“I wouldn’t do that, Darioush.”
“Sometimes people can’t help it.”
He let out a deep breath.
“I’m okay, Darioush. I promise. I’m sorry. We had to keep it quiet.”
“Why?”
“It’s dangerous. And complicated. You remember my khaleh got asylum?”
“The one in Toronto?”
He nodded.
“Is that where you’re going? Toronto?”
“I don’t know. Maybe.”
I felt this little burst of happiness.
Sohrab, in Toronto?
Compared to Iran, that was practically next door.
“Don’t cry, Darioush.”
“I was scared. I’m sorry.”
“No, I’m sorry. I wish I didn’t have to keep it secret. But Maman and I are okay. We’re going to be fine.”
I nodded and sniffed.
“I missed you,” he said.
“I missed you too.”
“And I heard... about Babou.”
I nodded.
“I’m sorry, Darioush.”
“I’m sorry too. I know you loved him.”
In a way, Babou had been like Sohrab’s grandfather too. Maybe even more than he had been mine.
I wished I were there with him.
I wished I could hug him and cry with him and let him tell me all the little things I never got to know about Babou. Things he got to see, growing up next door to Ardeshir Bahrami.
But at least I could see him on the screen.
We had a lot of catching up to do.
I told Sohrab about quitting Rose City.
I told him about homecoming and Landon.
