Tara had her phone out recording the first dance. I knew my grandfather was going to watch it over and over again. He was a huge softie and had asked Tara to record as much of the wedding as she could.
When the song ended, a server brought a microphone to Paul. Everyone applauded their dance while the two caught their breaths and gazed at each other. Wyatt clapped and squealed next to me, as if excited to be able to make as much noise as possible at a grown-up party.
“Thank you,” Paul said, holding Shayla’s hand, waiting for the crowd to settle down. “Welcome and Khoshamadid.” Paul pronounced the word for welcome in Farsi without difficulty. “Shayla and I wanted to begin by saying how grateful we are that you could come to one of the happiest days of our lives. We want to thank our family who traveled from Iowa, our family who traveled from DC, our family who traveled from Boston—” Tara yelped really loud after hearing our city shout-out “—and our family from Iran.” He pronounced it E-rahn rather than I Ran. I loved this guy. “We wanted all of our family here, because you have supported us, you have loved us, you have given us the tools to be loving people, and no matter where you are in the world, no one can separate family. Especially a family who loves as much as we do.”
This received a lot of cheers. What Paul was saying sounded nice, and I felt the love in the room, but families could be separated every day. Were being separated every day. Paul passed the microphone to Shayla.
“We especially want to thank Paul’s parents, who are so lovely and who raised such a beautiful man,” Shayla said. Paul blushed and gave an aww-shucks shrug. The guests laughed a little at that. “We want to thank my mother, who helped make this day happen and who shows Paul and I so much love every day. We want to thank Paul’s sister, Mary, for all her help and kindness. And we want to thank my grandfather, Dr. Sadeghi, for making today possible by being the rock of our family.”
Shayla then addressed my grandfather and the other guests from Iran in Farsi. I didn’t understand all of it, but I watched my grandfather’s eyes well up as Shayla said words I did understand, like love and gratitude. I hoped she mentioned that he’d been invited to the US over four decades ago and had forged a life for himself and his family. That he’d treated countless patients, saved the lives of people from all over the world who’d found themselves in Boston. That whether or not he was a physician, he was one of the most wonderful men in the world and we should all be so lucky to have him in our lives. I don’t think she said all that, but it’s what I wanted everyone in that room to know.
“Are you happy crying or sad crying?” Wyatt asked me.
“Both,” I said, wiping my eyes. So my mascara might run. I could always freshen up my face in the bathroom.
* * *
After dinner was served, the DJ welcomed everyone to the dance floor by playing some surefire wedding hits by the likes of Kool & the Gang and the Bee Gees. Wyatt sat in Mary’s lap, playing his Spider-Man game on an iPad.
Craig was on the dance floor trying his best to impress Tara with moves he no doubt would bestow upon the ladies at future middle school dances. He kept moving his shoulders up and down and leaning from side to side. Tara looked amused, giving him bits of attention during “Celebrate,” but then turning to dance with Mom once a new song started.
Aunt Mahnaz was having a ball, stalking the wedded couple and making the photographer follow her around to document every moment of Shayla and Paul’s happy union from various angles.
“I’ve never seen my brother so happy. Or dance so much,” Mary said as she looked out on the dance floor.
“Same goes for my grandfather,” I replied. He was snapping his fingers with his hands high in the air, his brother clapping alongside him as he swayed. It was special to see Grandfather look so...relaxed. Whenever we visited him at home, he would sometimes watch the news and get a look of worry. He wouldn’t say anything, but I knew he was anxious about his family in Iran, about the sanctions, about the travel ban, about things he had no control over. He’d spent his entire life trying to help people, but there were some obstacles that seemed so insurmountable that it made me feel so small to think about them. Today, my grandfather looked at peace. It was a memory I’d never want to let go of.
“Little man, you want to dance?” Mary asked her son as she placed a hand on the edge of the iPad, signaling playtime was about to end.
“Okay.” Wyatt let go of the game and scooted off of his mother’s lap. “Can Darya come?”
“Why don’t you ask her,” Mary said sweetly.
“You wanna dance?” he asked me.
How could I say no to that face? “I’d love to,” I said. He ran onto the dance floor, but my feet were killing me. I inched toward the floor but winced with every step.
Grandfather noticed and walked over to me. “Darya joon, take off your shoes,” he said as he gave me a kiss on my cheek. “I want to dance with the most beautiful girl in the room.”
“Mom will be embarrassed if I go barefoot,” I shouted over the music. I’d always tried my best to be the kind of daughter she wanted, like Tara, but it was getting more difficult the older I got.
“You could never embarrass anyone. Everyone should be so honored you decided to dance with them. Don’t let anyone’s ignorance make you feel that you don’t belong somewhere. You belong wherever you are,” he said in my ear. When he backed away from me, he held on to my shoulders and looked at me like I was the only person in the room, like he wanted me to believe that who I was, who I was growing up to be, was just fine. More than fine. I bit my lip and nodded. “Baba Karam,” an old Persian song, started playing through the speakers. “Now we must dance!”
I held on to his arm as I lifted one foot up at a time and took off my shoes. I placed them under a table and joined him and the rest of my now larger family.
I didn’t worry about what I looked like or that I didn’t quite have the movements mastered. I didn’t worry that Tara was going to record my awkward dancing. I didn’t worry whether I was making a bad impression or about how I looked in this stupid dress. I didn’t worry about what might come next for the world.
I was dancing with my grandfather. He loved me as I was, and that was more than enough. That was everything.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Sara Farizan is the critically acclaimed and award-winning author of the young adult novels If You Could Be Mine, Tell Me Again How a Crush Should Feel, and Here to Stay. Her short stories have been featured in the young adult anthologies The Radical Element: Twelve Stories of Daredevils, Debutants, and Other Dauntless Girls, Fresh Ink, All Out, and Hungry Hearts. She has an MFA in Creative Writing from Lesley University, lives in Massachusetts, kayaks way too much, and thanks you for reading her work. You can follow her on Instagram @sara.farizan.