Farzan’s mom nodded, reaching for the spoon to grab another kufteh. “Always has been. You know he used to sing his little siblings to sleep?” she asked David.
David’s eyebrows raised.
“Maman…”
“What? It’s true,” Persis said.
“He does have a great voice,” David agreed.
“Not you too,” Farzan muttered, resting a hand on David’s thigh, but David only grinned at him.
Persis kept going. “I’m sad he gave up teaching. He was good at it.”
“He won teacher of the year his second year,” Navid added.
Farzan’s ears began to ring. Not this again.
“Can we not—” Farzan began, but Maheen cut him off.
“You really were great.”
“I just wish you’d stuck with it,” Persis said.
“I was miserable, Maman.”
“More miserable than you were in retail?” Maheen asked. “Or that snooty restaurant on the Plaza?”
His family had never gotten over him working at a fine dining place on the Plaza instead of waiting tables at Shiraz Bistro in college. But he made double or even triple some nights in tips.
“Or there was the real estate thing,” Persis reminded him.
Extremely unhelpfully, because Farzan had worked hard for that license only to find out he hated selling houses.
“At least the translation job let him use his Farsi,” Navid muttered. He’d always been a little annoyed their parents taught Farzan more than him and Maheen.
Farzan had liked the translation thing, but it had been more a gig than a job, never enough work to actually make ends meet. If he’d been fluent in Arabic instead, maybe he could’ve gotten something better going.
Instead, he’d cobbled together what income he could, picking up substitute shifts to supplement the translating. Subbing was consistent, especially when there was a big shortage in Missouri. And subbing let him leave school at school, instead of taking it home with him, like he had when he was teaching full-time.
“So he’s tried lots of things.” David swirled the last bit of wine in his glass. “I think that’s pretty cool.”
“Thanks.” Farzan gave David’s thigh another squeeze, his chest warmed through.
David got him. Hehadtried lots of things. His path had never been linear, but that didn’t mean it was a bad path. He was happy and healthy. He had the best friends in the world. He had a boyfriend. He had arestaurant. He was more than his failures and detours. He wasn’t just some fuckup.
“But after all those years growing up, wanting to be a teacher, to just—”
Farzan put down his fork and cut her off.
“You know, I’m not the only teacher to burn out on the job. Lots of us have. That doesn’t make me a failure. And yeah, it took me a while to figure things out after. Excuse me for not wanting to be miserable going to work every day.”
“We don’t think—” Persis began, but now that Farzan was going he couldn’t stop.
“And you know what? I’m good at running the restaurant. I’m proud of it. It’s a pillar of our community. It’s keeping lots of people employed. And when we expand it, it’s going to be better than ever. And I never could’ve done any of that if I’d kept teaching. So.”
Everyone at the table stared at him. He felt like he’d run a race. Or maybe been flattened by a truck. He took a deep breath and grabbed his wineglass.
But David took his hand off Farzan’s leg and laid it atop Farzan’s hand instead. David’s thumb traced little lines along the tendons, and Farzan tried to unclench his jaw.
