Page 18 of Female Fantasy
Chapter Five
“Well, well, well. Look who finally decided to show up.”
I walk—honestly, more like saunter—into Kabobs ’n’ Bits on Sunday night to find Nico and Oliver huddled in a corner, talking about sports or politics or whatever else guys talk about when they’re alone. The former barely looks up to heckle me for being late. While it’s true that I’m tardy by American standards (fifteen minutes, give or take), I’m actually early according to Persian Standard Time (PST). Nico just needs to hate on me regularly. You know, the same way other people need to drink water and shit regularly to survive.
“Sorry to keep you waiting. I know how hard it is for you to socialize without me.”
I pull up a chair and take off my jacket, haphazardly slinging it across the back. Nico takes in my colorful seventies-inspired printed pants and matching cropped cardigan andscowls. As if the explosion of patterns and sliver of exposed midriff personally offends him.
“What was it your sixth-grade teacher told your parents again?” I ask. “That you lacked interpersonal skills? Or was it an active imagination? I believe the terms he used wereunderdevelopedandpathetic.”
“Loving the bags, Joonie,” Nico replies.
I narrow my eyes, waiting for the catch. Yes, my micro purse and ironic boat tote embroidered with I LIKE TO READ, BUT I’M ALSO HOT are objectively adorable. But the day Nico compliments me is the day hell freezes over. Or the Swifties forgive Jake Gyllenhaal.
“The ones under your eyes?” he clarifies. “I had no idea the sleep-deprived conspiracy theorist look was in this season. What did you do, spend all night debunking the moon landing? Oh, wait, I know! Zooming in on photos of Harry Styles, searching for signs of Dunamis?”
I smile sweetly. “No, actually. I had that dream again. Well, nightmare. Terrible nightmare. You know, the one where you’re singing ABBA, covered in whipped cream, butt-ass—”
“Behave, children!” Tey calls out from behind the counter.
“Oh, God,” Oliver murmurs under his breath.
“How funny! That’s exactly what Nico kept saying last night in my nightmare. Over and over and over…” I singsong with glee, watching his face flush crimson.
Just as Nico opens his mouth to sling another insult my way, Tey arrives at our table with red plastic trays overflowing with Persian goodies:polo,khoresht, andjoojeh,andkubidehKabob. Oliver immediately shovels a piece of chicken into his mouth while it’s still hot and practically moans with appreciation. He looks up at my brother, his eyes wide with admiration and affection.
My stomach drops an iota.
I hate being jealous of my brother, but I’m brave enough to say it.
Nobody has ever looked at me like that.
“Morg. Khoob,” Oliver says proudly.
He’s been learning Farsi using Duolingo, to minor success. As in, he knows about five words. And three of them are food items. Roughly translated, his statement means,Chicken. Good.
“Well done, Ollie!” I tease. “Next, why don’t you try sayingtokhmeh sag—”
“Do not listen to my delinquent sister,” Tey says, shaking his head and taking the seat next to me. “If she isn’t the center of attention twenty-four seven, she deflates like a flat tire.”
I laugh and stick out my tongue but don’t bother to argue. Because, like…yeah. He’s not wrong. But that doesn’t stop me from grabbing a piece oftadikoff of his plate while he protests. In our family, vengeance is a plastic dish best served piping hot.
Oliver smiles, taking our dynamic in stride. He’s a good fucking egg. He and Tey met a couple of years ago, when Ollie was overseeing a discrimination dispute a town over and dropped by the restaurant for lunch. Oliver tried to order Kabob without rice, claiming to be on a cleanse or someshit. Tey told him he was crazy and gave him a side of rice anyway, on the house. And Ollie practically licked the plate. It was love at first bite. When he was done eating, he realized that Tey had written his phone number on the bottom of the basket. They’ve been together ever since. Long distance, though—Oliver is from right outside of Chicago. A very nice Midwestern boy. If I’m being honest, a bit too buttoned-up for my taste. But perfect for my control freak brother.
“Have you heard from Maman and Baba lately?” I ask mid-bite, my mouth full.
“Ever heard of chewing?” Nico mutters.
“Ever heard of fucking yourself?” I retort.
He looks at me with twisted lips and slowly shakes his head.
“Oh, wait. Of course you have. That’s what you do every night. Alone. With a bottle of lotion for extra-dry skin. While watching anime—”
“Big words from the girl who apparently just broke off her hundredth relationship in six months,” he smirks.
I snap my head around to glare at Tey. “You told him?”
