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Azadeh giggled. “He’s my maman’s favorite.”
“What’s my favorite?” Nasrin asked as she poked her head out of the kitchen.
“Cyrus here likes Fardin movies,” Azadeh explained.
Nasrin wiped her hands on her apron and walked over to us. She took Cyrus’s hand and dragged him away. “You have to tell me which one. I have all of his movies on VHS.”
Azadeh and I laughed as we walked over to Lev, sitting by the sofa with a cup of cardamom tea in his hand and a lollipop stick standing up in it.
He raised the cup to us, his thumb squished in the ridiculously tiny handle. “Your mother has filled this up three times in the last thirty minutes. It would make more sense if she gave me a coffee mug.” He pulled out the lollipop stick. “This is the most delightful sugar I’ve ever had, but what are these red things floating inside?”
“I thought you were rich,” I said, sitting beside him. “Don’t you know those red things are more expensive than gold?”
Azadeh rolled her eyes at me before turning to Lev. “It’s saffron.”
Lev placed the cup on the table and rose from his seat as if realizing he should’ve said hello to Azadeh before mindlessly insulting her maman’s tea. His hand disappeared into his coat pocket, and he pulled out a small velvet box.
“You’re not proposing to her, are you?” Cyrus asked as he entered the modest living room, holding a giant bowl of fruit with small cucumbers hanging over the side. “I like the little cucumbers. Nasrin says they’re Persian.” Cyrus glanced at Azadeh. “And we all know how much I love Persian things.”
“Cucumbers are a fruit, so it’s appropriate,” Lev said.
“Azadeh, Mona, help me set the table,” Nasrin called from the kitchen. “Make sure our guests eat. Tarof bokon.”
Azadeh rolled her eyes. “Help yourselves, but don’t eat too much and get full. If you don’t eat Maman’s food, she’ll be insulted.”
An hour later, we finished our third helping. As soon as our plates were empty, Nasrin had filled them again. Even with the copious amounts the three of us ate, there were still leftovers.
“What’s this salad?” Cyrus asked as he loaded his plate. “I grew up with only Caesar and garden. If my mother had made this one, I wouldn’t have kicked and screamed to avoid it.”
Nasrin beamed at him. “It’s called salad Shirazi.”
I couldn’t believe how easily he’d won her over by complimenting her food. Her food was good, mind you. It was probably the best cuisine I’d ever sampled. Nasrin ate up every compliment Cyrus threw at her. The way she gazed at him like he was her long-lost baby boy was astounding. But that was how she made everyone feel, as if they were a member of her family.
“Cyrus, I meant to ask you. Are you Persian?”
“Me?” Cyrus asked. “No, I wish, though, because Persian moms can cook. I love that you use a spoon more than a fork. Most things fall off my fork. It makes way more sense to eat rice with a spoon.” He demonstrated his appreciation of Nasrin’s culinary talents by shoving a spoonful of salad into his mouth.
“You have a very famous Persian name,” Nasrin explained. “The name itself isn’t Persian. We Iranians call him Koorosh.”
“Cyrus the Great,” Lev chipped in. “The first king of the Persian empire. We credit the man with creating the concept of human rights. I believe they called him the great liberator. It’s ironic that a country that created human rights now doesn’t possess any.”
The table went so silent that the only intelligible sound was Cyrus chewing.
“Men like Cyrus don’t come along very often,” Azadeh whispered. “There’s nothing wrong with obtaining power, but when it’s used to subjugate, it causes a catastrophe.”
Nasrin gazed up at a large framed photo of the ancient ruins of Persepolis. “Persia was meant to be a place where different ethnicities, religions, and identities lived together in harmony. Now, it’s held hostage by corrupt men and their lackeys. I’ve lost many things to Iran, but I haven’t lost my hope that one day, it will fulfill its destiny of becoming a free society. I hope I’m alive to see it.”
Nasrin’s expression morphed from sorrow to love as she looked at her daughter. “That’s enough of that. It’s Azadeh’s birthday, a time for celebration. How about we open your gifts?” Nasrin waved me off as I stood to clear the table. “Leave it. I will take care of it later.”
“You absolutely will not,” I retorted. “The three of us and little Mona here will clean up while you ladies pour a cup of tea and relax.”
“But you’re my guest. Guests don’t clean up,” Nasrin huffed.
“I’m not a guest, Nasrin. You’re a second mother to me. You heal me when I’m sick, comfort me when I’m hurt. You’ve done more for me than my own parents. Dastet dard nakoneh madar joon.” May your hand not hurt, mother dearest.
I got a little choked up as Nasrin’s eyes filled with tears. She placed a hand on my cheek and smiled. “You are such a sweet man, Zeke. You deserved better in life.”
The guys and I cleaned up and moved into the small living room, where Mona, Azadeh, and Nasrin were waiting for us.
