Darius the Great Deserves Better - Adib Khorram Page 0,80
first time in a long time, it felt like maybe things were going to be okay.
THE PRIME MERIDIAN
Mom knocked on my door as Sohrab and I were saying our goodbyes. She was dressed in her robe and holding a cup of coffee.
“Hi, Sohrab-jan,” she called. “Chetori toh?”
Sohrab talked to her in Farsi for a minute, and she answered, but then she said, “Okay, Sohrab-jan, khodahafes. Talk soon.”
“Khodahafes,” Sohrab said back. “Bye, Darioush. Talk soon. I promise. Ghorbanat beram.”
“Ghorbanat beram. Always.”
I hung up the call and leaned back, hooking my knees under the lip of my desk to stop myself from tipping over.
Mom leaned against my doorframe and looked at me.
“You’re smiling.”
“He’s okay,” I said. “I was so scared.”
“I know, sweetie.”
“Did you know?”
She shook her head.
“But I thought they might leave. Mahvash used to talk about it sometimes.”
“What happens now?”
“I don’t know. If everything goes well, they’ll settle somewhere new. Maybe Toronto.” She smiled. “Maybe even here.”
“Really?”
“If we’re lucky.”
I let myself imagine it: Sohrab, here. Coming over for dinner. Hanging out and playing soccer. Showing him all my favorite places in Portland. Drinking lots of tea.
Finding a spot where the world falls away, and we can talk, and tell each other all the things you can only admit to your best friend.
Mom stepped closer to me and ran her hand through my hair.
“Darius?”
“Yeah?”
“I didn’t mean to overhear, but . . . I heard you telling Sohrab about Landon.”
“Oh.”
“Are you okay?”
“I guess. I mean, I will be.”
Mom looked at me for a long time. Like she was trying to understand something about me she’d never had to understand before. She sat down on my bed and patted the spot next to her.
I pulled my shirt down to try and cover my underwear—a pair of bright orange trunks—and sat next to her.
“What happened?”
“We talked. And . . . well, we wanted different things.”
“Your dad said the two of you were thinking about . . . sex.”
My chest constricted. “He was. I wasn’t ready to.”
Mom’s hands went back to my hair.
“You could have told me, you know. When your dad was out of town. If you needed advice, you could have talked to me.”
“I know.”
“Is it because of something I said?”
“No.”
“You used to talk to me about everything.”
“I still do.”
“But not this.”
I looked down at my hands. Mom’s hand, which had been twisting my curls around, paused.
“What is it?”
I squeezed my eyes closed.
“You always had this look on your face. Every time we kissed.”
“No I didn’t.”
This is why I didn’t say anything before.
Because I knew Mom would get upset.
“Did I? Really?”
Mom folded her hands in her lap.
“I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay.”
“No it’s not.” She took a deep breath. “I’m not mad you’re gay. I promise.”
“Okay.”
“You know, since the day you were born, your dad and I have been dreaming of a happy future for you. And every day you’ve grown up and changed and we’ve had to adjust that dream a little bit. For the longest time I felt like I knew which way you were going. But now . . .” Mom blinked away tears. “Everything changed after Iran.”
Not everything.
I was gay when I went, even if I hadn’t figured it out yet, and I was just as gay when I came back.
But Mom said, “When we got back, you and your dad were so much closer. And I was happy, because I hated seeing how distant you used to be.” Mom held her hand over her heart. “But it hurt that while he was finding you, I was losing you.”
I never thought about that. How Mom felt, when suddenly Dad and I became a team.
And then Mom and I weren’t anymore.
I felt terrible.
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. I’m being selfish.”
“No you’re not. I didn’t mean to make you feel like that.”
“I just miss you. The way we used to be.” Mom reached for my nightstand, where I kept one of those tall cubic Kleenex boxes.
“Here.” I grabbed it and passed it over.
Mom sniffed and blew her nose.
I grabbed my own Kleenex and wiped my eyes.
“I’m sorry,” I said again.
“I don’t want you to be. You’re growing up. That’s what happens.”
I didn’t want it to happen.
I didn’t want growing up to mean Mom and I would drift apart.
“But I don’t want to lose you either.”
“You never will. Never. I promise.” Mom sighed. “I love you, Darius. Every single part of you. I never meant for you to think I didn’t.”