“Yup,” David agreed anyway. And then he looked at Farzan, really looked at him, and Farzan felt trapped against the door frame. His chest tightened, and he tried to breathe.
“Hey,” David said softly, stepping closer, resting his forehead against Farzan’s. “We’re going to figure it out. I promise.”
But Farzan shook his head. “It’s okay. I want you to be happy. You know that, right?”
“I do.” David kissed him, soft and tender. “You make me happy too.”
Farzan’s heart thundered.
David made him happy, too. But what were they supposed to do?
“Just don’t give up on us.” It was like David could read his mind. “Please?”
David kissed him again, kissed him harder, and Farzan gave in. He took control, pushing David back so it was him pressed against the awning, with Farzan’s tongue plundering his mouth.
They’d make this work. They’d figure things out.
Farzan wouldn’t fuck this up.
thirty-seven
Farzan
Azizam, what’s all this?” Persis asked, thumbing through the stack of papers at the corner of Farzan’s desk. With her free hand, she sipped her tea, a piece of rock sugar tucked between her cheek and teeth like a chipmunk hoarding nuts for winter.
“Financials.” Farzan ran his hand through his hair. He needed a haircut, and a shave too, for that matter; his scruff had become a full-on shaggy beard. When had he gotten so much gray in his chin? If he grew it out he’d look like the six-fingered man fromThe Princess Bride. The last thing he needed was Inigo Montoya busting down the door of Shiraz Bistro looking for vengeance for his slain father.
“For the bistro?”
Farzan turned down hisChrono Triggerplaylist. “Yeah. I’ve got a meeting with the bank in a couple weeks.”
“The bank? What for? Are you in trouble?” Persis began thumbing through the papers more rapidly. “You know, if you need help, you can ask us. I know you don’t like asking, but…”
“Nothing’s wrong,” Farzan insisted, gently easing the papers out of hismom’s hand. “I’m getting a loan to buy the Trans’ place next door. That way we can expand the bistro.”
“Expand?” Persis’s eyes went wide. “Are you sure? You know this business can be unpredictable.”
Farzan was well aware. He’d lived through enough recessions and scares about the mortgage and worries about college funds to know just how much uncertainty was involved. But he’d been over it from every angle with David. And David thought it made sense.
“I know,” he said, straightening in his chair. “And I do know. But with more space, we can host events, get more covers per night, and expand the kitchen so we’re not always bumping elbows.”
Not to mention he could finally keep the extra cleaning supplies somewhere other than his office.
“If you say so.” Persis didn’t sound convinced. Farzan tried not to take it personally. His parents had run the bistro for decades, after all, and had a wealth of experience. Yet his mom still always seemed to think the world was going to come crashing down around him.
Just once, it would be nice if she could believe in him. The way David did.
He didn’t say that, though. He shrugged, gritted his teeth, and kept at his spreadsheets. After the third time their online reservation system fucked up, he’d talked it over with Patricia and the other hosts and decided it was time to switch over to a bigger (and more stable) one. But that meant switching over all the existing reservations already in the system, which was tedious because he couldn’t just export a list like a normal app. And it meant a higher monthly fee, which meant he had to go back and adjust all the financials for the bank. His mom didn’t get any of that.
Yeah, his parents knew how to run a restaurant, but sometimes it felt like they were still running it like it was the nineties. The 1990s, he mentally corrected, because Chase liked to tease him that some of their staff weren’t even born when the nineties ended. Last year, when he wassubbing for a history class, a sixth grader had looked at a date on the board and gasped, “The 1000s?” When did he get so old?
As if to remind him, his shoulder twinged. He’d been slouched over his computer too long.
“You look tired, maman,” Persis said softly. “Are you sleeping?”
“Yeah.” Farzan stood and rubbed his neck. “What about you? How’d your doctor appointment go?”
Farzan’s parents were supposed to text him after his mom’s latest cardiology appointment but had conveniently “forgotten.”
