Chapter Text
Silicon Valley. March 12, 2009.
Baran’s mother had called her the day she planted the lentils. I'm starting the sabzeh, when are you coming? she had asked in that lilting Farsi, and Baran had said soon, Maman, I have a few exams to finish up and then I promise I’ll come down.
Her mother had said okay with that sad, faux-mourning voice and Baran knew if she didn’t immediately start making plans to go and visit her family one of her brothers would come jump her.
She had grown up inside Nowruz: the sabzeh planted three weeks before, tended daily, turned toward the light. The eggs were always painted in the last week before it began. When Baran was still a child her mother would set out the dyes in small bowls on the kitchen table and the five of them crowded around it: Cyrus always painted the ugliest bullshit the world had ever seen, Darius always doing something that was supposed to be a face and wasn't, Arash would always try to drink the food coloring and Babak was small and serious and concentrating.
The house was cleaned room by room, the good tablecloth brought out and washed and pressed, the sofreh arranged with the care of someone laying out something sacred. The countdown on the radio, all of them gathered around it, the anticipation coiling tighter and then releasing into the new year all at once, into hugs and Nowruz mobarak and the Persian sweets from the sofreh and the phone calls to Tehran that stretched through the afternoon.
Baran did miss it and was genuinely excited to go visit home. And she wanted you to come with.
—
San Jose. March 20, 2009.
… and that’s how you found yourself trapped in that car.
You had been quiet for twenty minutes, which was how Baran knew something was wrong.
Usually in car rides you filled the space the same way sunlight did: your joy found every corner. You always had opinions about the radio and observations about passing billboards and a seemingly inexhaustible supply of things to banter about. Silence from you was a weather event.
Keeping one hand on the wheel, Baran reached over and put her hand over yours, which was on her own knee. "Talk to me."
"I'm fine," you rasped.
"You've been staring at the same spot on the dashboard for eight minutes."
"I'm thinking."
"About?"
You turned and looked at her with an expression of profound helplessness. "What if they don't like me?"
You were on your way to Baran’s house to meet her family for the first time. Like, a lot of her family.
It was officially Nowruz, and apparently it was her parent’s turn to host, which meant on top of meeting Mr. and Mrs. Al-Hashimi you’d also be introduced to all four of her brothers, her cousins, her aunts and uncles — all at once.
You felt sick.
Baran felt completely fine. "They're going to love you, asalam. You’re getting worked up over absolutely nothing.”
"You don't know that."
"I know you, so yes, I do." She ran her thumb across your knuckles once. "My mother will love you in under four minutes. My father will take longer, but he'll get there."
"Oh, awesome. What the hell does that mean?”
"He's… I don’t know. Let’s call it thorough. Consider it a compliment." She glanced over. "Baby. You are warm and you are brilliant and people are drawn to you because of that. My family is going to feel that the second you walk through the door. They're not going to be able to help it." She looked back at the road. "Nobody can."
You looked at her, something in your face soft and a little helpless. "Sap. You have to say that."
"I don't actually," Baran said. "I say it because it's true."
“Mmmmhm. What about your brothers?"
Baran shrugged, and you groaned.
"Baran, I need you to work with me here.”
"Cyrus and Darius will be fine. They're protective, but they'll get over it within—" She considered. "An hour, probably. Maybe two."
"Two hours!”
"Cyrus will come around faster. He has better social skills. Darius takes longer but that’s just ‘cause he’s kind of a wallflower so it’s harder to talk with him." She paused. "Babak will like you immediately. He’s very down-to-earth. And Arash—"
"Arash is the eighteen-year-old?"
"Yep. He’s the baby, and thinks he’s very funny," Baran said with a deep, chest-heaving sigh. "He will try to embarrass me and I seriously need you not to encourage him."
"What counts as encouraging him?"
"Laughing at his jokes," Baran said totally deadpan. "Responding to his jokes. Acknowledging that he’s making jokes. Making eye contact with him is also bad. He feeds on attention." She paused. "I love him deeply, but he is actually a huge pain in my ass."
You were quiet for a moment. "Fair enough. Can you recap?”
“Give Maman four minutes and you’re in. Baba, one to two hours. Cyrus and Darius give-or-take 60 minutes. Babak, immediately. Arash, who knows."
You nodded at this, trying to memorize it as Baran merged off the expressway. "And your aunts?”
"I think only two of them will be there; my Maman’s sisters.”
You stared at her, blinking. "B, just how many people are going to be at this party?"
"By evening? Probably…" Baran did an internal head count, "Forty? Maybe forty-one if my cousin Kamran brings his girlfriend."
"Forty people!” you cried as you leaned back in the car seat, covering your face with sweating hands.
"That’s pretty small for Nowruz!" Baran defended with a grin that quickly sobered up when she realized you were in actual distress. She squeezed your hand. "Hey, come on. Look at me.”
You looked at her, eyes pooling with fear.
"Y/N, you have charmed every single person you have ever met," Baran said, deciding to list off some of her friends. "Raquel became your best friend within twenty minutes when you met her for the first time. Lee — who does not like anyone — told me you were ‘good people’ after one conversation. You make friends the way other people breathe." She kept her eyes on the road. "My family is just more people for you to be yourself with. That's all."
"They're not ‘just’ people," you countered. "These are your people. Which makes them ‘the’ people, in a way.”
"I mean, I suppose," Baran agreed slowly, "But they already have context for who you are, because I've told them. They are prepared to like you. You just have to show up. Which, for what it's worth, you've been doing since October."
You blinked at that, mouth falling open. "What did you tell them in October?"
"I told my mother I had met someone very special," she replied bluntly. "She asked if I was happy. I said I had never been this happy. She said: bring her to Nowruz."
You stared at her. “You called her in October? We’d only been together for like… three weeks.”
"What can I say? They were a fantastic three weeks."
That made a smile crack across your face unbidden, something warm and refreshing swirling in your chest. "You never told me that."
"I'm telling you now." She glanced over, pleased by the brightness that had returned to your face.
You breathed. "Now I just have to make sure I hope I don’t fuck up my Farsi.”
Baran’s eyes slid to yours as she slowed the car for the red light. “What do you mean? Are you planning on speaking Farsi tonight?”
"I've been practicing.”
“You have?” Baran couldn’t hide her surprise. “Practicing what?”
“Nowruz mobarak. Khoshvaqt shodam. Mamnoon,” you said carefully, with the precision of weeks of private work. "The basics. And aziz, but only because you use it and I wanted to know what it meant… and then once I knew I wanted to be able to say it right."
Baran said nothing for long enough that you started to worry.
"Jeez, B, is my accent that bad?"
"It needs work," Baran teased with a smile, which was true but not remotely the thing she was feeling. She looked back at the road, willing her heart to slow down. "But the words are right, which is all that matters. I can’t believe you’ve learned some Farsi. My family is going to eat that up."
"You think?"
"I know." She brought your hand up and pressed her lips to your knuckles, held them there a moment, set them back down. "How long have you been practicing?"
"Since January. I found a pronunciation guide and then I went a little deep on it."
"Of course you did," Baran said softly.
"Is that—"
"It's wonderful," Baran said. "It's completely, entirely you, and it's wonderful." She squeezed your hand. "I'm revising the estimate to two."
“Two…?”
“Two minutes for my parents to call it love with you.
You laughed, startled and real, and some of the tightness went out of her all at once. "Okay," you grinned.
"Okay," Baran said, and squeezed your hand in three little pulses — I - LOVE - YOU — as she pulled in to the driveway.
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