I read the poem in Farsi, trying hard to translate it into English. Rumi was a famous poet from Iran who was also a Sufi, or an Islamic mystic. People always forgot that he was Muslim. It drove Dad crazy.
It took me twenty minutes to translate the three lines.
Your task is not to seek for love,
but merely to seek and find all the barriers within yourself
that you have built against it.
Amir never came back.
■ ■ ■ RUTH’S HOUSE DINNER
As promised, I headed to Ruth’s for dinner. Mrs. Song had prepared a feast. Scallion pancakes, purple sticky rice, and a big pot of doenjang jjigae, or soybean stew, greeted me from their dining room table. She flitted in and out of the room, in a cool asymmetrical dress and high heels. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d seen my own mom wear heels, much less a dress.
“Eat all you want, okay? I made enough to take to church tomorrow.”
“Thanks, Ellen!” Fabián smiled. I was still too intimidated to call Mrs. Song by her first name. She beamed at him, then clicked out of the room and back to her office. Her book on data science stared down at me from the mantel, the words ellen song, phd, in bright red letters.
“I think Naomi might ask me to Homecoming,” Ruth whispered. Fabián looked down the hall to make sure Mrs. Song was still gone.
“Ruth, that’s amazing,” I said, keeping my mouth shut about my conversation with Naomi. I wasn’t about to ruin this moment and spill the beans on how Naomi was definitely going to ask her. Besides, I was still putting together makeover looks that Ameh Sara and I could give them for the dance.
“I know! I’ve never had a date to a dance before. I need to get a dress and stuff.”
Knowing Ruth, she’d probably end up making her dress from raw fabric. She was talented like that.
“I’m really happy for you,” I said, but I felt my smile falter, still thinking of how I had no clue whether I had a date to the dance myself. Matty had asked me out for tomorrow night, sure, though that didn’t guarantee a Homecoming date. But after my talk with Wesley, it didn’t seem like going to Homecoming alone was a life-or-death situation anymore. Still, I felt terrible after my study session with Amir today. I’d upset him. It wasn’t a good feeling.
I took a sad slurp of my soup.
Fabián squinted at me. “Why are you acting so glum? Aren’t you excited for your aunt to come on Sunday? She’s going to do your makeup for Homecoming, right?” he asked, lasering his eyes into mine. Little did he know Sara was going to help with his makeup, too.
I exhaled, opened my mouth, then closed it again. “What about you?” I tried switching the subject. “Are you going to go to Homecoming with Austin?”
Fabián shook his head. “I’m not sure yet, but he’s a good backup option, for sure. And don’t change the subject!”
Drats.
“Here,” Ruth said, sliding the scallion pancakes over. “Pajeon makes everything better.” I took a bite, then told them about my disastrous Farsi session with Amir.
Fabián leaned back as he listened. Tonight, he was sporting an olive-green military sweater with shoulder patches and Doc Martens. He looked like a runway model for the army.
“So, what’s the problem?” he asked once I finished telling them everything.
“Fabián,” Ruth chided. “She’s clearly torn between Amir and Matty.”
“Amir’s hot.” Fabián shrugged. “And he’s obviously a good kisser.”
I chewed my pancake, not sure how to answer. “The way Amir and I hang out feels more natural than anything Wesley and I ever did. Amir’s funny and smart and he understands my Iranian side. He sees the real me. It’s one thing if Matty doesn’t like a fake version of myself, but what if Amir breaks up with me after seeing who I really am?” After all of our study sessions, I was finally crushing on Amir, too, but after making him cry, the Amir ship had probably sailed.
Fabián shook his head. “You can’t start dating someone while worrying about how things will end.”
“But Matty sees only the best parts of myself. That’s a way safer bet.”
Ruth squeezed my hand. “There are no safe bets in the game of love. Trust me.” And then she went all misty-eyed again, probably thinking of Naomi.
I took a sip of water and set it back down on their spotless wooden table.
“Parvin!” Mrs. Song shouted from the other room. “Use a coaster.”
“Sorry,” I squeaked.
“Do you think Matty will be a good kisser?” Ruth whispered, wide-eyed.
I shrugged. How was I supposed to know?
Fabián winked. “Want me to find out for you?”
“Fabián!” I whined. He cackled. It was great to have him back.
“Well, now we know why you’ve been so blue,” Ruth said.
“What are you going to wear on your date with Matty tomorrow night? Are you going to make an effort and not wear the same jeans?” Fabián asked.
I gasped. “How could you tell? Who even keeps track of other people’s jeans?” I exclaimed. I had skipped laundry this week after my epic failure with the pink shirt.
“Parvin”—Fabián gently placed his hand on mine—“everyone can tell.”
Saturday HOME 7:00 A.M.
I woke up like I was in a horror film where the corpse suddenly sits up in bed. Today was my date with Matty. My butterflies had morphed into full-on pterodactyls, zooming through my stomach. It was time to bust out the big guns.
It took a while for her to pick up the video chat, but when I saw Ameh Sara’s face, I instantly felt better.
“Parvin joon! Why are you calling me? I’m going to see you tomorrow!” Sara laughed. She wore a sweatshirt and a small scarf covering her hair. Behind her, I could see a bunch of open suitcases.
“Are you done packing?” I asked.
“Almost,” Sara said with a little frown. “My flight to London doesn’t leave for four and a half hours. So I have some time.” She
