Sure enough, Oma was at the sink, scrubbing out a pan Dad had left soaking overnight, and Grandma was filling the kettle.
I cleared my throat. “Morning.”
Grandma turned around. “Morning, Darius.” Melanie Kellner was tall—nearly six feet—with gray hair cut in a pixie style and sky-blue eyes. She had a pair of clear-framed glasses pushed up onto her forehead, and she pulled them down to study me. “You’ve gotten taller.”
“Maybe.”
Oma peered over her shoulder at me. “And you finally got a haircut.”
I rubbed at the back of my head. “Yeah.”
She turned back to the dishes while I gave her a kiss on the cheek. Oma was taller than Grandma, but only just. She had longer hair, down to her shoulders, and it was a sort of light brown, though there were streaks of gray in it. She had blue eyestoo, but they were darker, more like Dad’s. And she had Dad’s Teutonic jaw too.
I kissed Grandma hello and gave her one of those awkward side hugs.
My grandmothers only ever did side hugs.
“You’ve got quite a collection,” Grandma said, inventorying my tea cabinet. It was crammed full of tins and pouches and mason jars. Not to mention the jar of Persian tea we kept on the counter because it was too big to fit in the cabinet.
“What’s new?”
“Here.” I pulled down a mason jar filled with a single-estate Assam. “This is nice and brisk.”
She unscrewed the lid and sniffed. “Mmm. The cinnamon rolls are almost done.”
“Where’s Stephen?” Oma asked. She rinsed off the pot and then pulled the plug to let the sink drain. “And your mom and Laleh?”
“Dad likes to let Mom sleep in on the weekends.”
“Hm.”
But as soon as I said that, Mom stepped into the kitchen, already dressed for work.
I hated when she had to work on weekends.
“Those smell so good,” she said, kissing Grandma and Oma hello. “Save one for me?”
“Of course,” Oma said.
Mom kissed me on the forehead on her way out the door. “Have fun with your grandmothers.”
“I will. Thanks.”
While I made a pot of Assam, Laleh came downstairs, no doubt lured by the same tantalizing scent that had roused me from bed.
“You want to help ice them, Laleh?” Grandma asked. She handed Laleh the little plastic canister of icing.
“Yeah.”
Laleh used a fork to drizzle zigzags of icing over the rolls in their circular pan while I set the table for five.
“Your dad’s not still in bed, is he?” Grandma asked.
“Just taking a shower,” Dad said from the doorway. He was in his blue sweatpants and a gray Kellner & Newton T-shirt, his short hair still damp and messy. He usually kept his blond hair combed and styled with a perfect side-part, but that was before he and Mom were tired all the time.
“Did you leave the fan on?” Oma asked. “We’re going to clean the bathrooms after breakfast.”
“You don’t have to do that, Linda.”
