Seventeen Ramin
seventeen
Ramin
The Russos’ kitchen was magnificent, and roomy enough they could work without bumping into each other.
An antique French stove stood in one corner.
Blue tile backsplashes wrapped around every countertop.
Photos of family hung on every free inch of wall space.
Ramin caught some of Noah and Angela’s wedding, and a few of Jake as a baby, but before he could find any more, Maria put them to work on a “light lunch.”
Apparently, for Maria Russo, “a light lunch” involved four courses.
She put Tomaso to work on a dish of guinea fowl sautéed with leeks and braised in white wine with fresh green grapes, and she tasked Angela with slicing eggplants to fry them up Sicilian style.
Meanwhile, Jake was in charge of soaking Pavesini in espresso—Maria swore the tiny cookies made better tiramisu than ladyfingers.
“Allora, you two can help me with the pasta,” she announced to Noah and Ramin.
She got Noah cooking spinach and had Ramin help her make the fresh pasta dough.
“Ah, you’ve done this before?” she asked as Ramin gently whisked his fork in the egg mixture, occasionally using a few fingers to knock in more flour from the sides of the well.
“A few times.” He’d gotten into a pasta-making kick a few years ago. In fact, he used to make it once a month, for him and Farzan and Arya. He hadn’t done it much lately, though; Todd always said it was too many carbs.
Fuck Todd. Interesting New Ramin loved fresh pasta.
He loved the soft mixing of egg and flour; he loved the sticky feel of the dough as it came together (even when it stuck to his knuckle hairs); he loved the quiet meditation of kneading until the pasta was a perfect ball with just the right amount of give.
When he was done, he set the dough aside to rest, covering it with a damp tea towel. While Maria went to check everyone’s progress, Noah sidled up next to Ramin.
“You doing okay?”
Ramin nodded. “You have a lovely family.”
“Yeah.” Noah gave a soft smile then, his eyes lingering on Jake, whose fingertips were stained brown from espresso. “Thanks for joining us.”
“Thank you for inviting me.” Despite his earlier fears, he hadn’t felt awkward as he joined in making lunch. He’d felt at home.
He’d felt like it was his family, too.
For so long his only family had been Farzan and Arya.
He didn’t have words to explain that to Noah. Or to express just how much it meant to be included. To feel safe and warm and welcome somewhere. So instead he just said, “It meant a lot.”
But that was Noah in a nutshell. Taking care of people. Making them feel seen.
Noah bumped their shoulders together. “I’m glad.”
Ramin set the pasta machine to #6 and started cranking, keeping his left hand below the rollers to catch the dough. It was his last pass before it would get filled and turned into ravioli.
“You have good pasta hands,” Maria said. “Your girlfriend must be very lucky.”
Ramin pressed his lips together to stifle a squeak, but he could feel his ears burning, and not from his piercings. Should he just agree? Smile and nod?
He glanced around the kitchen and met Noah’s eyes. Noah seemed to know what he was asking, because he nodded.
“Boyfriend,” Ramin said. “Ex-boyfriend. We broke up.”
“Che peccato!” Maria tossed another handful of flour onto the large wooden table that looked older than the house. “You know, Italy is for lovers. I’m sure you’ll find a man.”
“Maybe.” He looked up and saw Noah watching him, though he turned to help Jake, who was having way too much fun grating cheese.
Todd had never helped much in the kitchen, aside from his meal prep, but here Noah was, getting his hands dirty, helping Jake without ever taking over for him. Letting him make mistakes and have fun.
It was pointless to compare Todd and Noah. Ramin knew that. Noah was straight and definitely not interested. Ramin didn’t want that, anyway. He was Interesting New Ramin, Power Bottom. Not Sad Teenage Ramin, Closeted Virgin with an Unrequited Crush.
Still… he could see himself being with someone like Noah. Someone kind and thoughtful and present. Someone who laughed and smiled and didn’t take himself too seriously.
He thought of Paola and Francesca back in Milan, wondered if they could hook him up with someone. If not for a date, at least for a good fuck. That’s what he came here for. Not to be kidnapped by an Italian nonna and force-fed a four-course lunch.
Not that he was complaining. He couldn’t wait to taste all the food they’d made.
While Tomaso took Jake and Noah into the yard to admire the lemon trees, Ramin hung back to clean up his work area.
“You do this every day, Nonna?” Angela asked.
“Only if we have company.”
“It’s so much work, though!”
Ramin silently agreed. Though he could maybe do it once a month, for his friends back home. He’d have to see if Maria would share her recipes.
“It’s a joy. You know, life here is slower. We take our time and enjoy things. You’ll get used to it when you move here.”
“You’re moving here?” Ramin asked.
Then realized how personal that was.
“Sorry. None of my business.”
But Maria waved her hand. “You’re practically family now. Angela’s taking over our store. We want to retire.”
“Oh. Wow. Congratulations.” That sounded like a dream, honestly. “Are Jake and Noah coming too?”
Also none of his business. But why did the thought of Noah moving away bother him? It wasn’t like he’d see Noah again. Although at least, with them both in Kansas City, there was a chance. A small chance.
“Jake might,” Angela said.
Jake, but not Noah. Ramin had only known Noah again for a few days, but it was obvious Noah loved his son more than anything. Did Noah know about all this? He had to, right? That was the kind of thing co-parents discussed. Wasn’t it?
“Wow,” he said again. He didn’t know what else to say.
“Allora, Ramin, can you get the boys?” Maria asked as she scooped the now-cooked ravioli out and dropped them into a pan of brown butter and sage. “It’s time to eat.”
Outside the villa, the rain had started, lashing the windows in heavy curtains of silver as they dug into the enormous meal.
Ramin wasn’t usually a fan of eggplant (grounds for excommunication from the Iranian diaspora, to be honest), but the fried discs were savory and smooth and magical topped with grated Grana Padano and a garlicky tomato sauce.
The guinea fowl melted in his mouth, juicy and complex with just a bit of acidity.
The ravioli tasted like rich, heavenly pillows.
Jake’s tiramisu had come out a little lopsided, but it tasted oh so good.
And the wine, the rest of the Gaja Barolo, was a revelation. Ramin wanted to bathe in it. Shrink himself down and live in the bottle. He didn’t know how he could ever love another wine again.
“Everything is amazing,” Ramin said. “I can’t believe we made all this. Thank you for letting me come.”
“Of course, of course!” Tomaso boomed. “If we didn’t have to drive, I’d get out the limoncello. Made from our lemons! Forty years and no pesticides.”
Ramin’s mouth watered. But he definitely wasn’t going to risk driving tipsy. A glass of wine—maybe even two—he could handle with a big meal like this, but liquor? Better safe than sorry.
“Next time,” Ramin said, then realized there wouldn’t be a next time.
He’d never see any of these people again.
He didn’t know why that made him so sad. Except that, for the last few hours, it felt like having a family again.
But he was Interesting New Ramin. He came through towns and homes like the wind, here and then gone, seeking out adventures. Not planting roots.
He polished off the last of his tiramisu. Everything tasted so good, he hadn’t even measured his portions. He’d just taken whatever sized scoop Maria offered and finished every bite.
To his right, Jake’s plate was still half full.
“You okay, Jake?” he asked.
Jake shrugged. Ramin frowned. He wanted to rub Jake’s head the way Noah always did, but that seemed like a boundary not to cross. Instead he said, “What’s wrong?”
“I don’t feel so good,” Jake muttered.
Noah, who sat on Jake’s other side, did start rubbing Jake’s hair.
“What is it, buddy?”
“My tummy hurts.” He swallowed. His face was turning red. “I think I have to go .”