“Darius...”
I shoved myself off the ground.
“I’m going to bed.”
Even when Dad stopped telling me stories, he made a point of saying “I love you” every night before I went to bed.
It was a thing.
And I always said “I love you” back to him.
It was our tradition.
That night, Dad didn’t tell me he loved me.
I didn’t tell him either.
THE TOWERS OF SILENCE
Mom knocked on my door the next morning, long before the azan. We were going to see the Towers of Silence.
I had to wait in bed a few minutes for my own Tower of Silence to go away.
So far I had stuck to my plan not to go number three in my grandmother’s house, but it was making my mornings increasingly awkward.
“Darioush!”
“I’m awake.”
Mom was back to calling me by my Iranian name.
I wished she would make up her mind.
I stood in the cool morning, my hands stuffed in my pockets.
Déjà vu.
But this time, it was Stephen Kellner who pulled the Smokemobile around.
Laleh and I crammed ourselves into the back. Babou climbed into the middle next to Mamou. His mouth was set in a perfect line. Dad kept trying to meet my eyes in the rearview mirror, but I avoided him.
Laleh was wide-awake. Wide-awake and angry. Her eyes were puffy, her voice scratchy. “I don’t want to go.”
“You’re going,” Mom said from the passenger seat. “We all are.”
It was clearly a running argument.
Laleh groaned and buried her face in my side.
It reminded me of when she was little—really little—and I would get to hold her whenever Mom and Dad needed a break. Even if she was wound up, she’d eventually fall asleep on my lap, her face mashed into my shoulder, arms limp, mouth drooling.
That was my favorite version of Laleh. When all I had to do was hold her, and she loved me more than anything. AndStar Trekwas something only Dad and I did.
I didn’t want to share. NotStar Trek.
I hated how selfish I was.
But then Laleh wrapped her arms around me and squeezed. She let out this soft sigh.
