Local Talent at the Coffee Shop
When does Sizzling Sam show up?” Kavita patted her hair.
“Why is Parviz late?” Darya looked at her watch, then at the door.
“He plays sitar?” Yung-Ja asked.
“Not sitar. Guitar,” Darya said.
They had finished math camp and their samosas and kimbap and were at the coffee shop where Sam was to perform. Parviz had even agreed to attend, though he had hesitated at first, but then he’d said that it would be rude to not come and hear Sam sing the Persian folk song he’d promised to play. After all, he had learned Farsi for it.
Kavita squealed when Sam walked onto the makeshift stage. He was wearing jeans and a flannel shirt. He sat on a stool in the middle of the room as the audience sipped on cappuccinomochafrappeblanco—whatever it was they were drinking. Darya was a little put off by the large vessels from which the people drank. Why did they have to drink out of cups that were practically bowls? She breathed in her tea. Where was Parviz?
The manager of the coffee shop introduced Sam, said he was a local gem, and mentioned the names of some musicians who had apparently influenced Sam when he was young. He said Sam was available for lessons. Then he left the stage, and Sam picked up his guitar.
At first, he just strummed out the notes. Darya’s heart fluttered when she heard the introductory verse to the folk song she had loved all her life. Sam’s hair fell over his face as he looked down at his fingers on the guitar. Then he lifted his head, smiled, and began to sing. His voice was deep but soft and mellifluous. Each Farsi word in Sam’s American accent sounded like honey. The audience grew quiet, and the only sound was Sam’s music. Darya sat perfectly still. When he took in a breath, she held her own. Then when his voice soared again, she felt undone.
“Beautiful.” Yung-Ja leaned in. “He is good!”
“I am transported,” Kavita said. “I am besotted!”
Darya looked around the coffee shop and saw that Sam had given the gift of her favorite song to every person there, handed it out like a present. She loved him for it.
Halfway through the song, the door opened and there was Parviz in his suit. He must have come straight from the hospital. He found Darya, and she made space for him next to her, and together they sat as Sam’s voice filled the room, and Kavita closed her eyes and swayed while Yung-Ja’s eyes stayed locked on Sam. Near the end, Sam looked directly at Darya, and paused. Before he hit the climax, his face was completely at peace. And then, he went for the highest note, the note that always made Darya melt, the one that had always moved her. Sam held that note with delicacy and love. The audience hovered in the air with him, not wanting the moment to end, not wanting his voice to stop.
Darya quickly wiped her tears away and reached for Parviz’s hand. How many husbands would take this in stride? How many men would be so Parviz-esque and put away their pride and jealousy and come to a coffee shop to hear Sam sing a song that everyone must know he had prepared for her? She was thankful for all of it: for her good friends Kavita and Yung-Ja sitting with her, for the people listening rapt in the coffee shop, for the symmetry of numbers that helped her cope with the asymmetry of her life and always would. She was thankful for the husband who tapped his foot to the beat, no matter what, and for Sam who had taught himself a Persian song and had sung it from the heart.
THE AUDIENCE BROKE INTO APPLAUSE at the end of Sam’s performance, and a few people went up to congratulate him. Darya and Parviz and Kavita and Yung-Ja inched their way to the group of people gathering on the stage.
“Well done, my good young sir!” Parviz slapped Sam on the back a little too hard when they reached him. He then moved aside and brought Kavita and Yung-Ja in front of Sam. “Have you met these Lovely Ladies of the Mathematics?”
“Brilliant barely describes the beauty of your ballad.” Kavita shook Sam’s hand.
“Very good.” Yung-Ja bowed her head.
“Thank you,” Darya said quietly. She was sad that it had to end, that she had to go. She might never see him again. But above all, she was so proud of him.
Sam smiled at her and thanked them all. He was then engulfed by more audience members congratulating him.
They walked to the parking lot. Parviz had come straight from the hospital in his car, and Darya had driven from home in hers. After Kavita and Yung-Ja said good-bye, Parviz and Darya were left alone.
“Thank you for coming,” Darya said.
“It was a nice performance,” Parviz said. “I give him credit. His Farsi was almost spot-on.”
“I give you credit for being so . . . so . . .”
“For being an open-minded gentleman who tolerates the crushes of musicians on my wife?”
Darya laughed. “See you at home.”
“Don’t run off with him! You’re not going anywhere. You’re mine!” Parviz kissed her, then walked to his car.
That night, Parviz set the table while Darya prepared dinner. They watched an episode of a nature show devoted to coral reefs. Parviz ate his pistachios, and they both had honeyed milk before bed.
And Darya fell asleep, still hearing Sam’s song, in the arms of the man who had helped her climb over the rough and rocky places on all those past mountain hikes and beyond.