If You Could Be Mine by Sara Farizan Read Free Book Online Page A

Soraya enters the room with a tray of tea, a cup for Dariush and one for me.
    “Soraya, you don’t have to do that,” Dariush says. He stands up to grab the tray from his servant. Dariush was different when he was younger. He loved being waited on hand and foot, as though he was entitled. Since he’s been working as a mechanic—and after being rebuffed by his would-be fiancé—Dariush likes to play at being blue collar when it’s convenient. He has just traded in one version of pretension for another. He plops the tray on the table and waits for me to pour for the two of us. Soraya exits quietly. I look forward to the day when her daughter can get her out of here.
    I hand Dariush his tea. He takes a sugar cube in his mouth and bites down on it, drinking his tea around the sugar cube, which intercepts the liquid before it goes down his throat. He used to mimic the Europeans and stir dissolved sugar into his teacup. Now, it seems, he prefers to drink tea like his own people. Dariush is such a lout. I shouldn’t think that. He’s not such a bad person; he just has some growing up to do. I hear the front door open and then slam, followed by the sounds of Nasrin and her mother arguing. It isn’t clear what they are arguing about, but I don’t care. I’m excited and nervous to see Nasrin again.
    Mrs. Mehdi enters first, calling for Soraya to take the shopping bags out of her hands. Mrs. Mehdi sees me and Dariush and her eyes brighten immediately.
    “Oh, look at you two! Having tea together!”
    I immediately put my cup down before she gets any more ideas. If she thinks I am going to spend my life serving tea to her lazy son while he strums the same three songs over and over again, she is horribly mistaken. Soraya rushes to her mistress and takes the bags from her hands.
    “Soraya, bring out some pastries for everyone,” Mrs. Mehdi commands, still eyeing her oblivious son and me. She walks to me and I stand up, hugging her. Over her shoulder comes a vision. It is Nasrin in a strapless red-velvet dress that hugs her in all the right places. Our eyes trap each other. Nasrin doesn’t look happy to see me. Or rather, she’s trying not to, but her eyes always betray her. I stiffen in Mrs. Mehdi’s grasp. She lets go of me, and I pull my eyes away from Nasrin, maybe a millisecond too late. Mrs. Mehdi smiles at me, but there’s something behind the smile I can’t place. I muster the biggest smile I can as my mind races. I have no lustful, passionate, raging feelings for your daughter. Not a one. Can’t you tell by my overcompensating grin?
    Mrs. Mehdi turns her head to address Nasrin, and I relax, a little.
    “The bride to be and I went dress shopping. She insists on breaking them all in. It’s going to get wrinkled!” Nasrin rolls her eyes at her mother’s complains. I do my best not to drool.
    “What do you need so many dresses for? Don’t you just get married in the one?” Dariush asks in an unkind tone.
    “For parties, my son,” Mrs. Mehdi explains. “Stop slouching,” she adds as she walks over to him and sits down. “Sahar, we haven’t seen you in ages! I hope you haven’t been avoiding us.”
    “No! No, of course not,” I stammer. Nasrin smirks. “I’ve been busy studying, and I assumed you would all be busy getting ready for the wedding.”
    “They’re making this wedding such a big deal. What a waste.” Dariush is interrupted by his mother shushing him.
    “Sahar’s just jealous.” It’s the first thing Nasrin has said, and I look at her with a bit of fear. “She’s jealous that I’m getting married and she’s not.”
    “Nasrin! Be polite!” Mrs. Mehdi says. Everyone is just so assured of my future as an old maid. Do I reek of homeliness or lesbian? Nasrin exits the living room, and I don’t run after her right away.
    “That girl! Forgive her, Sahar. She’s been under a lot of stress lately,” Mrs. Mehdi says.
    “I can imagine.” I assumed Nasrin would go along with