Page 117 of Sapphire Spring

Mahin started searching cabinets again. “Oh, it was nothing.I told her she was clearly a failure of a fashion designer and should go to areal school.” When she saw Naser’s expression, she stopped and shrugged. “What?I said I’d pay for the school. What, with the look?”

“She’s talented, Mom. She’s talented, and her business ishard, and when you say critical things to her, it hurts her.”

“And when she tells me I am a terrible mother to you, theson who looks so much like the husband I loved and lost? Am I allowed to behurt by this too?”

“Of course.”

Mahin nodded slowly, as if she was trying to summon moregratitude for this answer than she possessed. “Do you think this is true?” sheasked finally. “I am a terrible mother to you?”

“No.”

She found an unopened bottle of red in the cabinet. “Are youlying?”

“Mom, it’s too early for wine. You drove.”

“Then you drive me home.” There was a challenge in her eyes.Was it the only reason she’d dropped by unannounced? To make him square thedebt for not having driven her to the doctor the daybefore?He could work with that.

“Fine,” Naser said.

Mahin gave him a thin smile and started to hunt for acorkscrew. Naser sidled up to her, opened the right drawer, and set it onto thecounter next to her hand. She patted his hand gently in thanks, then herfingers closed over his.

“Are you struggling, Naser-joon?”she asked.

A lump formed in his throat. “It’s been a rough week,” hemanaged.

“Because of a man?”

“It started fast. Maybe too fast. And it might not work out.He’s gone away for a while. It’ll give me time to think things through.”

The quick kiss he gave her on the cheek was supposed toserve as a period on the sentence and the topic in general. But she wasstudying him closely—curiously—as he backed away. The matter wasn’t closed andwouldn’t be until she said it was. He’d secretly wanted her to initiate aconversation about his personal life for years now. The moment had finallyarrived, but in the wrong package.

“Who is this man?” The protective tone in her voice warmedsomething deep inside of him. Then he was struck by an image of her crouched inthe attic of their house in Fullerton, reading through the pages of his highschool journals, where Mason’s name appeared again and again and again. Andnever in a flattering light.

He sank back into the chair he’d just abandoned a momentbefore. “He’s in real estate,” he answered, feeling like a liar. And ahypocrite.

Mahin nodded. A tense silence settled. She pulled a wineglass from a cabinet, filling it carefully as if she thought her hand mightstart shaking at any moment. “Well, clearly your sister is wrong.”

“About what?”

“You don’t want to talk about this man, and I was stupid toask.”

“Can I ask you something?” Naser asked. His mother nodded,but she looked wary as she brought the glass to her lips. “In high school, did youread my journals?”

“Pari told you this?”

Naser nodded.

“That’s it. We no longer speak to your sister. It’s toodangerous.”

“That’s not going to be a thing.”

Mahin stared down into her wine as she swirled it, a tenseset to her jaw. “I knew something was wrong. After the email with the coach,that whole thing, the fake one where someone pretended to be you, I knew morewas going on, but you wouldn’t talk about it. And I felt guilty.”

“Why?”

“Because I worked.”

“You supported us.”

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