Darius the Great Deserves Better - Adib Khorram Page 0,51
have to fight.”
Oma shrugged. “It is what it is.”
I’d never talked to Oma and Grandma like this. Not ever.
I didn’t want them to stop.
“Um.”
I picked up my matcha and took a sip. And another.
And then I said, “Maybe we can go to Pride together next summer.”
Grandma sighed. “I don’t know.”
“Oh.”
“We’ve done our marching. You were so little you probably don’t remember, but we used to be up here every month marching for one thing or another. For years. Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell. DOMA. Prop 8.” Oma shrugged. “After a while you run out of steam.” I didn’t even know Grandma and Oma had gone to protests before.
I wanted to know every protest they’d ever been to. What their signs said. What they chanted.
But before I could ask, Grandma opened up her iPad and started playing again. And after a second, Oma did too. Conversation over.
I didn’t get my grandmothers.
I used to think there was a wall between me and Mom’s side of the family: a sort of force field that time and distance had created between us.
There was no wall between me and Grandma and Oma. Just a door. But no matter how many times I opened that door, they always closed it again.
I wanted to know them.
I wanted to know how being queer had shaped their lives.
I wanted them to give me advice, and teach me our history, and yes, go to marches.
But instead I finished off my matcha and found my spot in my book.
And the door between us creaked shut again.
A PLASMA CONDUIT
Thursday morning I called Sohrab.
“Hi, Darioush,” he said. “I can’t talk long.”
“Is this a bad time?”
“It’s okay, just busy.”
“Oh.”
Sohrab wiped his arm over his forehead. I couldn’t tell if he was sweating or not, but he was breathing hard.
“What’re you doing?”
“Helping Maman with some things.”
“Oh. How’re you doing? How’s school? Have you played football lately?”
“I’m fine. School is—”
Sohrab’s picture froze while he was scratching his nose.
“Sohrab?”
I waited about thirty seconds, but when he still didn’t unfreeze, I hung up and tried again.
This time it took a couple rings.
“Darioush?”
“Hey. I think we got cut off.”
“Yeah, sorry. Listen, I have to go. But we’ll talk soon, okay?”
“Oh.” I swallowed.
I got this feeling, right behind my sternum. This bubble of sadness that slowly floated upward toward my throat.
Sohrab had never rushed off a call like this.
Had I done something wrong?
I didn’t know what was happening.
So I just said “Okay.”
“Take care. Bye.”
* * *
We won our game against Hillsboro West that afternoon, 3–0. It felt kind of harsh to shut them out so badly, but after our loss against the Willow Bluffs High School Trojans, it did a lot to boost morale.
By the time I got home, everyone had already eaten. Mom had brought carryout from the Thai place near her office.
“I got your favorite.” She held up a foam clamshell.
“Sweet and sour?”
“Extra beef.”
“Thanks.”
I scooped the stir fry—it had beef and bell peppers and onions and pineapple—onto a dome of rice and stuck it in the microwave.
“How was your game?”
“We won.”
“That’s great!”
“Yeah.”
The microwave beeped, so I grabbed a pair of chopsticks and took my plate to the table.
Mom went to the stove, where the kettle was steaming, with a smaller pot set on top Persian-style. “Tea?”
“Yes please.”
Mom poured two cups, using the special glasses she only served Persian tea in, and kissed the crown of my head before she sat down.
“Mmmm.” The tea was perfectly scented with cardamom. And something else: “Cinnamon?”
“I like how you do it.”
I always put a pinch of cinnamon in my Persian tea.
I never knew Mom liked that.
“Thanks.”
Mom sipped her tea and watched me wolf down my food. I normally had a snack before a game, but I was so nervous I hadn’t been able to get anything down other than some purple Gatorade.
“We heard back from Laleh’s school.”
“Really?”
“She starts the gifted program on Wednesday.”
“Wow. You already told her?”
“Thought some fried rice might help her nerves.”
My sister loved fried rice.
“Oma said you asked Landon to homecoming?”
I coughed.
“Oh. Yeah. I meant to tell you.”
“It’s fine,” Mom said, but there was this thing in her voice.
Like maybe it wasn’t fine.
“Do you need to go shopping? I can take you.”
“I need a suit. Mine doesn’t fit anymore.”
Mom chewed her lip.
“Don’t worry. I can pay. And there’s this consignment shop Landon knows.”
Mom sighed. She reached up and twisted a lock of my hair around her finger.
“We can pay too. It’s your first dance. It’s a big deal.”