Page 91 of I Hope This Finds You Well

As we get up, I catch what the bakery worker is showing our moms on the iPad: pictures of the literal cake from the Meghan and Harry wedding. Armin sees it too and drops his face into his hands. “Why does it always end up replicating a royal wedding with our people?”

I shake my head, grabbing his sleeve and pulling him toward the front of the shop. “I’m not riding in a carriage with you. We need to stop this.”

“Uh, yeah! This is the reason I called you. They’re in a taarof-off.”

“Shit. That’s why our dads have freshly shined foreheads.” Taarofis the Persian social custom of one-upping each other’s politeness and generosity. It’s super complex and hard to summarize and even harder to learn if it’s not embedded inside you from a young age. My dad and me still don’t fully understand all the nuances. Things like: You decline any payment three times minimum before accepting. If someone compliments your bracelet, you give it to them there and then, even if it’s worth the price of a reliable used car. And you better think twice before walking through a door before the person behind you, especially if they’re older. Basically, you need them toenvyhow courteous of a person you are.

But two Persian moms in a taarof-off while planning a party... Things are going to get out of hand. Our families will politely go broke.

We watch the shopkeeper’s eyes morph into little money symbolsas he tells the worker to pull up an image of a ten-tier fruit platter, and both moms actually cheer as they lean in to get a closer look. Only Armin’s mom has to use the table for support. The platter is filled with so many exotic and out-of-season fruits that it’s obviously not for guests to enjoy as much as it is a status symbol—the ultimate Persian party grail.

Armin’s pupils dilate. “Jolene, my parents can’t afford to start putting money down on an extravagant event. Not with everything going on with my mom.”

“Of course.” I nod. My mom must have been the one to start this. “I’ll see what I can do.”

I march back to the moms, my most polite smile plastered on, prepared to use calm reasoning to fix this situation. But before I can even say anything, my mom grabs my upper arm and pulls me down into the booth, pointing at my face while yelling in rapid Farsi. Whatever she says causes the shop worker to actually bow slightly. Armin’s mom leans over and kisses the air near my cheek. There’s a rosiness in her complexion, but her voice strains. “Jolene joon, I’m so glad to meet your mom. She is a very kind person.”

“Yes.” She does give off that impression at first.

Mom pats my shoulder. “Jolene, drink your tea. We will pick a cake for the engagement party we’re throwing you.”

“No, Mom,” I hiss quietly. “I told you. We don’t want a big party.”

Mom shakes her head. “I toldyouit’s no problem.” She turns her back to me and speaks in Farsi to Armin’s mom. I don’t know all the words, but the gist is she’s telling her not to listen to me.

The impossible task of stopping my mom from doing this lies in my hands alone. “Mom, please listen! I’m serious. Armin and I are low-key, we don’t want this. I don’t even have people to invite!”

She throws her hands up like I’ve said something ridiculous. “You think that it will be a problem? Don’t worry, I will fill the place up so it’s bursting.”

I stand up and return to Armin, who is looking up fruit platter prices from Costco on his phone and likely multiplying the total to the powerof twenty. “I tried, but right now I don’t think they can hear us. They’re lost in full Persian party-planning mode.”

We both share identical expressions of doom.

Armin whispers, “I think, for everyone’s sake, we need to call off this wedding right now.”

I cringe, because this is going to be horrible, but Armin’s right. “Will your mom be okay?”

He sighs. “I don’t know.” He blinks several times rapidly. “Her lab results came back this week. She doesn’t have much time left.”

My heart pinches painfully. “I’m so sorry.”

He nods, his eyes going glassy. “This is going to break her heart.”

At the booth, our moms are cackling again, clutching each other’s shoulders. His mom really does look happy. Even our dads are slightly smiling. But my mom—I haven’t seen her face so lit up in years. It won’t just be Armin’s mother who’s heartbroken. Will my mom ever forgive me for lying to her like this?

I look toward Armin, and he’s watching them too, shoulders hunched like a soldier who knows he’s about to be sent into a battle he won’t survive.

“Maybe we shouldn’t do this right now,” I suggest. “If we can keep them from making any deposits, we can break the news gently? Build up to it. You know, fake a few arguments.”

Armin knits his eyebrows together. “What would we argue about?”

“Obviously, you’re too focused on your executive career. And I’m too busy studying for my promotion. It could never work.”

Armin cracks a tiny smile, his shoulders sagging. “Yeah. That’s probably a better idea.”

“I’ll talk to my mom when she’s away from all this and tell her to cool it, make her feel really bad for overexciting your mom.”

Armin nods. “But please, I beg of you, make her feel terrible. She needs to stop. I never would have lied if I’d known this would happen.”