days ago, even though it already feels like another lifetime. “That’s about right.”
“So in the span of, let’s see, about a week, you were engaged to three different men?”
My eyes tear up. I wasn’t trying to hurt anyone. I really wasn’t. I was just trying to help myself. But in doing so, I’ve been horrible to others. I’ve been so, so, horrible.
“I try to be a good person.” This comes out in a near-whisper.
“Oh, you are. You are!” Ike’s irreplaceable blue eyes sparkle. “You’re my favorite person in the world.”
My heart, which had been shrinking, expands again to make room for his love. “You’re my favorite person in the world, too.”
“You just happen to have very short engagements.”
I give him a look that says, Very funny, buster .
“But seriously,” he says. “What sort of trouble can this guy cause?”
“Haroun? None.” Of this, I’m fairly certain. “Even today, he was being honorable. He was offering to save me from having to go back. I think he’s one of the good guys. One of the crazy-but-good guys.”
“ Would you have married him?” Ike asks. “If we weren’t already married, I mean. If you were faced with going back to Iran tomorrow or marrying him today, would you?”
Don’t ask me that.
He raises an eyebrow. “Well?”
“Ike . . .” He’s not going to like my answer, for I would have married Haroun. Absolutely, I think. And I would have done my best to make it work. “Until you’ve lived under a repressive government, Ike, please don’t judge me. You can’t fully understand what living in a place like Iran does to you—you can’t really even understand until you leave it, and not even then, sometimes. It . . . keeps you small. All your thoughts, your hopes. Your mind. Your heart. Your dreams. They shrink to fit what’s allowed. At least mine did. My worst day in America was better than my best day in Iran, because at least here, no matter what, I’m free.”
Free to succeed or fail, to choose or not choose.
Free to just . . . be.
“I regret saying anything harsh about him, then.” Ike gently brushes a strand of hair off my shoulder. “Coming here was a decent thing for him to do.”
“It was,” I agree. “And I should apologize to him. It can’t have been pleasant, what happened just now. He was only trying to be nice.”
Ike smiles. “Maybe you should send him flowers.”
Funny husband. “He’d probably just throw them in the Dumpster.”
He pulls me to him for a hug, and just like that, it’s okay between us again. It’s his heart beating against mine. It’s me tucked into him. It’s him not letting me go. We stay like that until another black car pulls into the driveway. This time, it’s Ardishir, home early from work.
“Another fiancé?” Ike says as he looks out the window.
“Enough already!” He knows it’s Ardishir; he saw him getting screamed at by Maryam last night. “It’s so strange you haven’t met Ardishir yet.”
“He was busy getting nacho cheese sauce,” Ike says with a laugh.
We greet Ardishir at the front door, and I’m filled with happiness as two of my very favorite people in the world shake hands for the first time.
“I hear congratulations are in order,” Ike says.
“Thank you, yes.” Ardishir beams. “And you, too, of course. Congratulations on your marriage! We wish we could have been there, and we’d like to throw a party for you.”
“That’d be great,” Ike says. “Although let’s wait until my parents are a little more copacetic with the idea.”
Copacetic . I have no idea what that means. Before I can ask, Ardishir replies.
“Yes, Tami told us about that.” He furrows his brow sympathetically. “I’m sorry it’s caused problems for you with your family.”
Ike grins happily at me. “Tami’s worth any trouble.”
“Can I get us some tea?” I ask.
“Tea would be wonderful,” Ardishir says.
“I don’t suppose you have any coffee?” Ike
“So in the span of, let’s see, about a week, you were engaged to three different men?”
My eyes tear up. I wasn’t trying to hurt anyone. I really wasn’t. I was just trying to help myself. But in doing so, I’ve been horrible to others. I’ve been so, so, horrible.
“I try to be a good person.” This comes out in a near-whisper.
“Oh, you are. You are!” Ike’s irreplaceable blue eyes sparkle. “You’re my favorite person in the world.”
My heart, which had been shrinking, expands again to make room for his love. “You’re my favorite person in the world, too.”
“You just happen to have very short engagements.”
I give him a look that says, Very funny, buster .
“But seriously,” he says. “What sort of trouble can this guy cause?”
“Haroun? None.” Of this, I’m fairly certain. “Even today, he was being honorable. He was offering to save me from having to go back. I think he’s one of the good guys. One of the crazy-but-good guys.”
“ Would you have married him?” Ike asks. “If we weren’t already married, I mean. If you were faced with going back to Iran tomorrow or marrying him today, would you?”
Don’t ask me that.
He raises an eyebrow. “Well?”
“Ike . . .” He’s not going to like my answer, for I would have married Haroun. Absolutely, I think. And I would have done my best to make it work. “Until you’ve lived under a repressive government, Ike, please don’t judge me. You can’t fully understand what living in a place like Iran does to you—you can’t really even understand until you leave it, and not even then, sometimes. It . . . keeps you small. All your thoughts, your hopes. Your mind. Your heart. Your dreams. They shrink to fit what’s allowed. At least mine did. My worst day in America was better than my best day in Iran, because at least here, no matter what, I’m free.”
Free to succeed or fail, to choose or not choose.
Free to just . . . be.
“I regret saying anything harsh about him, then.” Ike gently brushes a strand of hair off my shoulder. “Coming here was a decent thing for him to do.”
“It was,” I agree. “And I should apologize to him. It can’t have been pleasant, what happened just now. He was only trying to be nice.”
Ike smiles. “Maybe you should send him flowers.”
Funny husband. “He’d probably just throw them in the Dumpster.”
He pulls me to him for a hug, and just like that, it’s okay between us again. It’s his heart beating against mine. It’s me tucked into him. It’s him not letting me go. We stay like that until another black car pulls into the driveway. This time, it’s Ardishir, home early from work.
“Another fiancé?” Ike says as he looks out the window.
“Enough already!” He knows it’s Ardishir; he saw him getting screamed at by Maryam last night. “It’s so strange you haven’t met Ardishir yet.”
“He was busy getting nacho cheese sauce,” Ike says with a laugh.
We greet Ardishir at the front door, and I’m filled with happiness as two of my very favorite people in the world shake hands for the first time.
“I hear congratulations are in order,” Ike says.
“Thank you, yes.” Ardishir beams. “And you, too, of course. Congratulations on your marriage! We wish we could have been there, and we’d like to throw a party for you.”
“That’d be great,” Ike says. “Although let’s wait until my parents are a little more copacetic with the idea.”
Copacetic . I have no idea what that means. Before I can ask, Ardishir replies.
“Yes, Tami told us about that.” He furrows his brow sympathetically. “I’m sorry it’s caused problems for you with your family.”
Ike grins happily at me. “Tami’s worth any trouble.”
“Can I get us some tea?” I ask.
“Tea would be wonderful,” Ardishir says.
“I don’t suppose you have any coffee?” Ike
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