Darius the Great Deserves Better - Adib Khorram Page 0,11

more like her than I did like Dad.

The Level Nine Awkward Silence had followed us from the car to the house, like a shrouded Jem’Hadar warrior lurking in the shadows, observing our weaknesses and waiting for the perfect moment to strike.

All the joy I’d felt from winning our first game had leeched out too, until I was left feeling as prickly and unsettled as the rest of my family.

I cleared my throat. “How was work?”

“Didn’t get much done today,” Dad said. “Had to take care of your sister.”

“Oh.”

“Richard thinks we might have a project lined up in California soon. A community center outside LA.”

“Oh. Cool.”

Richard Newton was my dad’s partner at Kellner & Newton, the architecture firm where he worked.

I guess he kind of owned it.

To be honest, I wasn’t entirely sure how his business was structured. I just knew that he didn’t get to work from home as much anymore. That he was always tired, like Mom.

“I’ll be doing a site visit next week. Need anything from Tehrangeles?”

Dad had been traveling a lot more for work too.

“I’m good. Mom will probably have a list, though.”

Dad smirked. “She already gave it to me.”

“Oh. Good.”

I transferred my soup to a bowl. “Want to watch a DS9?”

“Sure. Give me a minute to finish up?”

“I’ll make some tea.”

I filled my electric kettle and set it to 165 degrees. “Want to try something new?”

“What is it?”

“Kabusecha. Mr. Edwards gave it to me.”

“Tell me about it.”

I did my best to explain what Mr. Edwards had said, about shade-growing and theanine and flavor compounds, but I had already forgotten some of it since I hadn’t taken any notes.

It was almost embarrassing, how little it turned out I knew before starting at Rose City. My first day I thought I would be able to jump right in, but I ended up needing a ton of training. There was so much more to learn when you’re at a place that actually makes the tea. I had to learn about seasons and the fickle politics of tea growers and the magic of terroir.

For some reason, people always said terroir like you could actually hear the italics.

I didn’t even know that was possible.

“The kiss of the earth itself,” Mr. Edwards said. “Words can only approximate it.”

I didn’t really know what he meant by that.

Not really.

But I wanted to.

* * *

Once Dad finished the dishes, and I had steeped the Kabusecha in a small pot for two, we curled up on the couch to watch Star Trek: Deep Space Nine.

It took some doing, but I’d managed to convince Dad to watch the entire series in one go, instead of interspersing it with The Next Generation and Voyager in broadcast order, like we usually did.

“It’s one big story,” I had said. “And what if Laleh wants to watch with us?”

Dad was still on the fence until soccer practice started up, and we weren’t always guaranteed a window to watch an episode each night. Then he finally relented. Sticking to one series made it easier to follow.

As I poured Dad’s tea, he cued up “Distant Voices.”

“My twin,” I said, pointing at Quark—DS9’s Ferengi bartender—when he showed up in the teaser.

Dad snorted.

“Your ears are perfect,” Mom said from behind us. She reached over and tugged on one of them.

“Want to watch?” I scooted closer to Dad to make room for her.

“Not tonight. Your sister’s still sick.”

“Can I help?”

“Let me take care of her,” Dad said, but Mom put her hand on his shoulder.

“It’s okay. You two watch your show. I’ve got work to do anyway.”

Mom wandered into the kitchen and I heard the distinctive sounds of her Hot Beverage Pod Extraction Device, which I refused to either name or use strictly on principle. As the opening credits finished, she passed back through, kissed me on the head and Dad on the temple, and headed upstairs with a steaming mug of coffee cupped in her hands.

Dad’s eyes followed her up the stairs. He bit his lip and rubbed his stubbled chin for a second. Then he put his arm over my shoulder and turned back to the TV.

And we both tried to relax.

THE MOST HARROWING SOUND IN THE UNIVERSE

I had trouble falling asleep that night.

One, my nerves were still humming like a warp core in the aftermath of the game.

Two, I’d tried to Skype Sohrab, but he didn’t answer, so I spent half an hour writing him an email instead.

Three, my parents were arguing.

Well, maybe arguing is the wrong description, because I don’t think they