“It would be nice to have a brother. Someone to play football with.” Sohrab squinted at me. “Do you play football? Soccer?” He pronounced itsock-air,which seemed like a cool way to say it.
“Uh.”
I hadn’t played on a proper soccer team since I was twelve, but we played it in physical education sometimes, when we weren’t doing Net Sports or Whiffle ball or timed mile runs.
“We play most days. You should come. Tomorrow afternoon?”
“Okay.”
I wasn’t sure why I had agreed. I didn’t like soccer/non-American football that much.
Somehow Sohrab made it sound like the best thing ever.
He laughed at me again, but it wasn’t a mean laugh. “You don’t taarof, do you?”
“Oh. Sorry.” I had completely forgotten the Primary Social Cue. “Do you not want me to come?”
Sohrab threw his arm across my shoulder.
“No. You should come and play with us, Darioush.”
“Okay.”
Sohrab led me back to Mamou’s house.
“See you tomorrow? For football?”
“Yeah,” I said. “Tomorrow.”
“I will come get you. Be ready in the afternoon.”
“Okay.”
“Okay.” Sohrab jogged down the block and waved at me before he turned the corner.
I took the robe to the kitchen, where Babou was pouring himself a cup of tea.
“Uh. Is everyone else still asleep?”
“Yes. You want tea, Darioush-jan?”
“Oh. Yes. Please.”
I had forgotten to taarof yet again, but Babou didn’t seem to mind. He poured me a cup, then grabbed a cube of sugar and clenched it in his teeth. I had seen lots of Persians drink their tea this way—sipping it through a cube of sugar—but I was categorically opposed to sweetening tea in any way.
I think it was because of Tea Haven.
We sat and drank our tea in total silence, except for the intermittent sound of slurping. Babou seemed content not to talk, and I had no idea what to say to him anyway.
I thought it would be different, seeing my grandfather in real life.
I thought I would know what to say.
But I had spent so long on the other side of a computer monitor from him, watching him like an episode ofStar Trek.
I didn’t know how to actually talk to him.
Babou blinked and smoothed his bushy mustache with his finger. Maybe he was used to watching me like an episode ofStar Trektoo.
