Page 147 of Darius the Great Is Not Okay
(Laleh had gotten bored before the teaser was even over.)
Dad and I watched the ending credits all the way through, and then I got up to make some tea. Grandma and Oma had taken me to Rose City Teas when we got back, to celebrate my birthday, and I’d picked up some new Ceylon Nuwara Eliya to try.
While I steeped the tea, Dad pulled down a pair of cups for us and set them on the kitchen table. And then he sat down and waited for me.
We had started doing this, most nights, afterStar Trek.
We sat together and I told him the story of my day. It was our new tradition.
I poured his cup, and then mine, and brought it up to my nose to smell it. Dad copied me.
“Hmm.” He wrinkled his nose. “Lemons?”
“Yeah. And floral notes.”
He sniffed again and took a sip.
“It’s good.”
“Yeah. Smooth.”
We sipped and talked. I was a little nervous to tell Dad what Coach Fortes said, but he surprised me.
Stephen Kellner was full of surprises these days.
“Don’t let him pressure you,” Dad said. “But if you want to do it, we’ll all come cheer for you.”
“Okay. Maybe. I don’t know if I’ll have time. I was going to try for an internship at Rose City Teas next year.”
“Paid or unpaid?”
My ears burned. “Unpaid.”
“That’s okay. It would be good for you.”
I stared at my father—Stephen Kellner, the Übermensch—with his fingers wrapped around a teacup, drinking fine Ceylon tea, and telling me it was okay to take a job that didn’t pay, in a field that was nothing like his own.
“Really?”
“Really. You love it. Right?”
“Yeah.”
“Okay, then.”
We finished off the pot, and while I pulled down our medications, Dad put the kettle on for another round.
“Something less caffeinated, though.”
Mom and Laleh wandered back in as I set a pot of Dragon Pearl Jasmine on the table.
“This smells like sabzi,” Laleh announced. She had elected not to use an ice cube, since it was steeped at 180º and not a full boil.
“It smells like Babou’s garden,” Mom said.
We sat around the table, drinking and laughing and smiling, but then we got kind of quiet.
It was a nice kind of quiet. The kind you could wrap yourself up in like a blanket.
Dad looked at me.
“You okay, son?”
“Yeah, Dad,” I said.
I took a long, slow sip of my tea.
“I’m great.”
