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“The first rule of Hummus Club is you don’t talk about Hummus Club,” Sami said seriously to the group of friends gathered in his apartment.
“Why do people always say that?” Enzo asked. “Why does the first rule have to be you don’t talk about the club?”
Sami, Bayley, Carmella, and Finn looked at each other, then at Cass, then back at Enzo.
Cass side-eyed him. “You’ve really never seen Fight Club?” he asked.
“What’s that?” Enzo said.
“It’s nothing, Cass made it up,” Bayley said quickly. “We can change the first rule.”
“How about the first rule of Hummus Club is that you have to make your own hummus,” Sami said, using a spatula to smooth over the top of the Tupperware container he hovered over. “Anyone can come, but you have to make your own to be a member. We’ll have a roll! I can be the secretary.”
“Shouldn’t you be the president?” Finn asked gently. “You started it.”
“Too much power,” Sami said. “Enzo should be president.”
“I’m not even a member yet,” he said.
“Eh, details,” Bayley shrugged.
It had started with Finn and Sami. The morning after their third date, they lay in Sami’s bed.
“I’m hungry,” Finn said. “Wanna go get some breakfast?” He rubbed at the beard burn on his face: small price to pay for the night he had.
“Umph,” Sami said, rolling over and burying his face in a pillow. “I don’t want to wear clothes.”
At that, Finn hopped out of bed, finding and pulling on his discarded boxer briefs from the floor as he padded out of the bedroom and back into the kitchen. He opened the fridge: mostly condiments, but there was one plastic container they hadn’t managed to break into the previous night. Sami had hurriedly put it all away while he was finishing getting dinner on the table. Finn opened the lid—yep, smelled like hummus. He looked around for a spoon, opening drawer after drawer and not finding any, before he opened a bag of pita on the table used a piece of one to dig in. It was good—just a tiny bit mealy, probably made of the canned chickpeas, but briny and moderately garlicky and good.
More importantly, good enough.
He grabbed the hummus, the bag of pita, and a half-eaten bag of Tostitos with a plastic chip clip on it and carried them all into the bedroom.
He plopped them down on the bed and crawled back in. “I brought breakfast,” he said to Sami.
“Mff?” Sami grunted, rolling back over and scooting back to sit up against the headboard. “Oh, what? I made that,” he said sleepily.
“Yep. You should let me bring the pita from my bakery,” Finn said seriously but with a mouth full of bread. “It’s better than this.”
“How have I lived here for a year and never found the good pita and you’re here two months and have all the connections?” Sami asked.
Finn chewed and swallowed. “You just have to talk to people, Sami,” he said. “Ask around.”
Sami blushed and reached for the chips. He took the clip off and shoved a fistful into his mouth, chewing loudly.
Finn frowned. “I’m sorry.”
“S’okay,” Sami said, spraying a few crumbs onto the bedsheet.
“The hummus is good,” Finn said. “The flavor is really nice.”
“Thanks.” Sami swallowed the chips. He grabbed a piece of pita out of the bag and tore it in half, scooping some hummus out of the square plastic tub. He ate it, feeling satisfied at his own handiwork. But also. “You can bring the pita next time.”
Next time was the next weekend. Finn brought pita and Sami made chicken schwarma.
“Sami, you cook for like twelve people at once, how am I going to eat all this?” Finn asked.
“This is how much food my mom always cooked growing up,” Sami said, shrugging.
“But just for two of us?”
“Well, we could invite more people over.”
Finn thought over the suggestion. “I like that idea, but you only own two chairs.”
Sami shrugged. “I’ve been meaning to make an Ikea trip.”
They didn’t make it to Ikea before or after dinner, eating schwarma and then falling into bed, again, better than before. Finn moved with confidence and precision while Sami’s combination of sweet affection and stamina made him more than a match for the Demon.
They sat in bed afterwards, holding each other and exploring. Sami traced a scar visible through the shaved hair on the back of Finn’s head. “What was that from?” he asked.
“Ladder match, in CMLL. Real nasty one.”
“Ladders are rough,” Sami replied solemnly. “Staple gun?”
“Staple gun.” Finn said, wincing, but Sami kissed the area gently. He moved lower to work at Finn’s neck.
“Got any pretty scars to show me?” Finn asked, rolling them over to pin Sami gently.
“Had my chin busted open a few times, but the beard hides that pretty good,” Sami said. Finn leaned in to kiss him firmly on the mouth, then pulled away, biting at Sami’s lip.
“We barely know each other,” Finn said. “What’s your favorite song?”
“How long do you have,” Sami shot back, rolling his eyes. “Jesus. Can you narrow it down?”
“...name a song.”
“Time Bomb. By Rancid.” Sami paused. “That’s a band I like.”
Finn shook his head, rolling the both of them to lie facing each other. “Yeah, you’ve mentioned them. Name a recent song.”
“Um. I’ve had Rose Mountain on repeat for a while, that’s a Screaming Females album.”
Finn made a buzzer sound. “I asked for a song.”
“Come on,” Sami groaned.
“Name a song off the album.”
“Wishing Well?”
“Good.” Finn smiled. “Name a song I’ve heard of.”
“Hello?” Sami had an incredulous look on his face.
“Is that a guess?”
“No, it’s a song. Why are we doing this?”
“Why not? I could ask you other things. What’s your Hogwarts house?”
Sami looked offended. “Gryffindor.”
“Favorite color?”
“Red.”
“Ice cream flavor.”
“Vanilla.”
“Really?”
“No, pistachio milk-bone. Yes, vanilla. I’m kind of a vanilla guy,” he shrugged.
“Not cardamom?” Finn teased.
“Okay maybe a little of that too. Why the twenty questions?”
“I like listening to you talk. And you’re cute when you’re confused. You scrunch up your forehead.” Finn kissed it. “Got any more of that hummus?”
“I’m all out. We could make some more.”
“We should go get dried chickpeas. I make pretty good hummus too, you know, Zayn.”
“Is that right, Bálor?”
“ ‘tis.”
They talked big but mostly passed out on top of each other. When they woke up they groped each other like teenagers, laughing and trying to push each other off the bed. Eventually they toppled over on top of a pile of laundry that was ambiguously dirty, that re-wearable stack of things that hasn’t gotten triaged into the wash yet. Eventually, they got dressed and went to the store and shopped ambitiously, even though sometimes ambition evaporated into the Florida heat like sweat wouldn’t.
The next weekend, Hummus Club was born. Finn talked a big game but he didn’t even know about putting baking soda in the water to get the chickpeas really, really soft. “Like buttery soft, habibi,” Sami said earnestly. Finn felt warmth blossom under his solar plexus.
Sami let Finn poke at the pot with a spoon so he could stand behind him, and being slightly taller, he leaned down to shelter him and wrap his arms around his waist.
“Sami, we’re never going to be ready for company,” Finn protested insincerely.
“It’s Bayley, Finn. She’s been over here before.”
“Before you had chairs?” Finn asked.
“There’s a couch. Whatever.” Sami shrugged.
There was a knock at the door.
“Shit, she’s early,” Sami swore.
“I thought we were ready!” Finn said. Then they heard the door open.
“Hello?” Bayley called. “It was unlocked so I just let myself in.”
They flew apart from each other at the stove, Sami jumping back and then pulling Bayley into a big hug, and Finn trying to stir the chickpeas with the nonchalance of someone who hasn’t been outed. It had suddenly occurred to each of the men that neither of them had explained to Bayley that they were dating now.
Bayley hugged Sami back. “Good to see you guys. What’s for dinner?”
“Kebabs! And we’re making hummus,” Sami said.
“But it’s not done yet,” Finn added.
“I can amuse myself,” Bayley said. She strolled to the living room and flopped down on the couch. “So, um, how long have you guys been dating, then?”
Sami slumped and Finn just laughed. “You figured out you were the third wheel right quick, then?” Finn said.
“Wow, no, just a lucky guess!” Bayley sat up straight, then leaned over, squinting at them. “Are you really? Oh my god, can I text Carmella?”
“Please don’t. She’ll find out soon enough.”
“I promise to keep your secret as long as you let me in your stable,” Bayley said.
“What stable?” Sami asked. Finn frowned like he thought he knew the answer.
“Hummus Club!” Bayley said. Then she made a “too sweet” gesture except she kissed her fingers as she did it. “We’re too salty!”
Finn and Sami looked at each other blankly.
“That’s not even a bad idea,” Finn said after a moment.
“We should get shirts,” Bayley said.
“We should eat the hummus first,” Sami said sagely.
Homosexuality is so rarely a surprise these days, even in the hypermasculine world of the WWE, and while Hummus Club played their cards close to their chests, support came from all around them, unbidden.
“I’m authorized to perform weddings in the state of Florida,” Carmella said to them over lunch. She, Sami, Finn, Bayley, Enzo, and Cass sat around their usual table.
“We’ve been on like six dates,” Sami said.
“Right, so it’s serious!” said Enzo. Finn laughed out loud at that.
“Still. It’s legal now! You have options.” Carmella gestured with her hands, nearly spilling a Gatorade on Bayley, who caught it in time.
“I can get you two a great deal on rings,” Cass said seriously. “I know people. We can hook you up. Ever seen a titanium engagement ring? Oh, they got these tungsten ones. Getcha some big diamonds, too.”
Sami felt himself blushing. “Thanks guys,” he said. “Hey, you wanna come over for dinner sometime?”
“I’m gonna make the Syrian rice,” Sami said with determination. “I’m gonna call my mom and check on the quantities and I’m going to make it.”
Finn shrugged and let Sami put the ingredients in the basket.
He had never made it himself before, the cooking duties back home falling on the shoulders of sisters and moms and aunts, which only seemed odd in retrospect, being out of his community for a while. He was sad he had never offered to help much, only to get recipes when he had to make them for himself, living on his own.
But it was a hard thing to teach yourself away from people who can troubleshoot. Once they were home and cooking was in full swing, Sami cradled his phone between his ear and shoulder, switching back and forth between Arabic and French on the phone with his mom. She passed the phone around to every family member in the house while Sami burned the thin spaghetti that formed the base of the rice dish. He sighed and scraped it out into the sink while he talked to his little cousins about the last match he had on tv and what they were learning at school.
Finn patted him gently on the back and gestured toward the rice cooker—already turned on and halfway done. Sami gave him a look of gratitude for thinking about a backup plan.
It’s not like there wasn’t plenty of food. Carmella arrived with Cass, Enzo, and Bayley in tow, each of them carrying a bottle of wine.
“Would you fucking look at that!” Enzo exclaimed walking in the door and seeing the spread on the kitchen table. “I ain’t seen nothing like this since, like, my old neighbor’s graduation party. What is that, tabbouleh?”
“Yeah, I made it,” Sami said, looking pleased. He wiped his hands on his apron.
Finn came up behind him and put an arm around his shoulders. “Glad you all could make it.” He took the wine into the kitchen.
The gathered friends helped themselves to the mezze spread, heaping plates with cracked wheat and parsley, hummus, pita, olives, cheese, grape leaves stuffed with rice and meat, and fresh figs.
“Welcome to Hummus Club,” Bayley said seriously, shoving food in her mouth.
They stayed a long time that night, eating through the appetizers and the stew and rice that was supposed to be the main course but basically turned into a meat-dessert based on when they got around to eating it, in dessert bowls in front of the tv watching a bootleg DVD of Turkish Star Wars that Cass had scrounged up. The actual dessert got put away for another time. They haggled over the Hummus Club constitution as a mishmash of Star Wars clips and Turkish melodrama played on the screen.
“Don’t make me president,” Enzo said. “We need a woman president.”
“Dunno, I’ve got a lot on my plate,” Carmella said.
“A lot of...hummus?” Bayley asked, elbowing her.
“Sami should be president,” Carmella said. “End of story.” She leaned back into Cass on the other side of her on the couch, and he nodded once.
“I’ll be your chief of security,” Finn added, singing his own arm around Sami where they sat on the floor surrounded by pillows and cushions.
Bayley perked up. “Ooh, I love a bodyguard AU.” Everyone looked at her with puzzled expressions. “It’s a...you know what, never mind, I also made that up,” she said quickly.
Sami was president of Hummus Club and he orchestrated their meetings. He delegated the next dinner party to Enzo and Cass, who cooked up a proper spaghetti dinner, pretty much while everyone sat around and watched.
“Everybody should know how to make sauce,” Enzo said, fishing a spoon out of a drawer to taste the concoction at its current state. “And how to pick out good Italian sausage. There’s a good place over on Broad Street, they use this special kind of fennel.”
“Why is your recipe like exactly the same as the one from the Godfather?” Bayley asked. Carmella stifled a laugh.
“Don’t know what you’re talking about,” Cass sniffed, reaching over Enzo’s shoulder to add a bit of dried basil to the sauce.
“Eh, red sauce is pretty much sauce,” Enzo added, “but the sugar is really important. People don’t know you gotta put sugar in it.”
They ate it over linguini and fantasy booked every pay-per-view through 2017 over the dinner table. It was tight fitting six people in, but Cass insisted. “My mom would shit if I made my guests eat off their laps,” he said.
Then there was dessert: Carmella had spent the morning teaching Bayley how to make cannoli, and they had produced enough non-broken ones for everyone to share with some left over.
“Leave the hummus, take the cannoli,” Sami said, grinning as he walked out the door with a plastic takeout container repurposed to hold a few filled pastries.
Finn and Sami lay together in bed. Finn was reading a battered paperback Star Wars tie-in novel, and Sami spooned him from behind, nestling into Finn’s neck and shoulder and lazily kissing him wherever he could reach. He sighed.
Finn stuck a bookmark in where he was, put the book on the nightstand, and rolled over in Sami’s arms. They were nose to nose. “Hi,” Finn said.
“Hi,” said Sami, smiling a small, intimate smile, one that was just for this place, just between them.
“What’s up?” Finn asked.
“Just happy,” Sami said.
“More than usual?”
There was that smile again, less Muppet and more Mona Lisa, something the right size for two people.
“Yeah,” Sami said. He touched their foreheads together. “Did you eat the last cannoli?”
“No, I left it for you,” Finn said.
“Yep. I’m in love,” Sami said, beaming, jumping out of bed, wrapping a blanket around his shoulders. “I’m in love!”
And who was Finn to argue with that?