He sighed and let me go. I pulled my hand back and sat on it.
“Is it something I’m doing? Or not doing?” he asked.
“No. I just... It’s hard.”
Landon giggled.
“Not like that. I don’t know...”
“I really like you, Darius.”
“I really like you too.”
Landon pushed my hair back off my forehead.
I melted a little more.
“I don’t ever want to pressure you. But I have to be honest and, well, sex is important to me. As part of a relationship.”
“I’m sorry. I’m just not ready.”
“What do you need to be ready?”
“I don’t know.”
I wanted to cry.
“I don’t know.”
Landon tugged my arm until he pulled my hand out from under me. He kissed my palm, and then he reached up and brushed a tear off my cheek. “Okay.” He wrapped his arms around me, and rested his head on my chest, and let out a little sigh.
When Landon headed home, and everyone else had gone to bed, I steeped a cup of Bai Mu Dan—this soothing, delicate white tea—to settle in for the night.
My bedroom still smelled faintly of Landon’s cologne, and I felt a little sticky and unsettled as I breathed in his scent.
I kind of wanted to go number three.
But Saturday night in Portland meant Sunday morning in Iran, and that meant Sohrab would be awake.
It took a couple rings before he answered.
“Hello, Darioush! Chetori?”
“I’m okay. How’re you? What did you do today?”
“Maman made kuku sabzi and took it for Mamou. We spent some time there.”
“How was it?”
“It was okay. Quiet. Babou was sleeping the whole time. Mamou says he is not eating much anymore.”
My chest squeezed.
And I had this really horrible thought: that the waiting was worse than Babou actually dying.
That it would be easier for everyone if he just passed away quietly.
I hated that I thought that.
