Page 116 of Sapphire Spring

“Randy,” Naser said, “did you bring your own car, sweetie?”

Randy nodded.

“Why don’t you head out? I’ll handle this.”

The man looked between the two of them with puppy dog eyes.“This is kind of fun, though. I mean, no offense. My marriage is capped atthree, but—”

“It’s fine. I just think my mom and I need some alone time.”

“Sure, should I…” He gestured to the vials.

“Take the blood, Randy,” Mahin said, then she rose from herchair and returned to the kitchen. Randy rose, too, and hurried out the door,waving as he went. “Test him for loyalty to his mother. His levels seem low.”

Then they were alone, and suddenly she was digging in the totebag she’d brought in on one arm and set on the counter. There was a rustlingfrom inside. “I brought you a gift. Because you are sick or upset, or I don’tknow which thing. With your sister, I never know what to believe. She’s betterwith colors than facts.”

She pulled out a bright blue paper bag. Naser took it.“Where is it from?”

“The gay store.”

Naser froze, suddenly afraid of its contents. “The what?”

“Thegaystore.”

“Mom, what gay store? What are you talking about?”

“I went on theInternetand I searchedforgay store,and it sent me to this place in Santa Ana called booksfor adults.”

“You went to a porn shop alone?”

“No, I took Fatemeh with me. It was fine. We did not staylong. I went up to the counter and I said to the clerk I have a son who has alwaysbeen very…gentleand what gift should I give him, and she gave me thislotion.”

Fatemeh was his mother’s oldest Persian female friend, thekind of woman whose money probably went back to Darius the Great and who neverstayed in a hotel that didn’t have the word Ritz in the name. The image of thetwo of them cruising like grand and stylish ocean liners through a flotsam ofdildos andbutt plugsin what was probably one of therougher neighborhoods of Santa Ana was one he needed a minute to process. Suddenly,he was desperate to know if Fatemeh had ever removed her Gucci sunglasses at allduring the visit.

He’d drawn the alleged lotion bottle only an inch out of thebag before he saw what itactually was—a giant plastictube full of anal lube. He dropped it back inside the bag and fought the urgeto throw the entire thing in the trash.

“My God, what did Pari say to you yesterday?” he managed.

“What? That’s not lotion?”

“A very specific kind. What did she say, Maman?”

Mahin took the bag from his hand so quickly he was forced todrop the lube back inside. She set it on the counter, made as if to go to thefridge, then her thoughts overtookherand she suckedin a deep, pained-sounding breath. “Shesays I am aterrible mother to my gay son. That you are struggling. With a man. And thatyou won’t tell me about it because I don’t…seeyou. That’s what shesays to me. And I’m on the way to the eye doctor when she says it, so it wasvery rude. What kind of thing is that?”

“Wasn’t it a routine checkup?” Naser asked.

Mahin grunted and waved a hand through the air. “I wearcontacts, so we never know.”

“Is that all Pari said?” At the thought that his sistermight have mentioned Mason by name—a name his mother had read in Naser’sjournals years ago—Naser’s skin felt tight and prickly from head to toe.

“No. No, of course not. That would have been too easy. Shesaid if I wanted to know more, I had to ask you. That I should ask you aboutyourwholelife for a change, and not just the parts of it I want tosee.”

This was his fault. He shouldn’t have thrown them togetherin a car under semi-false pretenses. And he should probably muster some gratitudethat his sister had found a way to acknowledge the conversation he’d had withher the morning after her event. But he would have appreciated at least a wordor two of warning that she’d yanked the rug out from under the delicate balancehe’d maintained with his mother for most of his adult life.

“That’s a lot for apretty shortcar ride, Mom. Did you say anything to her first?”

Mahin hissed and closed her hand in the air beside her headas if he’d just clasped a bell pull and tugged. “Why do you always say this?Where is the wine?”

“It’s eleven in the morning, Mom.”

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