She nodded. “Any questions you have.”
“Oh.” I swallowed. I had only spoken to Zandayi Simin a few times over the Internet. Usually she just talked to Mom in Farsi.
I had so many questions inside me.
All I knew about our family was the little bits I heard from Mom.
I wanted to know what our family’s stories were.
I wanted to know the things Mom wouldn’t think to tell me. Things she knew but never said out loud, because they were a part of her.
I wanted to know what made the Bahrami family special.
“Uh.”
My neck started to prickle.
I wanted to know about growing up in Iran.
I wanted to know what my cousins were like when they were kids.
I wanted to know what Zandayi Simin had done with her life.
My aunt was offering me a treasure—a hoard of jewels, worthy of Smaug the Terrible (the dragon, not the water boiler). And I was too paralyzed to reach out and select a gem.
“Um.”
Zandayi Simin smiled patiently at me.
“Simin-khanum,” he said. “Tell him about Babou and the aftabeh.”
Zandayi Simin laughed. “Sohrab!” She said something in Farsi, something that made him blush harder, but he laughed too.
“Darioush-jan. You know what aftabeh is?”
MY COUSIN, THE RINGWRAITH
In some ways, Nowruz is the Persian version of Christmas: You spend it with your whole family, and you eat mountains and mountains of food, and nearly everyone takes the day off.
Mom always pulled me and Laleh out of school. I never told anyone why. I’m pretty sure Laleh did, but like I said, Laleh was a lot more popular than me.
Another way Nowruz is like Christmas: presents.
Mamou and Babou—who had finally reemerged, acting as if nothing unusual had transpired—gave me a crisp white button-up shirt. It was a little like the one Sohrab wore, except it had blue pinstripes.
Dayi Jamsheed and Dayi Soheil gave me five million rials each.
I did not know the exact exchange rate for Iranian rial (IRR) and United States dollar (USD), only that there was a considerable difference.
My uncles gave the same to Laleh, who screamed and ran around shouting, “I’m a millionaire! I’m a millionaire!”
Laleh had been sneaking the Nowruz desserts—baqlava and bahmieh—all afternoon. She’d also had three cups of tea, and thus nine cubes of sugar, which meant she had enough fuel to power an electro-plasma system.
There was a mountain of qottab waiting for after dinner too.
I didn’t tell Laleh that.
Sohrab followed me back to my room as I put away my shirt and money. “I got you something, Darioush,” he said.
