I had gone to the bathroom to brush my teeth and pee before bed, and I heard them talking (my bathroom shared a vent with theirs), which is how I ended up sitting on the toilet listening to them.
“I just don’t see how we can make it work,” Dad said. “I’ve already got the California project lined up, and another after that in Arkansas if it gets confirmed. You’re working overtime. And we still can’t—”
Mom sighed. “I know. I know. I just hate not being there.”
“I know, love.”
Dad murmured something too quiet for me to make out.
“Not good. Mamou says it won’t be long. Most days he doesn’t even wake up long enough to eat.”
They were talking about Babou again.
Things got muffled after that, but I could hear the sound of Mom crying.
It was the most harrowing sound in the universe.
I pulled off a handful of toilet paper to wipe my own tears, but I accidentally bumped the tank on the toilet.
I flushed the empty toilet, just to keep my cover, but that meant I heard even less.
When the roaring water quieted down, I caught a little bit more between my own sniffles.
“... kids about it sooner or later,” Mom said.
“Tomorrow,” Dad said. “Let me check with my parents first.”
Things got quiet after that. Either they’d started to whisper, or they’d moved away from their bathroom.
I washed my hands and took a couple deep breaths and went to bed.
But I still couldn’t sleep.
When I got home from practice the next afternoon, Laleh was sitting upright at the table, drinking tea and reading an overlarge paperback book. The color had come back to her cheeks, and she perked up a little when she saw me.
“Hey,” she said.
“Hey, Laleh.” I leaned down to kiss her head. “Feeling better?”
“Yeah.”
What’re you reading?”
“Dune.”
“Oh.”
I blinked.
“Is it any good?”
Laleh shrugged. “Kind of boring.”
“Oh.”
I went to the teapot and poured myself a cup.
Ever since our trip to Iran, Laleh had taken it upon herself to make tea when I wasn’t home to do it.
