“Please. Firouz.”
Tomás retreated to the living room while David passed another glass to Firouz.
“So,” he said, pulling out his wooden spoon and swiping a finger across the back to taste. He grabbed the pepper mill and gave it a few good cranks. “I heard Persis knows your stepmom?”
“Dad’s girlfriend,” David said. “They just started dating.”
“Ah. But you took them to Shiraz Bistro?”
“Yeah. Well, they took me. Deb really likes it.”
“You know, me and Persis were going to close it, but Farzan said he wanted to take it over. I didn’t want to let him at first, but now…”
Firouz swirled his wine and sipped.
“This is good.”
“Cheers.” David clinked glasses. “But now?”
“Ah, well.” Firouz ran a thumb over his mustache; it was gray and bushy and only a little bit out of control. “My son has so much to offer the world, but sometimes I think every time he’s reached out, the world has bitten his hand. I just want him to be happy. Successful. Have a good life.”
“Yeah.” David didn’t know what else to say. How much of this had Firouz ever said out loud to his son?
“Now he wants to expand the bistro, make an event space, make a bigger kitchen… It’s a lot of change. I just don’t want it to bite him again.”
“He knows what he’s doing,” David said. “I’ve seen his plans. They’re good.”
Firouz nodded. “You know, growing up he was always looking out for his siblings. Helping take care of them. Now he’s taking care of the restaurant. His mother and I never wanted him stuck following in our footsteps. He always had all these dreams, but now…”
Firouz sighed wistfully, looking toward the ceiling. In that moment he looked so much like his son, David ached just a tiny bit.
“Well, like I said. We came to this country because we wanted our kids to have it better than we did. To be happy.”
Firouz sipped his wine, but he gave David an appraising look over the rim.
David straightened up, but Firouz’s eyes crinkled in the corners. Like he liked what he saw.
“And I think he is,” Firouz said. “When he’s with you.”
David grinned into his own wineglass. “I’m happy with him, too.”
“Well of course you are. My son’s pretty great. Now, you mind telling everyone dinner is ready? You might have to shout.”
David chuckled and patted Firouz on the shoulder.
“Sure thing.”
thirty-nine
Farzan
What was taking David so long? Farzan desperately needed more wine.
Not to get drunk—no way was he getting drunk in front of his family—but a light buzz would certainly take the edge off the constant stream of backhanded compliments.
Then again, maybe David had picked exactly the right time to retreat to the kitchen, as the trip through Farzan’s dating history was nearly to Brandon (fuckingBrandon). Farzan had tried to swear off white guys after that, but he lived in Kansas City. That was like eighty percent of the dating pool.
Tomás returned from the kitchen, and Farzan waited for David to follow, but no: he hung back. Farzan pondered following, in case David had gotten trapped in conversation with his dad, but then he noticed Tomás only had a single glass of wine, and when he sat down Maheen didn’t even take a sip. Curious: Maheen loved red wine.
