I didn’t know how he did it. How he adapted himself to get along with all the Bahrami men, like a chameleon.
He really was the Übermensch.
The kitchen was too hot. The breeze had died when the sun went down, and now the stuffy air hung still in the kitchen windows. The kettle belched steam, relentless as Smaug the Golden.
I grabbed a qottab when Dad wasn’t looking and skirted past the table, out the door to the backyard.
MAIN SEQUENCE
Something smelled sweet.
Jasmine blossoms.
I’d never smelled fresh jasmine before. It was intense, but soft as a fleece blanket. I liked jasmine in Rose City’s Dragon Pearl Jasmine, but that paled next to the scent of the fresh flowers. Mamou and Babou had planted the tiny white blooms along the perimeter of their yard, in little wooden boxes painted a soft blue.
I slid down against one of the planters and breathed in. My chest felt heavy, like someone had dropped a planet on me.
Inside, my family sat around, playing Rook and talking so I couldn’t understand them. Dancing dances they had danced with each other for years. Sharing jokes and stories I would never be a part of. Eating khiar and drinking doogh like True Persians.
Even Dad had found a way to fit in.
I didn’t belong.
“Darioush?”
It was Sohrab.
“What is the matter?”
I wiped my eyes and studied my feet. Sohrab slid down the wall next to me and pulled his knees against his chest.
“Nothing.”
There was no squint in Sohrab’s eyes.
I hadn’t noticed how big they were before.
“Why are you crying?”
“I’m not,” I said, except my throat had clamped and I sounded like a frog.
Sohrab leaned closer and bumped shoulders with me.
“Did someone say something to you?”
I shook my head and kept silent.
Sohrab reached above us and plucked a jasmine flower out of the nearest shrub. He twirled the tiny blossom back and forth and waited for me to talk.
“It’s just hard,” I said. “Everyone knows everyone. And everyone speaks Farsi. And everyone knows the dances. And I...”
“Don’t you remember Simin-khanum?” Sohrab said. “She loves to have you here.”
“It’s not the same, though. Dayi Soheil thinks I’m fat. And Dayi Jamsheed says I’m not Persian. But they like my dad. He’s in there playing Rook.” I hiccuped. “Everyone is disappointed in me.”
“Darioush.” Sohrab bumped my shoulder again.
“No one wants me here.”
