Hold on," Ultan finally replied. "You were the one who brought up the protests in London, and she told you what she really thought of them. Same with the thing about Iran testing nukes. Didn't the things she said seem fair to you? Maybe not something you'd agree with, but at least fair?"

Doug opened his mouth to refute his friend but Ultan put his hands up, then stood up. His voice was still calm, but much firmer than when Doug first entered the office.

"Regarding Jess and the thing about chicken tikka masala, Samaira didn't say anything at first. She told the truth about where the dish came from when Jess asked her again. What is it you were looking for, Doug? For Samaira to give some generic answer so as to not expose your wife's ignorance?"

"Okay, just wait a minute—"

"I looked it up. It's an Indian-inspired dish, but it was created by an immigrant cook while he was working in the UK. Jess could have graciously said whoops and moved on, but now you're here inviting all of us to hang out—except my girlfriend? Was Jess also offended that Samaira called her out for assuming she was Indian?"

Ultan's voice was now a bit more tight and a lot louder, which he didn't realise until one of the office staff walked past their door with a concerned glance inside. Felix, balancing his chin on his hand in a thoughtful pose, simply shrugged when Doug looked down at him, relishing this moment.

"You know what, I'm going to go," Doug quietly responded.

"Be sure to tell everyone tomorrow night that Jo, Ult, and I were also 'upset,' yeah?" Felix called out to Doug's receding figure. He got up to watch Doug walk all the way down the hall and turn the corner, then shut the door.

"Okay, man, spill," he ordered a stunned Ultan. "Tell me word-for-word everything that was said Sunday night." When he was done, Felix looked chagrined as he fingered his blond curls. He put both hands on his face.

"And you didn't see anything wrong with that conversation while it was happening?" he asked, his voice muffled by his palms. "'Cause I just listened to a fucking trainwreck."

"No one raised their voices and everyone was civil so I figured it was fine," Ultan replied, perplexed as how he'd misread the situation so badly.

"Civil or frosty? Did you ever follow up with Samaira to ask her what she really thought of that group—that entirely white group, might I add—or did you just assume everything was hunky-dory?" Felix let his friend sit with the questions.

"Shit."

"Shit is right. I'm glad you're waking up a bit about what Doug and the other three are about, Ult," Felix said. "I only tolerated them because Jo went to school with the women, but when shit gets real and they have to pick a side about things that dictate their values... well, you saw how they got butthurt when a brown woman pointed out the holes in their arguments."

Ultan simply gaped at Felix as though he was addressing him in a foreign language.

"You don't know what micro-aggressions are, do you? Did Tiffany really imply that Middle Eastern countries are wastelands while a place like France is 'civilised' and therefore people getting killed there matter more?"

"Yeah... I... I guess she did," Ultan stammered, understanding Sunday evening differently. He took off his glasses and put his hands on his face.

"This is why I hate liberals more than I hate conservatives," Felix fumed. "At least with conservatives, you know where they stand. Liberals like your asshole friends will thump their chests like they're the good guys, all the while using 'radical' to describe a Muslim woman who they unilaterally nicknamed 'Sam.' And assumed was from India because that's where all brown people are from, apparently.

"You can bet your ass when I tell Jo about all this, she won't have any interest in seeing Becky and Karen anymore either." Ultan looked at him with a cocked eyebrow. "What?" Felix challenged. "They're the only ones who can assign names based on their convenience?"

"Dating Jo really... educated you, didn't it?" Ultan finally said. Felix took a moment to choose his words.

"It showed me what my family's values were. Not just what they said they were; what they really were. Don't you remember Sean told you at the wedding he was playing security guard for us to keep some people out? The people I wanted him to watch for were my dad and stepmom." Ultan almost recoiled in surprise.

"They weren't invited precisely because she kept alluding to Jo being 'aggressive' and 'angry' and all those other buzzwords closet racists like to use for Black women—for months. And I didn't tell you this but I almost lost Jo over it. Not because I defended my stepmom or anything, but because I just didn't notice." Ultan felt a shiver down the back of his neck.

"I confronted them, my dad stuck up for his wife, and that was that," Felix continued. "They went on social media and said Jo was tearing me away from them, and I refuted it with my own post that essentially exposed my stepmom and exploded our relationship. No regrets."

"Do you think Samaira...?" he trailed off, not knowing what question he'd been getting at. "She... she was supposed to spend Sunday night at my place but at the last minute she decided to drive back home even though it was late." Felix winced.

"In the last five days she's only responded to my texts with emojis and hasn't picked up my calls," Ultan went on. "I thought she was just busy with work or the band."

"Maybe. Jo told me most women of colour don't want to make a scene when things like this happen. They just quietly understand who's on their side and who's not, and then they distance themselves."

Oh, fuck, Ultan closed his eyes, consumed with the sudden urge to run out of his office, jump in his car, and drive to Ajax.

"I'm an idiot," he said out loud, his eyes still closed.

"No, you're not," Felix comforted him. "You're a well-meaning white guy, like me, who needs to get up to speed, pronto. You're also autistic and I get that you don't notice subtext the way others do, especially since this is the first situation of its kind you've ever encountered.

"But do you see why Jo and I were urging you to tell Samaira you're neurodivergent? You can't go on like this, Ult. You can't—and shouldn't—keep hiding yourself."

"I have to go," Ultan suddenly announced on an impulse, the need to leap into his car now eating at him like an itch.

"You have to lecture in an hour from now," Felix reined in his friend. "No matter how much you want to, don't cancel class. I know that's your instinct. I know you feel like you need to undo this instantly, but Samaira isn't going to dump you in the next two hours if she hasn't dumped you in the last five days." The logic of that sentence slowed Ultan down, if only a smidge.

"Do the lecture, immerse yourself in whatever bullshit you're spouting today—" Felix was heartened to see a quick smile flash across his friend's face, "—and you'll actually be calm enough to drive."

Ultan almost thought he'd deliver a terrible class, but he relied on his tendency to talk animatedly about very niche interests—in this case, the use of shadow and light in black-and-white photography. The propensity to yammer on about things without noticing others were getting bored was something he'd had to curb around friends and acquaintances all his life.

Except with Samaira.

Only in afterthought did it strike him that she probably didn't understand half of what he was saying whenever they strolled through the woodlot together, but she cared because it was something that he cared about. And she was so kind that she never once tried to change the subject.

He pictured Samaira sitting in the middle of the lecture hall, her black and violet waves around her shoulders, her hazel eyes that looked like galaxies staring up at him. Only when he spotted the odd students getting restless and gathering their bags did he take a look at the clock, which had supernaturally sped up and pointed to the end of the hour.

"See you all Tuesday," he flatly said on autopilot, still confused as to how he'd sailed through his material. Samaira in the audience was gone. Time for the real thing, he thought on the way to his car, wondering if the real thing would want him anymore, especially when he couldn't show her an ounce of the consideration she'd shown him.

***********

Samaira pounded on the large toms as though on autopilot, thankful she'd chosen an instrument all those years ago that allowed her to relieve some aggression. She hoped she wasn't drowning out Liem's vocals but that was the sound engineer's problem, not hers.

"Everything okay, Iqbal?" Liem approached her immediately after wrapping up the show. "You went a bit harder than usual."

"Everything's fine," she shrugged, fully aware how unconvincing she sounded. She shoved her sticks into her back pocket and reached over to unscrew one of her cymbals.

"Just so we're clear, I know everything's not fine," Liem told her. "But I'm not going to pry unless you want to talk. What I am going to do is help you tear down the set." Samaira finally smiled, grateful for the silence and the help. She was dislodging her bass pedal, her hair in a mop over her face when she heard Liem clear his throat a minute later.

"You know, on second thought, maybe I'll take off," he said.

"Bollocks, Liem," she muttered, still facing downward. "It would have been better had you not volunteered at all instead of—" she flipped her hair over, only to stare at a pair of familiar legs.

"I only offered because I thought your usual roadie wouldn't show," Liem winked at Ultan and left to find his guitar case.

"Hi," she said before going back to the bass pedal. "You didn't have to come all this way on a weeknight."

"I wanted to," he said, loosening the snare drum from its stand. He'd become an expert at not only taking down the set, but also assembling it at the beginning of some shows. Always in the same order, right down to every wingnut. "Are we okay?" he asked.

"We're fine," Samaira told him. And she meant it. It was too late; she was already too deep in love with him. We don't have agree on everything, she told herself. Maybe I'm making too much of how important it is to have the same val—