Darius the Great Is Not Okay(25)

“Are you going to get some?”

“I can’t,” Sohrab said.

“How come?”

“We are fasting. We are Bahá’í. You know what Bahá’í is?”

“Yeah. Mom has some Bahá’í friends back home. How long are you fasting?”

“Until Nowruz. We do it every year, for the last month.”

“Oh.”

I couldn’t eat in front of someone who couldn’t eat with me.

“I’m okay for now. Can we come back after Nowruz? Then we can both have some.”

Sohrab squinted at me. “Sure.”

We paid for the robe—well, Sohrab paid for it—and said good-bye.

Agha Rezaei promised to have fresh faludeh for us when we came back.

“Maybe I can bring my sister,” I said as we headed back to Mamou’s, the bottles clinking in their plastic bag at my side.

“Laleh. Right?”

“Yeah.”

“How old is she?”

“She’s eight. How about you? Any sisters? Brothers?”

“I don’t have any,” Sohrab said.

“Oh. Do you want one?”

“It would be nice to have a brother. Someone to play football with.” Sohrab squinted at me. “Do you play football? Soccer?” He pronounced it sock-air, which seemed like a cool way to say it.

“Uh.”

I hadn’t played on a proper soccer team since I was twelve, but we played it in physical education sometimes, when we weren’t doing Net Sports or Whiffle ball or timed mile runs.

“We play most days. You should come. Tomorrow afternoon?”

“Okay.”

I wasn’t sure why I had agreed. I didn’t like soccer/non-American football that much.

Somehow Sohrab made it sound like the best thing ever.

He laughed at me again, but it wasn’t a mean laugh. “You don’t taarof, do you?”

“Oh. Sorry.” I had completely forgotten the Primary Social Cue. “Do you not want me to come?”

Sohrab threw his arm across my shoulder.

“No. You should come and play with us, Darioush.”

“Okay.”



* * *





Sohrab led me back to Mamou’s house.

“See you tomorrow? For football?”

“Yeah,” I said. “Tomorrow.”

“I will come get you. Be ready in the afternoon.”

“Okay.”

“Okay.” Sohrab jogged down the block and waved at me before he turned the corner.

I took the robe to the kitchen, where Babou was pouring himself a cup of tea.

“Uh. Is everyone else still asleep?”

“Yes. You want tea, Darioush-jan?”

“Oh. Yes. Please.”

I had forgotten to taarof yet again, but Babou didn’t seem to mind. He poured me a cup, then grabbed a cube of sugar and clenched it in his teeth. I had seen lots of Persians drink their tea this way—sipping it through a cube of sugar—but I was categorically opposed to sweetening tea in any way.

I think it was because of Tea Haven.

We sat and drank our tea in total silence, except for the intermittent sound of slurping. Babou seemed content not to talk, and I had no idea what to say to him anyway.

I thought it would be different, seeing my grandfather in real life.

I thought I would know what to say.

But I had spent so long on the other side of a computer monitor from him, watching him like an episode of Star Trek.

I didn’t know how to actually talk to him.

Babou blinked and smoothed his bushy mustache with his finger. Maybe he was used to watching me like an episode of Star Trek too.

It was deeply uncomfortable.



* * *





Someone was playing with my hair.

“Darius,” Mom said. “Wake up. Time for dinner.”

I sat up and banged my knee on the table, rattling the bowl of tokhmeh and knocking over my empty teacup.

“Sorry. I’m awake.”

“Come on. Let’s eat something and then you can go back to sleep.”

“Okay.”

Mamou had made ash-e reshteh, which is a sort of Persian noodle soup.

It was not my favorite, but I couldn’t tell her that.

We all scooped soup up with our crusty Persian bread, while Babou interviewed Laleh in Farsi. She kept up fairly well, though she switched to English a few times, like for “meatball sub” and “airport.”

She seemed to be telling Babou the entire saga of our journey through the space-time continuum.

I didn’t know where she got the energy.

I kept nodding off, shaking my head, until Mom finally said, “Darius, why don’t you go to bed? It’s okay.”

“Um.”

“It’s the time difference, maman,” Mamou said. “It’s okay. You can go to bed.”

This is why I hate time travel.

Mamou led me back to my room.

“Thank you for getting the robe for me, Darioush.”

“Oh. It was mostly Sohrab. I just went along.”

“Babou says you are going to play football tomorrow.”