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“You know Eli. He refuses to use public restrooms,” I say as I remove my boots.

“Besides, the Leafs were getting destroyed. It’s not like we’re missing much,” Dad says, heaving a defeated sigh.

“It’s still early in the season.” Mom smiles, trying to give Dad a sliver of hope.

Even though it’s late, Mom invites Dad in for coffee. Just as they’re about to take their first sip at the kitchen table, Eli’s phone rings.

Mom answers. “Hello?” There’s silence for a moment as Mom’s face scrunches up. Dad glances at me and I shrug. “Let me see how he’s feeling.”

“What’s wrong?” I ask as she rises from the table.

“Shawarma Sitty is slammed with customers and Axel’s there alone. He wants to know if Eli can come in.”

“What about Peter?” I ask.

“He called in sick,” Mom replies, still holding the phone. She leaves the kitchen to check in with Eli. When she returns a moment later, she shakes her head. “I don’t think he’s coming out of that bathroom for a while.”

“I can go,” I say, standing.

“I’ll come too,” Mom says. “There should be an adult there.”

Mom brings the phone up to her ear and tells Axel we’re on our way.

Dad offers to stick around for Eli. Mom shows Dad where the chamomile tea is and asks him to make it for Eli once he’s out of the shower. “I bet he forgot to take his Lactaid today. And on cheat day? He should know better,” she says.

In the foyer, Mom places a hand on my arm as we’re getting our coats on. “Are you sure you want to go?”

“Yeah. Axel needs us.”

“I thought the two of you weren’t on speaking terms.”

“We’re not,” I say, looking away.

“Will this be a problem?”

“No.” I shake my head. “We’ll go in. Help. Then leave.”

“Okay,” she says, sizing me up as if she’s trying to determine how full of it I actually am. “We better get going then.”

Axel wasn’t kidding. There’s a line outside Shawarma Sitty that spills into the parking lot. Apparently, some guy’s house party down the block got busted and we’re the only food joint still open. Customers give me and Mom side-eye as we cut to the front of the line. Mom forges ahead, straight to the cash register, and I remain frozen, watching Axel try to keep this small operation afloat. He’s got his baseball cap on backward, keeping his curls away from his face, a grease-stained apron on, and a look of relief on his adorable face when he sees Mom.

And then it happens. His eyes lock on mine. I swallow, unsure of what to do. He gives me a casual nod and smile. I mirror his actions before heading behind the counter. I tie back my hair, wash my hands, and throw on an apron.

“How can I help?”

“Fill the next order,” he says, putting together a takeaway of chicken shawarma and salad.

For the next two hours, Mom takes orders and payments while Axel and I put together the meals. When I notice we’re almost out of meat, I make the announcement to the remaining customers and turn the sign on the door to “Closed.”

Luckily, we have just enough to serve the last customer a huge chicken shawarma sandwich with poutine. Our Arab ancestorswould be proud…or perplexed at this weird Arab Canadian fusion meal.

When the last customer walks out it’s close to midnight. Mom locks the door before leaning up against it and sighs. “That was a lot,” she says. “I better balance the registers. You two clean up.”

I glance at Axel quickly, then swallow. “What should I do?”

“Um.” He stalls, unable to look me in the eye either. For a while there, we were a smooth duo, pumping out meal after meal. We even exchanged multiple smiles, and Axel sang and moved along with the music once things were under control. But now that it’s just us and my mom, it’s back to Awkward City.

“I’ll clean out front. I’ll even do the bathrooms,” I say, like a martyr. Or someone who feels guilty. But I’m not sure why.