The Stationery Shop(18)
Bahman carefully placed the tray on the table.
It would be worth it. She would accept his mother, do her best to get along with her. For this boy, she would do anything.
Chapter Eight
1953
* * *
Engagement Party
Their engagement party was on a summer evening in July, several weeks after Roya and Bahman had both graduated from high school. Maman and Baba had invited family and close friends to their home for the celebration. Maman and the girls worked for hours in the kitchen, cooking and preparing. On the day of the party, Kazeb, a woman they sometimes hired to help with the housework, came over to go shopping with Zari for last-minute items while Roya and Maman focused on the star main dish: jeweled rice.
By the kitchen sink, her brown hair up in a bun, her kind, round face damp from exertion, sleeves rolled up so her chubby arms were visible, Maman cleaned the zereshk. These small dried barberries would be nestled into the basmati rice when the dish was done. Roya stood next to her mother and inhaled her familiar lemony scent. She helped her pick out any pieces of dirt or tiny stones from the barberries and then watched her put the dried berries in a small sieve and rinse them.
“Do you think it will be different, Maman?” Roya asked.
Maman put the sieve in a bowl of cold water to soak.
“What will?”
“Us. You and me.” Much as Roya yearned for a new life with Bahman, it was strange to think of the changes ahead. Would this house with its white lace curtains and kitchen so meticulously organized still feel like her home? Would everything change? Would she still be able to joke with Zari and be one of the family like before?
Maman sighed. “This is what was intended, Roya Joon. Girls grow up. They marry and move out.” She pulled the sieve of barberries out of the bowl of water and shook it several times over the sink. “Would I want you to be living in this house with me till the day I die? I cannot lie. There are selfish moments when the idea of my children never leaving my side seems fine by me! But of course you need to start your own life. You have your own future. May you and Bahman have a long and happy life together, inshallah, God willing.”
A long and happy life together. The ground would shift in so many exciting and scary ways when she and Bahman got married at the end of the summer. Maman handed the sieve to Roya and Roya laid the barberries on a kitchen towel, patted them dry, and scattered them onto a big plate—all movements she’d mastered with Maman’s guidance over the years. But this time she was keenly aware that though she was cooking with Maman like always, it was for an event that would take her further away from her mother.
“We’ll still be close. You’ll only be forty minutes away, Roya Joon!” Maman laughed as if she could read her mind. “We can see each other every day, if you like. If you don’t get tired of your maman.”
Roya and Bahman had decided to lease a few rooms in a house with levels for rent conveniently located near his parents’ home. That way Bahman could still keep an eye on his mother in her volatile state. The new rooms were a bit far from the newspaper office where Bahman would start working in the fall, but he could take the bus to work. Eventually they would get a bigger place of their own, of course, but this would be a good stepping-stone. Roya was so relieved that Bahman had said no to their staying at his parents’ home; it was a common custom for newlyweds to start married life in the groom’s parents’ house. But Bahman insisted that he didn’t want Roya to feel like a caretaker to his mother, and that he and his father could handle it all as long as they lived close by.
Maman wiped her forehead with the back of her hand. “In this new stage of life, with your husband’s blessing, of course, you can decide your next steps. Many will expect you to stay home and have babies, and that is a fine path too. Or if you like, you can try pursuing at least for a bit the science studies your father so cherishes?” Maman slit open a sack of rice and poured the grains into a large bowl. The grains clinked against the sides and landed in a mound inside.
Baba and his lectures. Madame Curie! Roya took the rice and filled the bowl with water to get the extra starch out. “I know he was so excited and proud of us for even having the option to study science. But it was never what I . . .”
“Wanted to solely study?” Maman finished the sentence for her. Maman’s hair shone in the sunlight that came through the kitchen window. A few strands of gray were visible in the light. “My daughter who loves her novels. Who loves to read. You will figure it all out, Roya Joon. Baba is so happy for you, as you know. He loves Bahman.” She stroked Roya’s cheek. “You will always be my baby. Forty minutes is nothing.”
Roya finished washing the rice and set down the bowl. Together they would slightly sauté the barberries in a pan. They would take chicken pieces and sprinkle them with salt, pepper, and turmeric and roast them till they were golden brown. They would boil the rice and drain it and pour it back in the pot with a cloth under the lid to catch the steam. Together she and Maman would drizzle lime juice and dissolved saffron over the roasted chicken pieces and arrange them on platters. They would chop up pistachios and sliver almonds with a knife and add the pistachios and almonds to the cooked rice. They would fold in a few curly orange rinds that Maman had dried in the sun. For her engagement party, they would serve a dish actually worthy of a wedding. It was a time of joy. Of new beginnings. Maman was right. Roya could come by anytime to say hello, ask for advice, sit with her in the kitchen and drink tea.