Maybe that is what it means to have a penis.
“Why are we still friends?”
I shrugged. “You said you were sorry.”
“And you forgave me.”
“Yeah.”
“Friends forgive each other. Did Chip say he was sorry?”
He did.
A lot.
I just wasn’t sure that was enough.
“But you didn’t just say you were sorry. You didn’t do that again.”
“We had other fights.”
“Yeah,” I said. “But we never had the same fight twice.”
“And Chip is doing the same thing?”
“Yeah. He’s still friends with Trent. No matter what Trent does to me.”
“Hm. Then maybe he’s never going to change. But you know what?”
“What?”
“I never met anyone with as big a heart as you, Darioush. I know you’ll figure it out.”
My face burned.
“Thanks.”
Sohrab’s cheeks looked a little pink too. He cleared his throat.
“How is your soccer going?”
I told Sohrab about our wins, and our loss, and how weird and wonderful it felt to be on a team.
I told him about Grandma and Oma.
I told him about Laleh, and her project to turn Mamou and Babou into constellations.
I told him about Mom, who was never home anymore. And Dad, who was finally home, who was doing badly but was finally going to let me help.
And for the first time in a long time, it felt like maybe things were going to be okay.
THE PRIME MERIDIAN
Mom knocked on my door as Sohrab and I were saying our goodbyes. She was dressed in her robe and holding a cup of coffee.
“Hi, Sohrab-jan,” she called. “Chetori toh?”
Sohrab talked to her in Farsi for a minute, and she answered, but then she said, “Okay, Sohrab-jan, khodahafes. Talk soon.”
