“Okay.”
Dad gave me a shaky grin.
As hard as it was to have conversations like this, he never made it seem like he didn’t want to do it.
“Have you ever talked to Landon about his past relationships?”
“A little,” I said.
“Did you talk about how intimate they were?”
That made me feel a little sick to my stomach.
“Some,” I said.
Landon told me he’d done more with girls than with guys. That he had his first kiss in sixth grade.
Sometimes I wished I’d started dating sooner. Maybe then I would’ve had some practice at all this.
Maybe then I would’ve known what to do and what to say.
Dad ran his hand through his hair.
“Does it make you nervous, that Landon’s more experienced?”
“No. Maybe. I don’t know.”
“I know this isn’t fun to talk about with your dad,” he said. “But I want you to be healthy and safe and happy. Okay?”
“I know,” I said.
“Good. Okay. Good.” He took a deep breath. “Next time, just tell him you’d like things to go a little slower. Let him know you enjoy, uh, kissing and stuff, and you want to wait for the rest.”
“All right.”
Dad patted his legs and stood up. He kissed me on top of my head and then rubbed the back of it. “I forgot you had skin back there,” he said.
“Ears too. I look like the Grand Nagus.”
Dad snorted. The Grand Nagus was the leader of the Ferengi, this alien race with huge ears and an obsession with profit.
“You’re perfect just the way you are,” Dad said.
“Thanks, Dad.”
“Now finish up your homework so we can watch some Deep Space Nine.”
* * *
Most mornings I went for a run before my shower.
I don’t know that I actually liked running.
It wasn’t so bad when we ran at practice, and the guys were there, and we could shout and laugh and egg each other on. But there was something about being all alone with my thoughts, in the rosy morning light, that made me kind of sad.
Still, I wanted to improve my speed.
And, if I’m being completely honest, I hoped it would help me lose weight, so maybe I could look more like the rest of the guys on the team, who were pretty much all lean and long-limbed and flat-stomached.
Maybe then I wouldn’t have to suck in my stomach when Landon touched me.
The house was quiet when I got home. Mom’s car was already gone, Laleh was still in bed, and Dad’s door was closed.
It was weird, taking a shower with so much less hair. Way quicker. When I was dry, I rubbed in some of the curl cream Mikaela had recommended.
My hair looked nice. Really nice.
I got dressed and sat at my computer to call Sohrab.
It rang and rang—well, it made that weird doot-doot-doot music—and then:
“Hello, Darioush!”
I heard Sohrab’s heavily compressed voice before I saw his face, which emerged from the Pixelated Black Void.
“Hey.”
Sohrab Rezaei was my best friend in the whole world.
I hated that he lived half a world away.
Iran was eleven and a half hours ahead of Portland (I still didn’t get the point and purpose of a half-hour time difference), so it was evening in Yazd.
“Are you eating dinner? Can you talk?”
“I can talk. Dinner is not ready yet. We’re having ash-e reshteh.”
Ash-e reshteh is Persian noodle soup.
“Oh good. We had soup last night. Laleh was sick.”
“Is she okay?”
“I think so. She’s going to the doctor today.”
“Good.” Sohrab studied me for a second. “Eh! You cut your hairs!”
I grinned.
“Do you like it?”
“It looks good, Darioush. Very stylish.”
My cheeks burned.
“How does Landon like it?”
* * *
Sohrab was the first person I told about Landon.
Actually, Sohrab was the first person I told I was gay.
It was super scary, even though I knew he would be cool with it.
(I hoped he would be cool with it.)
But he said, “Thank you for telling me, Darioush. Have you told your mom? Your dad?”
“Not yet.”
“Are you scared?”
“No. Maybe. I don’t know.”
We talked for a while, about how I wanted to tell people, and who I wanted to tell, but then I think Sohrab realized it was making me nervous, because he switched topics to Babou’s latest appointment.
“The doctors think it’s time for him to be on . . . what do you call it? Hospice?”
“Oh.”
I don’t know why that made me want to cry. I knew Babou wasn’t going to get better.
But I guess there was a little part of me hoping for a miracle.
“I’m sorry, Darioush.”
“It’s okay.”
It wasn’t okay, and Sohrab knew it. But we didn’t have to say it out loud.
We talked about other stuff after that: about the weather in Yazd; about the fortunes of Team Melli; about the latest argument he’d had with Ali-Reza and Hossein, the boys he played soccer/Iranian football with in Yazd; about school, and his uncle’s store, and his mom’s cooking.
Right before we hung up, Sohrab looked at me. And he said, “I’m glad you told me, Darioush. I will always be your friend.”
* * *
I told Sohrab about Landon taking me for my haircut, and about visiting Rose City after, and how Dad had walked in on us making out.
When I told him I accidentally bit Landon’s tongue, he laughed so hard he had to wipe tears away from his eyes, and that made me laugh too.
And I told him about having another Awkward Talk with Stephen Kellner.
Sohrab and I told each other everything.
“But enough about me. How are you doing?”