18. Zeke—Age 20

Chapter 18

Zeke—Age 20

The Guys first apartment together

“This look all right?” Cyrus asked for the hundredth time as he ran out of his room.

He was wearing the most un-Cyrus-like suit. Black, sleek, and professional. I was in the Twilight Zone because Cyrus wore ripped jeans and hoodies so much that it was a uniform.

I burst out laughing. “Did you raid Lev’s closet?”

“Maybe. Mothers like this shit. It makes me appear like I’m not a loser and can take care of her daughter.”

“Where did you hear that?” I asked between bouts of laughter.

“The Shahs of Sunset,” Cyrus said, tugging his tie. “They said presentation is everything. I thought my parents were high-maintenance, but Persian parents are no joke. The dad on that show got upset about his kid ending up with a man who only made six figures.”

“Azadeh hates that show. She says it’s a farce. If I remember correctly, she told me those people know nothing about Iran or the Persian identity other than eating koobideh, owning a Persian cat, and showing off some handmade silk carpets.”

I brought my focus back to the mirror and brushed my unruly mop to the side. “Mrs. Baran isn’t like that. She let Azadeh visit us in juvie, remember? Not just any juvie either, one for the criminally insane.”

I still couldn’t believe Azadeh had visited me every Sunday for two years. I was sure Nasrin would’ve put a stop to that, but to my surprise, Azadeh had shown up with food like clockwork.

“Yeah, I guess that’s true. You can’t be that stuck up if you let your teen daughter hang out with murderers and nutjobs.”

“Are you ready?” Lev asked, leaning against the doorframe in a dark navy three-piece suit.

I scanned his thick frame, focusing on his medium-brown Italian leather loafers. “Remember to remove your shoes once you get to the door.”

I walked over to Cyrus, loosened his crooked, and removed it. “Don’t worry. Nasrin Baran always sat at the kitchen table while I was in her daughter’s room. You’re freaking yourself out way more than you need to.”

“You okay? You look like you’re about to throw up,” Lev said as I rang the doorbell.

My hands were clammy, and my body was restless. I’d been to this house many times, slept on the sofa, Azadeh’s bed, and in Dariyus’s room once he went to college, but I still experienced a sense of unease about coming back here after I was locked up. It was almost as if I would suddenly be unwelcome.

Mona opened the door, and before she said anything, she leaped into my arms. “Zeke. I’m so happy to see you. I wanted to visit you when you were in jail, but Maman said it was no place for a young girl. I pointed out that Azadeh was a young girl, but that only made her cock an eyebrow and tell me I was a Bache pourroh.”

I hugged Mona fiercely, shocked at how much I’d missed her. Being six years Azadeh’s junior, Mona had also become a kid sister to me. “It’s good to see you, Azizam, chegat gondeh shodi.”

“Ah, man, you speaking Farsi too, now? Maman says I need to speak Farsi at home so I don’t lose it. I’m not sure why I need to know it anyway. It’s not like it’s gonna do anything for me. It’s only spoken in three countries, and then random diaspora.”

“There’s one very valid reason to learn it.” I bent and handed her the smaller package by my feet.

Mona tapped my shoulder to be let down before ripping into her present.

“Two questions,” Cyrus whispered in my ear. “One, what did you say to her, and two, was I supposed to bring the kid a present?”

“I called her sweetheart and told her she got big,” I murmured. “I always get her something, but you don’t have to.”

“Yes, he does,” Mona said, squealing as she held up an iPhone. “Oh, my God, Zeke! This is the best present ever.” Mona threw her arms around me, giving me a fierce hug.

“It’s already set up, and I put you on my plan, but go easy on the data, will you? I know how crazy thirteen-year-olds are.”

“Mona, let them in,” Mrs. Baran said as she shuffled toward the door. As soon as she saw me, she shrieked and threw her arms around me like her youngest daughter. “Ah, Joonam. Mard shodi.” My life. You’ve become a man.

I wrapped my arms around her, allowing myself to be swallowed in her warmth.

She pulled away and brought her hands to my face, pulling my head down and kissing my forehead. “Please, come in.”

I bent to pick up the giant box before we went inside. We removed our shoes in the entryway and followed Nasrin into the house.

“Where’s Azadeh?” I asked, putting my present on the dining room table.

“She’s right here,” Azadeh said from behind me.

I turned, and my eye nearly popped out of my head. If this were a teen movie montage from the nineties, the scene would be in slow motion, and a divine light would shroud my girl’s head.

I didn’t wait for her to reach the bottom of the stairs before I rushed to her, wrapping my arms around her waist and picking her up. Bending my head to her ear, I whispered so only she could hear, “You look beautiful, aziz-e-delam.” Dearest to my heart.

Azadeh’s cheeks flushed pink. “Thank you.”

Cyrus tugged at my arms. “Stop hogging her.” He pulled me off her and gave her a quick squeeze. “Tavalodat Mobarack.”

Azadeh and I were taken aback by Cyrus’s attempt at Farsi as he wished her a happy birthday.

He smirked at us. “You’re not the only one who watches YouTube videos. Those old Persian movies are pretty dope. That Fardin guy was a looker, huh? The Paul Newman of Iran, I’d say.”

Azadeh giggled. “He’s my maman’s favorite.”

“What’s my favorite?” Nasrin asked as she poked her head out of the kitchen.

“Cyrus here likes Fardin movies,” Azadeh explained.

Nasrin wiped her hands on her apron and walked over to us. She took Cyrus’s hand and dragged him away. “You have to tell me which one. I have all of his movies on VHS.”

Azadeh and I laughed as we walked over to Lev, sitting by the sofa with a cup of cardamom tea in his hand and a lollipop stick standing up in it.

He raised the cup to us, his thumb squished in the ridiculously tiny handle. “Your mother has filled this up three times in the last thirty minutes. It would make more sense if she gave me a coffee mug.” He pulled out the lollipop stick. “This is the most delightful sugar I’ve ever had, but what are these red things floating inside?”

“I thought you were rich,” I said, sitting beside him. “Don’t you know those red things are more expensive than gold?”

Azadeh rolled her eyes at me before turning to Lev. “It’s saffron.”

Lev placed the cup on the table and rose from his seat as if realizing he should’ve said hello to Azadeh before mindlessly insulting her maman’s tea. His hand disappeared into his coat pocket, and he pulled out a small velvet box.

“You’re not proposing to her, are you?” Cyrus asked as he entered the modest living room, holding a giant bowl of fruit with small cucumbers hanging over the side. “I like the little cucumbers. Nasrin says they’re Persian.” Cyrus glanced at Azadeh. “And we all know how much I love Persian things.”

“Cucumbers are a fruit, so it’s appropriate,” Lev said.

“Azadeh, Mona, help me set the table,” Nasrin called from the kitchen. “Make sure our guests eat. Tarof bokon.”

Azadeh rolled her eyes. “Help yourselves, but don’t eat too much and get full. If you don’t eat Maman’s food, she’ll be insulted.”

An hour later, we finished our third helping. As soon as our plates were empty, Nasrin had filled them again. Even with the copious amounts the three of us ate, there were still leftovers.

“What’s this salad?” Cyrus asked as he loaded his plate. “I grew up with only Caesar and garden. If my mother had made this one, I wouldn’t have kicked and screamed to avoid it.”

Nasrin beamed at him. “It’s called salad Shirazi.”

I couldn’t believe how easily he’d won her over by complimenting her food. Her food was good, mind you. It was probably the best cuisine I’d ever sampled. Nasrin ate up every compliment Cyrus threw at her. The way she gazed at him like he was her long-lost baby boy was astounding. But that was how she made everyone feel, as if they were a member of her family.

“Cyrus, I meant to ask you. Are you Persian?”

“Me?” Cyrus asked. “No, I wish, though, because Persian moms can cook. I love that you use a spoon more than a fork. Most things fall off my fork. It makes way more sense to eat rice with a spoon.” He demonstrated his appreciation of Nasrin’s culinary talents by shoving a spoonful of salad into his mouth.

“You have a very famous Persian name,” Nasrin explained. “The name itself isn’t Persian. We Iranians call him Koorosh.”

“Cyrus the Great,” Lev chipped in. “The first king of the Persian empire. We credit the man with creating the concept of human rights. I believe they called him the great liberator. It’s ironic that a country that created human rights now doesn’t possess any.”

The table went so silent that the only intelligible sound was Cyrus chewing.

“Men like Cyrus don’t come along very often,” Azadeh whispered. “There’s nothing wrong with obtaining power, but when it’s used to subjugate, it causes a catastrophe.”

Nasrin gazed up at a large framed photo of the ancient ruins of Persepolis. “Persia was meant to be a place where different ethnicities, religions, and identities lived together in harmony. Now, it’s held hostage by corrupt men and their lackeys. I’ve lost many things to Iran, but I haven’t lost my hope that one day, it will fulfill its destiny of becoming a free society. I hope I’m alive to see it.”

Nasrin’s expression morphed from sorrow to love as she looked at her daughter. “That’s enough of that. It’s Azadeh’s birthday, a time for celebration. How about we open your gifts?” Nasrin waved me off as I stood to clear the table. “Leave it. I will take care of it later.”

“You absolutely will not,” I retorted. “The three of us and little Mona here will clean up while you ladies pour a cup of tea and relax.”

“But you’re my guest. Guests don’t clean up,” Nasrin huffed.

“I’m not a guest, Nasrin. You’re a second mother to me. You heal me when I’m sick, comfort me when I’m hurt. You’ve done more for me than my own parents. Dastet dard nakoneh madar joon.” May your hand not hurt, mother dearest.

I got a little choked up as Nasrin’s eyes filled with tears. She placed a hand on my cheek and smiled. “You are such a sweet man, Zeke. You deserved better in life.”

The guys and I cleaned up and moved into the small living room, where Mona, Azadeh, and Nasrin were waiting for us.

“So, which one is your boyfriend, Azadeh?” Nasrin asked abruptly.

The three of us froze, eyes darting everywhere in the room but at the ladies.

“All of them and none of them,” Azadeh said simply. “I’m not ready to commit, but if I were, I’d never be able to choose.”

Nasrin nodded and passed Azadeh the first gift. A plain white envelope. “This is from Mona and me.”

Azadeh opened the card, reading silently before she hugged her mom. “Merci, Maman.”

“I’ll go next,” I said. “That big box is from me.”

“I think women prefer tiny boxes,” Cyrus said, elbowing my ribs. “Those giant boxes are only cool when you’re seven.”

“Watch and learn, grasshopper,” I replied, beaming as Azadeh opened the box and her face lit up.

Azadeh pulled out Lavashak, Iranian fruit leather, Gaz, Iranian nougat, Sohan, a type of Persian toffee with pistachios, and various other Iranian sweets and snacks. “Oh, my god, Zeke! How did you get all this?”

“I ordered it from Los Angeles. I would’ve also gotten you some baked goods, but I wasn’t sure how they would travel. One day, we’ll visit Tehrangeles. I know it’s not Theran, Shiraz, or Rasht, but L.A. might fill in some of the void.”

Azadeh jumped up to hug me, and I breathed in her scent. I’d never tire of how my girl smelled.

“There’s one more thing in the box.”

Azadeh squealed as she moved back and dug into the box, pulling out an ornate copy of The Shahnameh. She gazed at me. “Zeke, this… this is beautiful.”

“Yes, yes, me next,” Cyrus said, pushing past me and handing Azadeh a slender package about forty inches long.

She laughed as she swiftly untied the half-hazard bow and pulled out a Persian sabar.

“You got me a shamshir,” Azadeh said in delight.

She jumped up, hugging Cyrus and almost tackling him to the floor.

Cyrus turned to Lev. “Beat that.”

“I guess I’m next,” Lev said, pointing to the small package. “That small one is from me.”

Azadeh smiled as she abandoned her death grip on Cyrus’s head. Picking up the small package, she opened it. She didn’t speak, but her eyes welled up as she pulled out a long gold chain with a winged man holding ropes of some sort.

“You got me a Farvahar.” She turned the pendant over. “Good thoughts. Good word. Good deeds.”

Lev moved toward her, clasping the gold necklace around her neck.

“I’m never taking this off,” she whispered as she touched it gently.

I leaned into Cyrus. “Guess we both lost.”