The week preceding the “dinner” flew by. I wanted time to drag on, to stand still, giving me a moment to find the courage I needed to face off with the lioness. I felt small and weak, a mere child facing a dragon, with only sticks and rocks as weapons. It wasn’t in my nature to be good at the art of confrontation, even more so with one of my elders. I went through the motions of each day unable to focus, all along my mind preoccupied with the events of the weekend looming before me.
Seti and Leyla had taken it upon themselves to prepare me, throwing every scenario possible in my direction. I felt like a prize fighter in intensive training, readying for the championship. By the time it was Saturday, I felt dizzy from preparations and exhausted from the apprehension. I wanted to flake on the whole thing, throwing my hands up in defeat before the war had even begun.
I spent most of the day hanging out with Mom as she, too, went about preparing me for the battle ahead. She urged me stick up for myself, to say my piece but to do it respectfully to avoid any further issues in an already dramatic situation. I wasn’t worried about being rude, but I was scared that I wouldn’t have the guts to say anything at all.
I was standing in front of the mirror staring at my reflection when I heard a light knock on my door. I was noticing how the pink of my blazer brought out the rosiness in my cheeks, how the white of my tank top reflected off the deep brown of my eyes, making them look like pools of dark chocolate, the pupils barely discernible. I watched Maziar’s necklace sway with each breath I took, moving in unison with the long curls that fell around my face. I took in my tiny frame, lean and hard from my morning runs, outlined by my black pants.
“Maziar’s here,” Mom said, popping her head in.
“I know. I heard the doorbell. I just need another minute.”
“Okay,” she said tenderly, knowing I was worried.
I made my way to the living room a few minutes later. Maziar was standing by the doorway talking to Dad. He looked toward me as I walked in, a smile breaking out across his face. I felt my breath catch in the back of my throat as it always did when he looked at me that way.
“You ready?” he asked, knowing I was dreading this dinner.
“Yes.” I leaned in to kiss my parents.
“Take good care of my daughter, Maziar,” Mom urged.
He stopped and turned to face her. “Of course I will. I always do,” he assured her. He leaned in and kissed her cheek. She blushed under his unwavering attention. I was grateful that this was at least one relationship I didn’t have to worry about.
His parents had made dinner reservations in Malibu. The drive over was a quiet one as I tried to muster up the courage to face the evening. I hadn’t even realized we’d made it until the attendant opened my door. I just sat there staring at him, desperately wanting to remain in my seat. When I didn’t move, he reached out his hand so I could take it. I reluctantly let him help me out of the car.
Maziar came over to me and gently kissed the top of my head. “It’s going to be okay,” he whispered in my ear.
I wished I could believe him, wished we could walk out of here with no war wounds to show for it. But that nagging voice had taken up permanent residence in my head, screaming warnings of danger at me. No matter what I did, I couldn’t shake her. I knew this evening was a bad idea.
The hostess walked us over to our table. It was located on the deck overlooking the ocean. The sun had almost set and the sky was aglow with pinks and oranges that swirled around the cotton candy clouds. The waves crashed against the rocks below, their rhythmic pattern soothing in the background. I stared out at the water and wondered how I’d gotten here. How did we go from two kids in a club to Judgment Day at this restaurant? How was I exactly where I’d tried so hard to avoid being?
I fidgeted in my seat as we waited for his family to arrive. I pulled obsessively at a frayed string on the side of my pants, giving my hands something to do other than lie idly in my lap. I hadn’t even noticed Maziar ordering us drinks until the waitress showed up with two glasses of wine. I gratefully grabbed mine, taking a long sip.
“I love you,” he said reassuringly.
Before I could respond, I spotted Bita walking through the door and my heart dropped. She saw us from across the restaurant and headed toward us, smiling. Her parents were trailing behind her, Parviz in the lead, his arm stretched out behind him, holding his wife’s hand. His smile was wide and warm, crinkling the corners of his eyes. It did nothing to calm my nerves, my gaze intently set on his wife.
Naghmeh stood proper and poised, exuding perfection from her pores. Her face was smoothed into an expression of indifference as she set her sights on me. I could feel the icicles forming on my skin from the chill of her stare. My stomach roiled with tension, but I tried to swallow it down, remembering what Mom had told me. The fact that I was falling apart on the inside was irrelevant. I needed to find a way to mask my emotions from the four people sitting at this table. I focused on calming my own features.
We stood up when they approached, as is customary when greeting new arrivals in our culture. Bita came in first, hugging us both. She took the seat directly across from me, trying to position herself in the crossfire, in hopes that she could deflect some of the ammunition shot my way. I saw a silent approval exchanged across the table between Maziar and his sister as she lapped up his validation. His father came in next, shaking his hand, then leaning in to give me a quick hug.
When it was his mother’s turn, she wrapped her arms tightly around her son, glancing at me from over his shoulder with an expressionless face. The dread began to amplify in the pit of my stomach and I had to focus on staying unresponsive to keep her from seeing it. I felt like I was going to throw up. Once Maziar successfully severed himself from her, she reached across the table, grabbing my hand.
“Salom, Sara. It’s good to see you,” she said, disinterested.
“Salom, Naghmeh Khanoom. It’s good to see you too,” I answered, mimicking her tone.
We stood there awkwardly looking at each other until Parviz pulled the seat out for her. We all followed suit, sitting down. I grabbed my wine glass, taking another long drink, not caring what judgments were behind his mother’s intense gaze. Maziar just smiled, no doubt amused by my sudden disregard for proper Persian girl etiquette. I could hear Mom’s voice in my head.
“Sara, it looks like you have no class if you drink like that,” would be her response to my downing a glass of wine.
Technically, Muslims didn’t drink. But we weren’t religious. However, Mom’s generation had been raised in Iran, a predominantly Muslim country. It was looked down upon to drink during her time, and after the revolution, it became outlawed. Mom didn’t drink, and even though she didn’t stop me from drinking, she thought I should be mindful about how I appeared when I did. What I was doing at the moment would disappoint her. Even so, I welcomed the alcohol despite how it made me look to Naghmeh, begging it to dull my senses and make the evening bearable.
Parviz began asking each of us about work, trying to find something to fill the void the tension was creating. Bita joined in, the two of them spinning our conversations around in different directions, trying to mask the discomfort that everyone was so obviously feeling.
His mother seemed to be the only person at the table unaffected. She’d voice her opinion on the various topics being discussed but made it a point to stare at me expressionlessly when I spoke. Her eyes, though, bored into me like a claw drill, digging through my layers as if I were upturned earth.
The fear began to dissipate, quickly replaced by the anger flaring in the center of my chest. How dare she make me feel like an impostor in my own world? I was furious that I’d allowed her to make me doubt every word that came out of my mouth. When did she become the gatekeeper, deciding if I was worthy enough for passage?
The truth was that Maziar had chosen me despite her protests. The days of making a good impression were gone, wasted years ago when I’d desperately needed this woman’s approval. She hadn’t spared me a second thought when she tore us apart, leaving me by the wayside to die.
I tried again to mend our bridges after Maziar’s accident. I was willing to see past her malicious ways and forge a relationship with his family. But she couldn’t move forward, trying to convince me to leave her son and keep her dirty secret. In the end, her son was unwilling to compromise, and she was the one who’d swallowed her pride and come to him.
If she were smart, she would do her damnedest to work things out with me. If I walked away from this dinner disgruntled, I would still be going home with Maziar. I was the one sleeping with him, which meant I was the one in control.
I was the one he’d follow home.
Maybe it was the wine, or maybe it was the discovery that I wasn’t as powerless as I’d felt at the beginning of the night, but I didn’t feel as helpless as I did minutes ago. She was watching me intently now. I wondered if she could feel the energy shift around me, the fear dissolve into nothingness. I leaned back in my chair wanting to stay angry.
But, as I watched her glance between Maziar and me, I realized that regardless of how horrible I thought she was, I was sure that she felt that she was doing right by her son. She was convinced that we were doomed, incapable of seeing past her judgment, and her apprehension of change. She was trying to keep him from making what she thought was a big mistake. This wasn’t truly about me, not personally. I just didn’t fit into the mold of what she’d been raised to think was right.
I desperately wanted to let myself hate her. I wanted to be a royal bitch and then walk out of the restaurant hand in hand with her son, flaunting it in her face. I wanted to prove to her that I could crush her if I really wanted to, weave my voodoo and pull him completely out of her life. I wanted to win, but I knew it would cause us all to lose in the end.
The conversations had quieted, mundane topics having all been used up and worn out. Bita and Parviz looked at each other despondently, knowing the conversation was about to take a turn. Naghmeh slowly took a sip of her water, eyeing the two of us over the edge of her glass.
“Maziar, we asked you here to discuss the situation you’ve created for yourself,” she said.
His father looked at her, appalled at her lead-in to the topic of our relationship. Bita physically sank back in her seat, trying to disappear into the table linens. I just glared at his mother, who was very convincingly pretending I was invisible, furious that she’d just referred to me as a “situation.” Before I had a chance to say a word, Maziar jumped in.
“What situation would that be, Mom? Because surely you aren’t referring to Sara as a situation,” he said calmly, his anger burning a hole into her defenses.
“Oh Maziar, please don’t be dramatic. You know what I mean,” she replied. She waved her hand in the air, nonchalantly brushing his response aside as if she were talking to a child. “We need to know what your plans are with all of this, because we don’t see this working out.”
The anger boiled inside me like a tea kettle about to explode. I wanted to say something, to tell her she was out of line, but there was no time. The conversation was moving at the speed of a tennis match, toggling back and forth between the two of them as Maziar met her step for step.
“Well, it’s a good thing I didn’t ask you if you thought this would work out, now, isn’t it? Truth is it doesn’t matter what you think.”
“How can you say that, Maziar? We’re your family. How do you plan on doing this all alone?” she asked, furious.
“My family doesn’t seem to be the problem, Mom. You seem to be the only one that has an issue with my relationship. And as far as doing this without you, and anyone who agrees with you,” he said, turning to look at his father and sister, “Sara has enough family for the two of us.”
She sat there, shocked into silence as if Maziar had reached across the table and slapped her. She hadn’t come to this dinner thinking she was going to lose. Not giving her time for a rebuttal, Maziar continued, going for the jugular.
“I thought you wanted to have this dinner because you realized I was serious about Sara. I thought you genuinely wanted to get to know her. I can see now that I was wrong.” He steadied his gaze on his mother’s wounded face and, without an ounce of remorse, said, “I’m really sorry, Mom, that you’re too selfish to care about what it is that I want. I’m also sorry that things have to end this way, but you aren’t leaving me any choice. I love Sara. If we want to be together, that’s our choice, not yours or anyone else’s. It’s sad that you can’t see past yourself, but I’m done.”
“Maziar, think about what you’re saying. I’m not saying Sara is a bad girl, but there’s no way this is going to work,” she replied, an edge of desperation invading her words. She continued by listing all the reasons why we were doomed, hoping a light would go off for her son and she could convince him to walk away.
I pitied her naïveté. She’d come from a generation that didn’t accept change. In fact, they shunned it, as if steering away from the crowd was a cardinal sin. She came from a culture that stuck to their ways, putting more emphasis on race and religion than love and compatibility. It wasn’t her fault that she felt anxious about the possibility of Maziar and me together. She was a product of her upbringing, incapable of breaking the chains that bound her.
Maziar sat patiently as his mother presented her case. He held my hand the entire time, refusing to let her sever even the smallest connection between us. He maintained his composure, but he was fuming. I knew it took every ounce of his self-control to keep from flipping the table in anger.
I, on the other hand, had my emotions flashing across my face. I went from angry to appalled to sad to shocked, my expressions changing with each of her words. I had abandoned my attempt at wearing a mask, too mortified to hide my weaknesses.
Multiple times during the conversation, I’d wanted to say something, to throw in my own opinion, to yell at her audacity. However, Maziar was so on point with his responses there wasn’t a need for me to stand up for myself. He was successfully doing it on his own. It was better for the fight to come from him rather than me anyway. The future was big; the end result unpredictable.
I was reminded of a saying my grandmother always said: “Yek seebroh meendazi tooyeh havah, sad bar meecharkheh ta bekhoreh beh zameen.” When you throw an apple in the air, it spins a hundred times before hitting the ground. You never knew how life would go, turning around in so many different directions before you reached the final outcome. It was better for Maziar to speak on our behalf. His mother could eventually forgive him if they worked things out, but she would never forgive me.
He continued to stare at her with disappointment on his face. He had come to this dinner truly believing his mother had had a change of heart, that she was going to try to get to know the girl he loved. He thought, even if she couldn’t fully be on board with what he was planning to do, she was going to at least be supportive enough to find common ground. My heart broke, knowing she’d once again hurt him more than she could have imagined.
Maziar wasn’t going to let her see what she’d done to him, though. He wasn’t going to appear vulnerable. He had too much pride to let her know she’d broken him.
“I don’t have to explain my decisions to you. I had hoped you would come around, but that isn’t the case. You’ve made your choice, Mom, and now I’m making mine,” he said in a cold, even tone. “Let’s go, Sara.”
He stood up, startling us all into attention. I looked at him, eyes pleading for him to reconsider. I knew that walking out of this restaurant meant we were crossing the point of no return. I silently urged him to find a different way to deal with this moment. I was angry too, but I could see the bigger picture. Severing all ties wouldn’t lead to a happy outcome. He, however, was resolved in his decision. He was done, and my fears had no bearing.
“Come on. Let’s go home,” he said, reaching down to help me out of my chair.
“You’re going to regret this, Maziar,” his mother threatened. It was her last desperate plea to assert some semblance of control.
Maziar didn’t respond. He just turned around and walked away. I could hear his father’s voice as he reprimanded his wife, his tone low and assertive.
“Naghmeh, that’s enough!” he demanded.
“But, Parviz,” she began, but he stopped her.
“That’s enough. I won’t let you do this,” he said, pulling his chair out to follow us.
Bita just sat at the table, her head buried in her hands. By the time Maziar had handed the valet his ticket, Parviz was beside him.
“Son, please, don’t leave like this,” he pleaded.
He turned toward his father, his rage bright in his eyes. “I meant it, Dad. I’m done. I’m not doing this anymore.”
“But she’s your mother,” he desperately reasoned.
I stood there watching the spool of thread unravel. I reached out and put my hand on Maziar’s arm, forming a union. I wanted to comfort him, to let him know he wasn’t alone. He gave me a wary smile. He looked exhausted, as if he had the weight of the world on his shoulders while he hiked up a mountain.
“Do you feel the same way, Dad?” he asked, no longer able to hide his vulnerability.
I saw Maziar transform into a little boy. He stood there, wide-eyed and innocent, staring at his father, wanting desperately to feel his support. Parviz allowed his eyes to linger on the man before him. Life had moved forward in a flash, and the little boy he once held tightly in his arms was no longer present. He’d grown into a man, one who was now in love with a woman. He needed at least one of his parents to support him as he moved forward in this new chapter of his life.
“No,” he said. He reached out and pulled me close to him, placing a kiss on the crown of my head. “No, I don’t.” He smiled. He then leaned in and wrapped his arms around his son. “I’m proud of you.”
I watched Maziar allow himself a moment of weakness in his father’s, big, strong arms. I saw the relief spread across his face, saw it in the rise and fall of his chest. I knew his father’s approval meant everything. Even the biggest giants needed a moment to hand their troubles off to someone else.
The car came around. Maziar let go of his dad as the valet came to open my door. From the spot I stood in, I could see that Bita and Naghmeh were making their way toward us. Maziar spotted them as well.
“You guys go and enjoy the rest of your night,” Parviz said, as he guided us toward the car. “We’ll talk later.”
Maziar squeezed his father’s arm and walked over to the driver’s seat. The valet had my door open and I was already inside, shutting it behind me.
“I love you,” Parviz said.
“I love you too, Dad,” Maziar replied, glancing at his mother, who was now standing by her husband. Without even the slightest acknowledgment, he got into the car, leaving the woman who had raised him behind.
That night we lay in bed, wrapped in each other’s arms, content with the quiet of the dark. Our war wounds from the most recent battle were too devastating to leave us energy for much else. Maziar tried to make light of the situation, throwing in humor where he could, masking the magnitude of what had taken place mere hours ago. Finally, he resorted to just lying in bed with my head on his shoulder, his arms wrapped protectively around me.
A few hours later, when his breath slowed and his body shed the tension of the day, I knew he’d fallen asleep. I envied his escape, as I still lay there twirling the night around in my head. I had no idea how we were going to move forward after this. I was consumed with worry, overtaken by a deep sadness that wrapped itself around the muscles of my heart, constricting with every beat.
I didn’t understand how things had unraveled so quickly at dinner. I couldn’t fathom how a mother could sever her deepest bond over a disagreement. I knew she truly believed we were doomed, but I’d always thought a mother would follow into the darkness, committing herself to the flames for her child. Naghmeh had cut her bonds, pushing him into the abyss to go at it alone. I knew she loved him. Maybe she thought the ultimatum would bring him to his senses and back to her? I wasn’t sure.
I allowed myself to feel the heaviness of the situation in its entirety. I stared up at the glow of the street lights dancing across the ceiling, allowing myself a moment of pity to feel sorry for how difficult things always seemed for Maziar and me. I’d never thought our love would tear families apart, leaving everything in disarray. I let myself feel bad for the man lying next to me, for the deep void I knew his mother had left him.
As I watched the lights flicker, I finally allowed myself the luxury of crying, in the deep silence of the dark, where no one could see me.