Page 90 of I Hope This Finds You Well

Taarof-Off

The kettle rings, signaling that the noodles I’d picked up from the convenience store near the bus drop-off are ready to be sous-cheffed by me. I’m pouring the steaming water out when my phone lights up, an unknown number ringing. I let it go to voicemail, but when it starts to ring again immediately, I decide to roll the dice by actually answering.

“Hey, Jolene, can you be a dear and get to the bakery right now?”

It’s Armin, and it sounds like he’s having a nervous breakdown. I’d forgotten I’d given him my number for the fake-fiancée dinner planning.

“What’s up?”

“We have a, um... situation. Please, just get here. Now!” He practically hisses the last word.

In the background, I hear a voice say, “I want a cake that will make Minoo cry in shame!”

Oh my god. My stomach plummets. My mom’s there.

“I’ll be there in twenty minutes,” I say, and hang up. I button up my pants, speed down the stairwell, and race to the bus station at the end of the block at record speed.

One harrowing bus ride later, I make it inside the bakery. The sweet, calming smell of fresh tea leaves pairs terribly with my mom, who is sitting in a booth looking ready to burst as she waves her hands animatedly in front of Armin’s mom. Some poor bakery worker is standing in front of them with an iPad.

Both moms are screaming in Farsi, while Armin, my dad, and his dad sit facing them on the opposite side, hanging on to the edge of the table for dear life.

I’m backing away slowly, my ribs tightening around my chest, when Armin clocks my arrival and flies out of his seat to pounce on me. “Oh, hello, my dearest!” he says loudly. His eyes are wide, sweat glisteningon his temples. Then he lowers his voice. “Our mothers have found each other’s contact info and we’re in shit.”

“Yes, I see that.” My insides fall to the ground as Armin’s mom slaps my mom square in the arm. She does look slightly livelier than when we last met. My mom yells again, and I’m about to step in to stop someone from getting seriously hurt, when they both throw their heads back, laughing.

I’m not witnessing a mom fight. No, this is two kindred spirits finding each other.

“Our moms are thrilled to be joining families, so we’re all having tea together,” Armin grits out. “My mom hasn’t been this energetic in a while.”

“That’s great?” But the look of horror on both our dads’ faces indicates otherwise.

“They’re already planning an engagement party for us. Your mom has decided she’d like a fifteen-layer cake.”

“I literallyjusttalked to her about keeping this low-key—”

“Hello, Jolene!” Armin’s dad waves at me with both of his hands. “Please, come sit and have some tea. I’ve just met your father. He’s a very good man. We both cheer for Manchester United.”

My dad looks up from his lemon cake and gives me a tiny smile, a rare expression on him.

“Hi, Dad?” I say slowly as I slide into the booth, my fiancé scooting in next to me. “How’s it going?”

My dad winces, apologetic. “I tried to tell your mom to wait for you before contacting the Habibs, but you know her.”

Armin’s dad waves dismissively at Dad’s comment. “Nonsense. We’re so glad to meet you. Armin has been keeping Jolene away for too long as is.” He slides a cup of tea in front of me. “How are you? Have you been studying tonight?”

“Yes.” I nod naturally, because the lies come too easy now. But my dad gives me a puzzled look, so I am forced to elaborate. “I’m studying hard for my career.”

My dad narrows his eyes. “You were actually studying for your promotion?”

Armin’s dad tilts his head toward me, curious. Why must people whom you’ve told lies to meet the people who don’t know your other lies? I look at Armin, who is no help. He’s like a cartoon character being squeezed until his eyes pop out.

“Yes,” I croak, scrambling for words that will somehow cover both parents’ knowledge. “I’m hoping to use my degree to stay within the company but also level up, you know?”

Armin’s dad nods uncertainly. “Are there many options at Supershops for computer engi—”

“I’m going to go order at the counter!” I feel terrible cutting Armin’s dad off, but the alternative is surefire torture. I nudge at Armin for him to slide out of the booth so I can get up. “I need a danmarki, stat.”

Armin’s expression is stiff. “I’ll come help you, love.”