The High Dive

28. Westwood, USA

28

WESTWOOD, USA

Three Months Later

S omething about Westwood reminded Alex of high school. Or, rather, it reminded her of the movies she used to love in high school, the ones where teenagers, far more attractive and wealthy than they had the right to be, drove to prom in open-top Jeep Wranglers. She had never been to Los Angeles before, and it felt like the Los Angeles of a travel brochure, with manicured green lawns in the leafy shadow of nearby Rodeo Drive. It was worlds away from the run-down Rochester neighborhood she grew up in, but as Danial reassured her, it was also worlds away from the San Fernando Valley street he grew up on.

This was where Marjane lived now, in a beautiful ranch-style home on a quiet cul-de-sac near a botanical garden. She didn’t drive anymore—not since her hands had started giving her trouble—but the white Mercedes sedan Danial had bought her years ago still sat in the driveway, mostly untouched except when he took it to get detailed on his visits. The spot next to it, he explained, was home to a rotating cast of cars: cars belonging to the home health aide, or the cook, or the cleaning person, but also the many friends and cousins who would visit with cookies and dates and plenty of gossip.

Marjane was in the formal parlor just off the entry hallway, waiting for them on a pale blue sofa that floated on a sea of plush, pristine white carpeting. She wore a long shift dress with a brocade jacket, and her thick black hair, flecked with silver, was half pulled back in a Bakelite barrette. A perfectly groomed Pomeranian slept in her lap, and Alex knew it must be Benson, named for Marjane’s favorite TV detective. She moved to stand, waking the dog and reaching for her cane with an unsteady hand, but Danial insisted that she remain seated, crossing the room and lowering himself down to her eye level as he took both of her hands in his. He had warned Alex that her body had good and bad days and, while the doctors said she was responding well to treatment overall, she must not let her pride push her past what was healthy.

“I’m very sorry,” she said, looking up at Alex, her delicate hands still resting in her son’s. “I’ll have to greet you from here.”

Alex nervously eked out a few words in the Farsi she had been practicing tirelessly on Rosetta Stone, something approximating “Thank you for having me.”

She nodded, smiling and replying “You’re welcome,” in her native language.

Danial looked at Alex from his crouched position next to his mother, and seeing the two of them together made Alex’s heart swell. They were so similar, the same slight tilt downward at the corners of their eyes, the same half-smile that dimpled their right cheek, the same implacable air of elegance that surrounded them like a subtle perfume.

He opened his arm to gesture Alex over and she crossed the room, setting down the box of handmade chocolates she’d brought from Philadelphia on a side table. She crouched down next to him and extended her hand for a shake. “It’s so nice to see you again,” she said, and Marjane put both of her hands around Alex’s, steadying them while looking in her eyes.

“I am so happy you’re here,” she said quietly, her eyes going slightly glossy as she studied Alex’s face.

Danial took her hand and led her over to the identical couch opposite his mother’s, separated by an ornate marble coffee table with a large bouquet of flowers in the center. Alex marveled at the china cabinet in a far corner filled with exquisite dishes, the sideboard along the wall with a polished silver tea set, the vast oil paintings of landscapes hung over the wallpaper. In therapy, Alex had heard of healing your inner child, and she thought of Danial working so hard to give his mother this perfect life-size dollhouse, where everything was exactly as she wanted it. She imagined what her own mother’s dream home might look like.

As she took in the space, a middle-aged woman in a crisp button-down shirt appeared next to Alex, asking if she could offer her anything.

“The tea will be served shortly,” she said smiling, “but if you would like a glass of water, or anything else, please let me know.”

Alex shook her head, and Danial shook his as well, adding a quiet, “No, thank you, Leena.”

His mother resumed, holding court about the morning’s activities—Benson ran out of the front door when the vegetables were being delivered!—and Alex began to relax, nodding and laughing along with the story. At one point, Danial gently placed his hand over hers.

“Do you have a dog at home?” Marjane asked, turning to face Alex. Her eyes were warm and friendly, the same rich mahogany color as her son’s.

“I don’t.” She smiled. “But my parents do. And I would love to have my own someday.”

“Mom loves dogs,” Danial explained, his tone exceptionally gentle. “Alex’s parents have a labrador named Bruce,” he added, turning back to face his mother.

“He’s named after a football player,” she added.

Marjane smiled, shifting slightly on her seat. “And Danial tells me you play chess?” Her soft accent danced over her words, and she nodded with encouragement.

“Oh,” she looked over at him as he broke into a self-satisfied grin, “Well, yes and no. He taught me back in college and we used to play a lot, but I haven’t played in years.”

“But…” he started, nudging her with his shoulder.

“But,” she continued, “we’ve been playing again. He even lets me win sometimes.”

Marjane nodded. “He’s very gracious this way. You know, I was the one who taught him how to play chess.”

“Oh, really?” Alex asked.

“Yes, well, and my father. He was an exceptional player, all of us had to learn as children. Danial was his number-one fan.”

Danial raised his wrist, tapping on the glass of the watch she’d observed a million times—the watch of a legendary chess player, it turned out.

“I was never as good as my sister, though,” Marjane continued.

“Aunt Darya has a rating of 2150.”

Alex knew that Danial had achieved the same rating in high school, and that you could still look up the old newspaper articles about the national tournaments he had placed in. She remembered one in particular that featured a photo of him at the board in his old glasses, his signature combination of confidence and modesty on his face. And talk of Aunt Darya led to talk of all the aunts and uncles, followed by the cousins—several of whom would be joining them for dinner that evening. Alex listened closely as Marjane listed off all their accomplishments with pride, delighting in every detail.

Tea felt like an understatement for what they were served. The gleaming silver tea set from the sideboard had replaced the flowers on the table, full of an aromatic chai with crystallized sugar on wooden sticks, cookies spiced with cardamom, and tiny cakes with a dizzying variety of fillings. In the center of the table, Leena had placed a polished silver bowl overflowing with fresh and dried fruits: dates and grapes and apricots and plums. There were embroidered napkins and delicate little dishes; even the coasters under their hot cups were hand-carved. It was a bounty not unlike what they’d experienced on the Verseau , but with a fundamentally opposite undertone: this was about showing gratitude and care for your guests, about wanting them to taste and enjoy everything. And catching Danial out of the corner of her eye, seeing him so thrilled to share it with her, made her heart feel as if it might leap out of her chest. Marjane, for her part, remained on her couch, hands neatly folded in her lap behind Benson.

Danial had explained that his mother was very shy to eat or drink around new people with her hands so unsteady, especially on bad days. But he had also assured her that this information should not prevent Alex from eating. She should enjoy everything, and not be surprised if she’s offered more, even after several servings. Marjane had overseen the preparation of a feast for later in the day: stewed chicken with pomegranates, roast onions and tomatoes, herbed rice, shirazi salad with fresh mint, and piles of freshly baked flatbread. She could no longer cook these things by herself, but she had help, and a few more friends and family joining later to help eat it all. It occurred to Alex that this was the first time wealth had ever left her without a trace of resentment or critique. It felt, in that moment, that all the money in the world should go to its mothers: to provide them with beautiful homes and small, fluffy dogs and an abundance of fresh fruit and hot tea to enjoy with their guests. Without thinking, she reached her hand back over to Danial’s on the sofa, and he opened his palm to her.

“Please tell me more about your work, Alex,” Marjane said, Benson yawning at her words.

“Well,” she started, setting down her little plate, “I work in political strategy and communications. Basically, I help our party grow—anything from fundraising to getting our candidates elected.”

“And I hear that you grew the party by 250,000 members overnight.”

Alex flicked her eyes across the sofa, simultaneously embarrassed and delighted that Danial had told her this.

“I, well—” She paused, letting the usual impulse to downplay her own achievements pass. “Yes, actually. One of our candidates gave a speech I thought would work well online, so I spliced it together with some other footage and uploaded the video to a few social media platforms. It turns out I was right.” She laughed. “He did end up losing that race, but we got him elected to Congress—and if all goes well in a few weeks, he’ll be the next Governor of Pennsylvania.”

Danial squeezed her hand, a quiet affirmation of her honest and unminimized answer. “Congressman Stephens has done a lot of great work in Pennsylvania,” he added.

“And if he wins,” Alex said, blooming under his encouragement, “he’ll be our party’s first governor, which is very exciting.”

“You know,” Marjane reached up and placed her hand on the ornate handle of her cane, “my mother-in-law was very involved in politics. That is her”—she lifted the cane slightly off the carpet, pointing toward one of the many black and white photos in heavy silver frames on a piano—“the day women got the right to vote in Iran.”

Danial walked over to the piano, bringing the photo to Alex so she could have a closer look. She took the frame from his hand, running hers along the edge as she studied the women in the photo, in their smart sixties outfits and teased hair.

“That must have been incredible,” Alex mused, “living through history like that.”

“Mm.” Marjane nodded, a subtle smile at the corner of her lips. “Living through history can be many things.”

“Oh,” Alex corrected. “Of course, and not always in a good way.”

“That’s why it’s so important who is deciding the history we live through.” Benson stretched in her lap, resettling herself to a place of comfort. “You should be very proud of your work.”

“Thank you,” Alex said, feeling a flutter at the depth of the compliment.

From the parlor doorway, Leena cleared her throat: “Marjane, your guests are here.”

Her hand still on the cane, she slowly nudged Benson from her lap. Danial rose to try to stop her from getting up alone, but this time, she gave him a brief, firm look that made him sit back down immediately. She slowly brought herself to her feet, smoothing out the front of her dress with one hand and stepping just slightly forward from the sofa.

In the doorway, Alex’s father smiled nervously, waving at their group, while Elena crossed the room and opened her arms wide to Marjane.

“Oh, my god,” Alex gasped, bringing a hand to her chest as she and Danial rose to greet her father.

“Hi, Dad,” she said, still not believing he was actually there, and he pulled her into his arms for a familiar bear hug.

“Hi, kiddo.” He smiled, chin resting on the top of her head. Alex looked back over her shoulder toward the sofa, where the two mothers were embraced. Inaudible, tearful words passed between them before they broke apart to look at each other, Elena’s hands still resting lightly on Marjane’s shoulders.

“It’s so good to see you,” she said, giving the gentlest squeeze before bringing her hands to her own face to wipe away her tears.

“Elena, my darling friend,” Marjane replied, leaning onto her cane. “Welcome to my home.”

“It’s wonderful to see you again, sir.” Alex turned around at the sound of Danial’s words behind her. He extended his hand and her father shook it in his before pulling him in for yet another bear hug.

“Please—it’s Nick.” He laughed.

Alex involuntarily smiled at the sight of him: his neatly combed-back gray hair, his nicest shirt-and-slacks combo—an outfit her mother undoubtedly picked out for him—and the fact that it was almost kickoff for a Bills-Dolphins game and he was nowhere near a television.

“Mom, hi,” Alex opened, walking over to the sofa where the mothers were now seated, hands still together between them.

“Baby, I’m so sorry!” Elena replied, standing and opening her arms wide to her daughter. “I was just so caught up saying hello to Marjane—but surprise ! Here we are!”

“Here you are!” Alex laughed, feeling delirious.

“You look great,” Elena said, and Alex simply accepted the compliment.

“Would you like some tea?” Marjane asked, gesturing toward the bounty on the coffee table.

“I would love some!” Elena replied, clapping her freshly manicured hands together, bracelets jingling.

“Excuse me,” Alex said, clearing her throat and padding across the carpet to the hallway. She walked down the tiled hall to a small powder room just before the kitchen, stepping inside without fully shutting the door behind her. Her heart was racing, her breath coming in jagged waves, so much emotion coursing through her body that she felt she might faint if she didn’t support herself with both hands on the porcelain sink.

“Alex?” Danial’s voice was only just behind her, soft and full of that reassuring depth. He opened the cracked door just enough to join her, closing it behind him. “Is everything alright?”

“You flew my parents out here?” she asked, looking up at him with tears rimming her eyes, one hand still resting on the sink.

“Of course.” He smiled, tenderly cradling her chin in his hand, “I hope that’s okay. I know surprises are a bit of a gamble.”

“No.” She inhaled sharply, willing herself to become calm. “It’s wonderful, I just can’t believe you did that. And—” Her mind swirled with the waves of information crashing over her. “I’m sorry, but how much have our moms been talking on Facebook?”

“They’ve been messaging since they met.”

“At graduation?”

“Yes. And, well, obviously a lot more in the past few months. My mom is obsessed with Facebook.”

“Mine, too.” Alex laughed, imagining the hundreds of low-resolution memes they had probably shared over the course of ten years. At the thought of what they might have discussed, a new, rather sharp pang of anxiety welled up in her throat. “Are… are you proposing?” she blurted out, looking down at her outfit. “Because I don’t know if I would have worn this.”

He raised an eyebrow, tilting his head slightly and grinning. “That’s a little presumptuous.”

“No, god,” she brought her hands to her face in embarrassment. “Of course it is. And I don’t want to put any pressure on you, maybe you don’t even want to get married. I don’t know, I just thought—”

“Hey.” He gently pulled her hands from her face, taking them in his. “Of course I want to get married. I want to get married to you, specifically, and I will be asking you. But I’m not going to do it in my mother’s living room, if that’s okay. It was just important to me for our families to meet first. No need to panic.”

“Oh.” She could feel her body relax at the calm gravity of his voice, drawing strength from it. “That makes sense.”

“Trust me that Paul has already made a part-time job out of helping me plan everything—you won’t even have to worry about your outfit.” He laughed, clearly thinking back to a conversation they must have had on the topic. “He sent me this weird body scan app I’m supposed to use to discreetly get your ring size, but I’m not doing that.”

She laughed with him, and in a reflex that felt completely irrational, almost out-of-body, her laughter turned into a sudden burst of tears. She buried her face into Danial’s chest as she wept uncontrollably.

“Oh, no, my love, what’s wrong?” His voice sounded so worried, the words my love spoken with a tenderness she had only ever heard on his phone calls in Farsi.

“We,” she started, still unable to meet his eyes, “we missed so many years together.” Her breath caught on her words, hitching her body forward with another sob from deep within her chest.

“Shh.” He pulled her tighter to him, pressing his lips against the crown of her head. “It’s okay.”

“I know it is.” She sniffled, muffled against his chest. “I know it is. It just makes me sad.”

She could feel him nod against her, rocking her and whispering for her to shh against her curls. Once her crying had finally slowed, he pulled back, bringing his thumbs to her cheeks to wipe carefully under her eyes.

“Let me tell you something.” He took her hands in his, guiding her to sit on a tufted pink stool as he knelt in front of her, looking up to meet her eyes. She nodded, feeling her emotions begin to regulate. “I know that it feels like we missed out on those ten years, but I need you to know that from my end, we didn’t, because you were always with me. Everything I pushed myself to become, I did it because I knew we would come back together, and I wanted to be the kind of man you deserved.”

“How did you know that?” she asked. “That we would come back together? Because I didn’t.”

“You’re going to laugh.”

“I would never laugh at you.”

“All you do is laugh at me.” He smiled, his tone once again slightly unserious. They were returning to the prickly push-and-pull of their dynamic, now supported by an undercurrent of constant, unquestionable love.

“Okay, true, but how did you know?”

“Because I have…” he reached over to grab a tissue from the box on the sink, handing it to her to dab under her eyes. “Because I have a kind of… faith, I guess? In the universe? I guess you could call it spirituality. And years ago, I went to see this woman, and she told me that we were destined to be together.”

“Like, with a crystal ball?” Alex couldn’t believe it: it was so deeply unlike the serious, analytical Danial she knew. But then, she thought, there was so much of him she still didn’t know, so much she would spend the rest of her life discovering.

“Well, technically with coffee grinds. But yes, basically. She was so sure that we would end up together—although she did take pains to say that it would be very complicated. ”

He rolled his eyes at the memory, and Alex laughed.

“Bee said the same thing about us.”

“What do you mean?”

“She said that there were some… communication issues in our charts, something about my Mercury and your Saturn. Or maybe it was the other way around.”

“She still has my chart?” He cocked his head slightly, raising an eyebrow.

“She has every chart she’s ever done,” Alex explained simply.

For a moment, they just looked at each other, taking everything in.

“Anyway,” Danial finally continued, “once the coffee reader told me it would work out, I just trusted that it would happen. Also, frankly, I knew that if the universe didn’t hurry up that I was just going to go to Philly and do it myself, once I worked up the courage.”

“I can’t believe you saw a fortune teller.” Alex laughed again, crumpling the tissue in her hand. “Was this during your Burning Man era?”

“Okay, we need to stop with that, because I never had a Burning Man era. That was called being a supportive friend. But if you must know, I was reading a lot of really old poetry at the time.”

“You still read poetry.”

“I do.” He smiled. “I actually brought one of my favorite poetry books on the boat, I’ll have you know. I used to read it every night before bed.”

She met his eyes, thrilled with the beauty of the confession. “I love that.”

“Listen, sometimes you’re so desperate for someone that poetry is the only thing that can really match the moment.”

“Or opera,” she added, thinking back to her playlist.

“Or anime.” He laughed, and she playfully shoved his shoulder. Before she could pull her hand back, he took it in his and brought it to his lips for a soft, meaningful kiss.

After a moment, he looked up to meet her eyes, speaking slower than he had before. “Listen, my love, I should get back and help my mom. Are you okay to go back out there?”

Truthfully, she didn’t feel ready, but only because she felt like a circuit board with more electricity flowing through it than it was made to handle. It wasn’t normal to have this much beauty, this much love, this much abundance surrounding you at once, and her heart didn’t know how to take it. But she nodded anyway, because he deserved the version of her who rose to the occasion, who shared his sense of joyful duty to the people he loved. He stood, extending his hand to help her up, and she placed her palm securely in his to accept it.

She caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror on the way out, a little redder in the cheeks but still lovely. And it occurred to her in that moment that he was right: it wasn’t a shame they had not been together all those years. It was a profound blessing that they came back together now, when they’d both had time to become the person the other deserved. This was the beginning of so many things, the first of so many feasts.

“Let’s do it,” she said, moving to walk beside him.

His hand slipped to the small of her back, guiding her forward. “You don’t have to tell me twice.”