The smart thing to do would be to text her and say something came up. A fire emergency. Shit, I could even set something on fire to make it more realistic.
But texting her would mean I’d have to admit that I got her number from Ezra.
I hung my head in my hands and groaned. I was officially losing my shit.
Tonight would be fine. We wouldn’t be alone. She would be safe.
I popped open the tiny orange bottle and took my third suppressant of the day before grabbing my keys and the box of chocolates I’d gotten for Lucy. I’d spotted them at the market and they brought back memories of all the chocolates my dads had given my mom. They would grow almost giddy when they found an especially unique box of chocolates. When I was younger, I hadn’t understood why it made them so happy to give her presents, but I did now. I would bring Lucy presents every day just to see her smile.
I locked the door behind me, but in my rush to get to my truck, I stumbled on the porch steps and face-planted hard in the dirt. I landed on the chocolates, the corner of the box stabbing my stomach.
Fuck. Luckily, besides my stinging palms and sore chin, my pride was the only truly injured thing.
I pushed myself off the ground but immediately collapsed again. My arms trembled with exertion, my muscles too weak to hold my weight.
The world spun around me in a haze of green and brown. My last thought before the world turned dark was how I’d wasted all that time getting ready just for my outfit to get covered in dirt.
33
Leo
“Leo, my love, what areyou doing here?”
I groaned as Bibi entered the greenhouse, a large basket hanging off the crook of her arm. I’d parked around the corner from my family’s house and practically crawled through the edge of the yard so they didn’t see me, but I should have known she would discover me. Nothing got by her.
“I’m just here to check on the peonies, Bibi.” I’d been helping her in the greenhouse for years, but this was the first time I was growing flowers to sell on a larger scale. For now, I sourced them from a small farm in Maple Glen, but I hoped that eventually the majority of the flowers in my shop would be home grown.
I crossed over to where she was standing and kissed her cheeks before reaching out and taking her basket out of habit, even thoughIwas the one with the cane while she walked perfectly in her old age.
“What’s wrong?” She peered at me, her gaze too knowing.
“Nothing.”
She hummed and patted my cheek. “Help me pick my herbs, azizam, and then we will have tea.”
“I don’t have time for tea.”
Her narrowed eyes said it all:There is always time for tea.
I sighed and followed her around with the basket as she hummed the tune of a lullaby. It brought me back to the sunny afternoons we spent together in Tehran, flipping through old horticulture and gardening books as she told me stories of her childhood when she helped her parents harvest roses to make rose water.
She finished picking her herbs and gestured for me to follow her to the house.
“Bibi, I’m not good company tonight,” I tried again.
She made a dismissive noise and that was that. She was the matriarch of our home, one of my favorite people in the entire world, and she would not be denied.
I opened the back door for her, gesturing for her to enter first. The scent of familiar spices—saffron, cumin, and cardamom—hung in the air.
“Leo, I didn’t know you were coming home tonight.” Maman beamed as she crossed the kitchen and pulled me into a tight hug.
“Did someone say Leo?” Baba’s voice boomed across the house, and moments later, he entered the kitchen. His face lit up and he squashed Maman and me between his large arms. “My son, your presence brings us great joy.”
I didn’t want to be around anyone this evening. Or rather, there was one person I wanted, but she didn’t want me back. But being surrounded by my parents put me more at ease. There was no doubt I belonged here.
We fell into an easy rhythm created over countless evenings of family dinners. I served Bibi tea, Maman made tahdig, and Baba handled the kebab. Occasionally, Maman and Baba exchanged concerned looks when they didn’t think I was looking, but they didn’t push me to talk.
We gathered at the table, but the warmth of the food and conversation couldn’t quite touch the ice-cold lump that was my heart. Baba doted on Maman like usual, adding food to her plate without her asking and refilling her tea glass. I’d grown up surrounded by so much love, but now I was left without anyone to give it to. And that hurt.
