“Layla, dear, I think Jahan brought those for dessert.” The graceful lilt of his mom’s accent made the scolding sound gentle, even as she grabbed the open box out of Layla’s hands. “I will put them aside untilafterdinner.”
Jay shook his head in mock disappointment and walked across the house. The scent of fragrant herbs drifted in from the kitchen—turmeric, cardamom, saffron—familiar aromas thatbrought him back to his childhood, as ever-present as the faded photos of Jay and his sisters lining the living room walls.
His dad was kneeling by a cucumber plant in the backyard. Jay’s nephews were crowded around him, hanging onto his every word. It was an impressive sight. Layla and Jasmine had their children around the same time, resulting in a tiny but chaotic cohort of four boys between seven and ten. Their bodies constantly vibrated with the need to expend energy, and Jay was always exhausted after a night of babysitting. Yet his dad somehow managed to capture their undivided attention—probably explaining the life cycle of a cucumber before letting them pick a few for dinner.
“I couldn’t believe my ears, yet here you are,” Jasmine said as she entered the room, and Jay immediately crossed the space between them to grab her in a hug. Unlike Layla, who was six years older and played the role of bossy sister, there was only a year between him and Jasmine. She had been his playground mate when they were little, and they’d stayed close even into adulthood.
She squeezed him tightly before stepping back, her hand catching his in a familiar gesture. “What have you been up to?”
Jay sighed. “I don’t know why all of you assume I’m doing something exciting when I’m not here. I’ve been busy with work, and I had a migraine last week.”
Jasmine’s smile faded, replaced by a worried frown. “What happened? Are you getting enough sleep?”
“It’s fine, Jas, it happens. I only told you so you wouldn’t think I’ve been off partying without you.”
“Partying? What’s that?”
Jay let out a small laugh. “Is that a roundabout way of guilting me into babysitting?”
“Maybe.” Jasmine gave him a sly smile. “I’ll finish guilt-tripping you later. Let’s go watch TV before dinner. We canannoy Jasper and Paul by talking over whatever they are watching.”
She dragged him into the living room, where his brothers-in-law were hunched over their phones on the couch. They seemed so captivated, the soccer game playing on TV could have been interrupted by a bulletin announcing the arrival of aliens on Earth, and they wouldn’t have noticed.
Jay walked over to an armchair, surprised when Paul lifted his head. “Jay! Dude, it’s been a while. Good to see you.”
A wave of affection washed over him. It was nice to know he’d been missed, to feel the easy acceptance of his family. Even if it came from Layla’s lovable goof of a husband.
Jasmine flopped into the other armchair and immediately started asking questions about what he’d been up to. They stayed there, watching the game half-heartedly and trading bits of news until they were called to the dining room.
The best thing about these dinners, besides the company, was the food. His parents cooked together, making separate things. His mom always prepared Persian dishes, and his dad had started experimenting with different cuisines since retiring. The results didn’t always make sense—like the time they’d paired dill rice with shrimp fried rice—but it was always delicious. Besides, they were Persian. There was no such thing astoo much rice.
Jay took his seat and looked around the table, his stomach growling in anticipation. “Do you need help making up plates for the boys?” he offered Jasmine.
“They can fend for themselves,” she said, her eyes glued to the steaming platter of buttery string beans. As usual, Jasmine’s maternal instincts were trumped by promises of a mouthwatering meal.
“Come on, everybody, serve yourselves.” His mom clapped her hands as she appeared through the doorway, followed by his dad carrying a large pot ofghormeh sabzi. Jay’s mouth wateredat the fragrant aroma of the rich stew, his favorite meal in the world.
His dad lit up in surprise when he noticed Jay, immediately setting down the pot and hurrying to embrace him. “Jahan, we are glad to see you. You have not come in a while.” He kissed Jay’s cheeks and squeezed his shoulder. “I will take you to see the bell peppers after dinner.”
His accent seemed more pronounced than usual, or maybe Jay just hadn’t talked to him in too long. He loved his parents’ formal way of speaking. After living in America for over three decades, their English was perfect, but they never changed their speech patterns. As kids, Jay and Jasmine had made a game out of trying to get their parents to use contractions. As far as he could remember, neither one of them ever succeeded.
“I missed you. Sorry I haven’t been around,” Jay said. His dad waved him off with a smile and handed him a plate.
For the next few minutes, everyone walked around the table in the slowest game of musical chairs while filling their plates. Jay loaded his with rice and ladled the stew on top before sitting next to Paul, who’d already started eating.
Before he had a chance to take a bite, his mom leaned across the table to examine his plate. “You do not have any vegetables. Here.” She thrust a bowl at him. “Eat some tabbouleh. The boys made it themselves.”
“Tomatoes, cucumbers, mint, all from the garden. Always better fresh,” his dad added proudly.
Jay reached for it when a strange impulse overcame him. The words were out of his mouth before he realized what he was saying.
“I can’t have any. It has tomatoes.”
His words hung in the air before his mom tried again. “You can have a little. It is really good.”
It would be easier to accept the offer, but he’d made it this far. He might as well see it through.
“I recently found out that mild allergies can get worse with repeated exposure, so if I keep eating tomatoes, my reaction might change from a burning, itchy face to something more serious.” He swallowed nervously. “As much as I hate the burning, I definitely don’t want my throat swelling shut.”
