Farzan blinked, just in case it was a stress-induced hallucination, but nope, it was still there.
The Trans were closing their place?
Were they sick? Retiring? Selling? Moving?
Had they colluded with his parents to uproot all his childhood haunts in one fell swoop?
The door to their salon swung open, the scent of nail polish and citrus scrubs reminding him how bad his cuticles were these days. Even at one o’clock on a Tuesday, there were folks inside, one at the pedicure station and two getting manicures. Mrs. Tran was at the counter, her blue plastic glasses pushed up into her dark hair.
“Farzan!” She smiled when she saw him. She had bags under her eyesthat Farzan didn’t remember from when he was a kid, and a few streaks of gray at her temples, but her smile was every bit as warm as it had ever been. “You need a mani-pedi?”
Yes, but he didn’t have time right now.
“I saw the sign. You’re closing?”
She nodded. “Retiring. We’re going to move to Denver to be closer to our grandkids.”
“Wow. Uh, congratulations, then.”
“Thank you. How are your mom and dad? They keeping busy?”
“Doing okay. My brother’s getting married next year, so they have plenty to do.”
“Little Navid? Wow!” A wistful smile crossed her face. “I remember when he used to run around the restaurant angry and naked.”
Farzan choked on a laugh, so hard he had to thump his sternum before he could breathe normally. The incident in question—spurred by a tantrum after their mom had discovered Navid eating sugar cubes out of the little silver bowls on the tables—had only happened once, but it had taken on a life of its own in their family lore and the communal memory. It happened on a Saturday night, and the restaurant had been full at the time.
Farzan made a mental note to mention it in his best man speech.
Well, maybe. He didn’t want to embarrass Navid, but it was a cute story, and after all, weren’t older brothers supposed to tease their younger siblings, at least a little? Maybe he’d better run it by Gina to be on the safe side.
Farzan cleared his throat. “Yeah. Hard to believe. So what are you doing with the place?”
“We’ve found someone to buy most of the equipment,” she said. “And we’re selling the space. It’s too much work leasing it, especially from out of state.”
“Yeah.” But Farzan was already imagining something different.
With the extra space, he could expand Shiraz Bistro’s kitchen: a bigger grill, more prep stations, and wider aisles so they wouldn’t have to dancearound each other as they worked. Not to mention a bigger dining room, so they could do more covers per night, maybe hold larger parties or do events, too.
It would be a lot of work, but it felt like a sign. Like this was what he was supposed to be doing.
He wasn’t just keeping Shiraz Bistro going; he could make it better than ever.
“Hey. Who’s your real estate agent?”
thirty-two
David
Farzan
Random question
What do you know about real estate?
David
Some… why?
