Page 98 of Like a Love Story
“Your mother will come around,” he says. “Just the fact that she’s attending this memorial is a big step. Wedidn’t know him. We’re doing this to be with you.”
“I know,” I say, allowing myself a little bit of hope that perhaps things will change soon with my mother.
Abbas stands up. He gives me his hand. “Shall we?” he asks. “I think it’s time.”
I let him help me up, and together, we find my mom and Tara. My mom looks beautiful in a black dress. Tara is wearing a tight, colorful, low-cut dress. I would never know this if not for Judy, but I think it’s Pucci. Tara looks a little bit like a drag queen, which is fitting for the occasion. And her hair is newly permed by one of the girls she bartends with.
“You like it?” Tara says, as she twirls for me. “New dress. Vintage, obviously.”
“You mean someone else wore that before you?” my mom asks, making a face. “Did you wash it?”
“And new perm,” Tara says, ignoring my mom.
“I don’t know why they call it a permanent,” my mom says. “Nothing is permanent.”
“Some things are permanent,” I say.
She looks at me with curiosity. I know she understands what I was saying, that I’m not going through a phase. That this is who I will always be.
Massimo and Saadi, who were in the living room together, emerge. Saadi wears khakis, a button-down, and his white hat. Massimo somehow seems to match Tara in a bright shirt with tight white pants. “How long do I have to stay?” Saadi asks.
“As long as I do,” Abbas says.
We go to the memorial together, but there are too many of us to fit into one taxi. It’s Abbas who suggests my mom and I take one cab, while he rides with Tara, Saadi, and Massimo.
So I join her in the back of the first taxi that pulls to the curb. At first, we each stare awkwardly out of our windows, but then she turns to me and says, “I don’t want life to be hard for you, Reza.”
It’s just one sentence, but it means so much. “It’s not hard,” I say, quickly realizing what a lie that is. “What I mean is that, yes, it is hard, but I can’t change it.” I close my eyes for a second, wishing for eloquence. “I think what I’m trying to say is that I wouldn’t change it if I could.”
“Really?” she asks, surprised.
“Because it’s been hard,” I say, a revelation coming to me. “But as hard as it’s been, it’s also been the best thing that’s happened to me. The things I’ve felt this year, the love, the community, I wouldn’t trade them in for an easier life. I don’t want to be like Saadi, playing sports and being boring.”
“Go easy on Saadi,” she says gently. “He had a hard time with his mother.”
“What do you mean?” I ask.
“I’m not—” She stops herself, then says. “Please don’t repeat this, but she fell in love with someone else and left abruptly,” my mom explains. “She didn’t want custody. Why do you think he barely ever sees her? Just imagine how hard it is for a kid to have a parent who doesn’t want them.”
“Um, I don’t have to imagine that hard,” I say bitterly.
She gives me a sad look. “Oh, my boy.”
“Why didn’t you tell me this before?” I ask.
“Abbas doesn’t like to talk about it. Neither does Saadi. It’s hard for them.” She shrugs. “Maybe our culture is different. We have the same problems as everyone else; we just pretend we don’t.”
“We definitely have the same problems,” I say. “And by the way, if you’re going to ask me to go easy on Saadi, I’d say the same goes for you and Tara.”
She nods, taking this in. She almost says something but stops herself. Then she looks up at me and says, “All I wanted for so long was an easier life. It was always so hard. I wanted an easier life for myself, but also for you and Tara. And now I have one. But Tara doesn’t. And you don’t.”
“But you love Abbas, don’t you?” I ask.
“Of course,” she says. She leans into me. “I would never have married him if I didn’t love him. Never.”
“And I can’t be with someone I don’t love either,” I say. “And neither can Tara.”
Her eyes well as she hears this, like she’s understanding in a new way. She holds my hand and kisses it. “Okay,” she says.
