A Father for Christmas by Rachelle Ayala

Author:Rachelle Ayala [Ayala, Rachelle]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Amiga Brook Press
Published: 2014-09-23T04:00:00+00:00

Tyler’s heart beat against his ribcage and sweat dampened his forehead. He and Kelly had met at her apartment, and he’d let her select the restaurant. This was it, his first date with her, and he couldn’t screw it up. He took a deep breath as they crossed the street.

The tattered black, red, and green Afghan flag flapped in the wind against the gray, evening sky over Little Kabul. The tiny restaurant was sandwiched between two larger buildings. Its pockmarked sandstone colored walls and rusty gate seemed out of place among the festive, modern décor of the surrounding eateries.

“Ever been here before?” Kelly pushed her way through the creaky gate into a small, vine-covered courtyard. A mural of snow-covered mountains overlooked the entrance.

“First time.” Tyler gripped Kelly’s hand and steeled himself. The piquant fragrance of Afghan food mixed with gunpowder, dust, and smoke in his mind. But he forced himself to relax.

If he wanted to return to Afghanistan to do humanitarian work, he needed to get over the negative associations and replace them with positive emotions. At least that was what his therapist said.

They stepped through an ornate studded door and were greeted by a young woman wearing jeans, her hair tied back in a ponytail. No burka, no hijab.

“Smells just like barbeque,” Kelly said after they were seated.

“Yep, nothing like roasted meat.” Except when it was mixed with the scent of blood and peppered with the screams of grown men.

Tyler took another cleansing breath. He had to get these morbid thoughts out of his mind. He’d seated himself where he had a clear view of the door from one side and the open kitchen with the large grill on the other.

“Would you like to order drinks?” the waitress asked.

“I’ll have the doogh,” Kelly replied. “You should try it too.”

“Yogurt and cucumbers?” He read the description on the menu.

“It’s addictive, I’m telling you,” Kelly said.

“Really good with kebobs,” the waitress added.

“Okay, I’m game.” He couldn’t believe throughout his time in Afghanistan, he’d never sampled the street food, never been to a residence, never explored. Of course there were those rules of engagement. They’d been forbidden to mingle with the civilians, especially the women. So they’d stuck to their regiments, eating at the chow tent.

“Their kebobs are the best.” Kelly pointed to the photos of reddish, charbroiled meat. “I usually get the lamb and chaplee. I’m a real meat eater.”

“I’m surprised. I thought everyone here is vegan or organic.”

“We have vegetarian entrees, too,” the waitress said. “Roasted eggplant or squash.”

“I’ll have what she’s having. How’s the chaplee?”

“Spicy,” the waitress said. “It’s sort like a hamburger, except it has green onions, garlic, cumin and coriander mixed in.”

“Sounds good.” Tyler handed the menu to the waitress.

“How are you feeling?” Kelly asked after the waitress departed.

“Fine. It’s just a restaurant.”

“Yeah, but it’s bringing back all sorts of memories, and I bet not all of them good.”

“Can’t blame an entire nation of people.” Tyler shrugged. “They really decorated this place well.”

One section had the traditional on-the-floor tables and cushions.

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