Dad always called Oma by her first name.
“Someone’s got to.”
Dad cleared his throat and rested his hand on my head. “Who’s hungry?”
After breakfast, I ran upstairs to make sure the bathroom was okay before Grandma or Oma got to it.
I mean, I’d been keeping my bathroom tidy since I was fourteen, when I noticed just how much leg hair I was shedding and felt weird that Mom and Dad had to sweep it up all the time.
And, since I shared the bathroom with Laleh, I was pretty careful not to leave anything awkward in view.
Not that I owned anything that awkward, anyway. Just an open box of condoms with only one missing, because Dad made me practice putting one on a cucumber during one of our talks.
Persians are more likely to have cucumbers around the house than bananas.
There was no way I would use any of them before they expired. I told Dad that. But he said to hold on to them “just in case.” Which is why I had a box of condoms hidden in my nightstand with only one missing.
Okay. Two missing.
I practiced on myself, one time.
“Just in case.”
“Darius?”
I banged my elbow against the counter.
“Ow.” I looked up. “Hey, Laleh.”
“What’re you doing?” she asked.
“Just making sure I... um, we had cleaning supplies and stuff. For Oma and Grandma.”
“I think cleaning is their favorite.”
“I guess.” I set the all-purpose cleaner on the counter.
“Are you almost done? I have to pee.”
“Yeah. Sorry.”
“Thanks.”
After dinner—one of those frozen lasagnas you bake in the oven, a staple of Grandma and Oma’s culinary repertoire—I made a big pot of Dragonwell.
“What’s this?” Oma asked as she sipped.
“Dragonwell. Long Jing. We tasted it yesterday.”
“It’s lovely.”
“Yeah.”
Grandma poked her head out of the fridge, which she had decided to scour from top to bottom. “Your dad said you got a job.”
“Yeah.”
“That’s great.”
