some to the pot and stirs it in, looking at me as though he’s asking for permission.
“I always forget salt, don’t I?” He’s finally noticing his shortcomings. Normally I would tell him it doesn’t matter or that the dish doesn’t really need salt.
“Yes. You always used to forget. Even when you tried.”
He nods and asks me to sit down while he continues to prepare the meal.
“Your Maman didn’t like my cooking at all, did she?” Baba asks. The question makes me smile a little. I shake my head. He chuckles, and it’s about time.
11
“WELL, AT LEAST THEY are serving decent food,” Ali says as he tosses another grape into his mouth. Baba decided not to come to the party now that he is actually grieving. Ali was more than willing to be my male escort.
“You look really good,” he says. “Nasrin should get engaged more often. You’d turn into a fashionista.”
I’m glad Ali is here, but sometimes I wish he would just shut up. I took up Baba’s offer and asked Parveen to go dress shopping with me. She was surprised at my wanting to buy a dress, but I explained it was for a party. I think all my groaning in the dress shop convinced her that I really want to be a man.
There are so many guests here, even more than last time. The Mehdis hired caterers, and Soraya is off for the evening to enjoy the festivities. She is dressed in a simple brown dress that is long enough to cover her thick, overworked legs. She wears a white head scarf, doing her best to dress up. Soraya’s daughter, Sima, is here, too. She gave me advice for the university entrance examinations. Even though I tried my best to listen, I couldn’t keep my eyes off Nasrin, who has had her namzad, her fiancé, right next to her all evening.
“It was a mistake to come tonight. No one would have noticed if I wasn’t here.” I’m muttering to Ali, who not so subtly glances at Cyrus Mehdi’s ass. Ali has always liked boys who are dumb and cute. Cyrus is talking to Mr. Mehdi’s business associates and can’t stop tugging on his shirt collar. Mr. Mehdi just smacks his son’s back, laughing and being the man of the hour. Mr. Mehdi always likes to be the center of attention. Nasrin gets that from him. While Cyrus tries his best to appease some old businessmen, Dariush is across the room, chatting with Sima. She laughs a little, and Dariush looks pleased. I would worry about Sima, but then Soraya comes to her daughter’s side and the three of them continue to talk.
“I’m surprised you haven’t been at Nasrin’s beck and call all evening,” Ali says.
“That’s because the groom is always with her! Doesn’t he have to use the bathroom?”
“He would probably bring her in there. Bathrooms are sexy sometimes.” I don’t want to know how he came to that conclusion. “Besides, I thought we were here to get to know the enemy.”
“What do you mean?” I ask. Reza’s palm is at Nasrin’s lower back while they talk to some doctor types. You aren’t married yet! Don’t get so carried away with your hands!
“He must have a weakness. Something unappealing that might make the family rethink giving their precious daughter away. A secret drug habit, perhaps? He has two wives already? Maybe he’s related to Saddam Hussein.”
“Ali, be serious.”
“I’m just saying that you can’t compete if you don’t better acquaint yourself with the competition.” He has a point, and I do have some morbid curiosity. What do Reza and Nasrin even talk about? She’s barely an adult and doesn’t know anything about medicine, and he certainly doesn’t know anything about her. Another part of me doesn’t want to know him. I feel guilty enough as it is, spending time alone with Nasrin.
“He’s busy talking with all the grown-ups. Doesn’t he feel ashamed having a wife half his age?” I ask.
“He’s a man. He can do whatever he wants,” Ali says flippantly, and pops another grape into his mouth. He picks them off the stems from
“I always forget salt, don’t I?” He’s finally noticing his shortcomings. Normally I would tell him it doesn’t matter or that the dish doesn’t really need salt.
“Yes. You always used to forget. Even when you tried.”
He nods and asks me to sit down while he continues to prepare the meal.
“Your Maman didn’t like my cooking at all, did she?” Baba asks. The question makes me smile a little. I shake my head. He chuckles, and it’s about time.
11
“WELL, AT LEAST THEY are serving decent food,” Ali says as he tosses another grape into his mouth. Baba decided not to come to the party now that he is actually grieving. Ali was more than willing to be my male escort.
“You look really good,” he says. “Nasrin should get engaged more often. You’d turn into a fashionista.”
I’m glad Ali is here, but sometimes I wish he would just shut up. I took up Baba’s offer and asked Parveen to go dress shopping with me. She was surprised at my wanting to buy a dress, but I explained it was for a party. I think all my groaning in the dress shop convinced her that I really want to be a man.
There are so many guests here, even more than last time. The Mehdis hired caterers, and Soraya is off for the evening to enjoy the festivities. She is dressed in a simple brown dress that is long enough to cover her thick, overworked legs. She wears a white head scarf, doing her best to dress up. Soraya’s daughter, Sima, is here, too. She gave me advice for the university entrance examinations. Even though I tried my best to listen, I couldn’t keep my eyes off Nasrin, who has had her namzad, her fiancé, right next to her all evening.
“It was a mistake to come tonight. No one would have noticed if I wasn’t here.” I’m muttering to Ali, who not so subtly glances at Cyrus Mehdi’s ass. Ali has always liked boys who are dumb and cute. Cyrus is talking to Mr. Mehdi’s business associates and can’t stop tugging on his shirt collar. Mr. Mehdi just smacks his son’s back, laughing and being the man of the hour. Mr. Mehdi always likes to be the center of attention. Nasrin gets that from him. While Cyrus tries his best to appease some old businessmen, Dariush is across the room, chatting with Sima. She laughs a little, and Dariush looks pleased. I would worry about Sima, but then Soraya comes to her daughter’s side and the three of them continue to talk.
“I’m surprised you haven’t been at Nasrin’s beck and call all evening,” Ali says.
“That’s because the groom is always with her! Doesn’t he have to use the bathroom?”
“He would probably bring her in there. Bathrooms are sexy sometimes.” I don’t want to know how he came to that conclusion. “Besides, I thought we were here to get to know the enemy.”
“What do you mean?” I ask. Reza’s palm is at Nasrin’s lower back while they talk to some doctor types. You aren’t married yet! Don’t get so carried away with your hands!
“He must have a weakness. Something unappealing that might make the family rethink giving their precious daughter away. A secret drug habit, perhaps? He has two wives already? Maybe he’s related to Saddam Hussein.”
“Ali, be serious.”
“I’m just saying that you can’t compete if you don’t better acquaint yourself with the competition.” He has a point, and I do have some morbid curiosity. What do Reza and Nasrin even talk about? She’s barely an adult and doesn’t know anything about medicine, and he certainly doesn’t know anything about her. Another part of me doesn’t want to know him. I feel guilty enough as it is, spending time alone with Nasrin.
“He’s busy talking with all the grown-ups. Doesn’t he feel ashamed having a wife half his age?” I ask.
“He’s a man. He can do whatever he wants,” Ali says flippantly, and pops another grape into his mouth. He picks them off the stems from
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