“So. How’d you two meet?”
Deb launched into a hilarious story, like something out of a movie, of them bumping into each other in the hallway of the food pantry where they both volunteered. Deb was carrying another volunteer’s birthday cake, which smashed into Christopher’s chest when they collided.
David wondered if it was a Bundt cake.
Their appetizers came, and David smiled as his dad and Deb swapped telling little bits of their history. David had never seen his dad sohappy. There was no other word for it, was there?
He’d never seen anything like it.
Their flirting was interrupted by the heaping platter of meat that showed up to their table, along with three plates of white rice: two gleaming white, topped with yellow saffron; the third, Deb’s, covered with little red jewels.
“You know how I like it!” she said. “Thanks, Nathan.”
“What’s that?”
“It’s zereshk polow. Barberry rice. Here.” She scooped some onto David’s plate. “You have to try it.”
“Thanks.” He took a small taste, and wow. Sharp, sweet, and sour played across his tongue, along with the mellow, perfectly cooked rice and earthy-floral saffron. It was heaven.
“Good, right?” Deb’s eyes lit up, even as she started piling pieces of meat onto David’s plate. Before David could stop her—tell her to serve herself first—he heard a familiar voice and nearly dropped his fork.
“Hey folks, how’s everything?” Farzan said, swinging around to the side of the booth.
David blinked up at him, mouth still full of rice.
Farzan’s eyebrows shot up. “David?”
twenty-nine
Farzan
ItwasDavid. Sitting in a booth. In his restaurant.
Staring at him with a grain of rice stuck to the corner of his lip.
Two older Black folks sat across from him, one of whom had the same amazing cheekbones and midnight skin and perfect lips as David. That had to be his dad. Was the woman David’s mom, then?
What were they doing here?
Farzan completely forgot what he was doing. And by the look on David’s face, he’d forgotten what he was doing, too. He finally swallowed, slowly, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down, and Farzan pushed away flashes of licking along that stretch of neck and down to the hollow of David’s collarbone, because now was emphatically not the time.
“Uh. Hey,” David said softly, hesitantly, and fuck, how exactly were they supposed to play this? David meeting his friends was one thing: his friends were queer, and their age, and understood the whole fuck-buddies situationship, even if Ramin clearly had some unvoiced reservations about it.
But Farzan hadn’t imagined a single scenario in which they met eachother’s parents. That was well outside the realm of friends with benefits. Distinctly un-casual.
“You two know each other?” David’s maybe-dad said.
“Yeah.” David sipped his wine and cleared his throat. “Dad, Deb. This is Farzan. My… friend.”
Farzan ignored the twinge between his ribs.
Friend. So that’s how they were going to play it.
That was fine.
They were friends, after all. That was safe territory.
But then the woman, Deb, said, “David, your dad already told me you were gay. Is this your boyfriend?”
