Page 19 of Honey Bun
As we headed upstairs toward the bedrooms, we ran into one of Arman’s brothers. “Do you remember Elon?” Arman asked.
I did. He’d grown up, like all the Norouzi boys, and was just as tall as Arman, though his hair was dirty blond, not dark like Arman’s. He also had wider shoulders than Arman, but Arman was overall the handsomest man I’d ever met.
“I talked to him about your situation,” Arman said.
I could feel the heat rising in my face. “The husband stitch. And…?”
“It’s not a normal procedure anymore, and I’d need your medical records to know if there was some medical reason for the episiotomy,” Elon said.
“What does that mean?”
“Did you tear, giving birth?”
“I think so, but I don’t remember. They had to stitch me up.” It felt strange to have such a candid conversation about something that was so private, but Elon’s manner was practical, as if we were talking about changing a tire on a car, and it made me feel more at ease.
“It’s pretty unethical without a medical necessity.”
“What are you talking about?” I asked.
“What we were talking about, the husband stitch.” Elon glanced at Arman and back at me.
Bob, not I, had talked to the doctors that day. I’d just wanted to hold my daughter.
One of the other brothers came down the stairs and joined us. “You remember Jeff?” Arman asked, and I nodded.
Part of the wonder of the Norouzi family was that they never considered the adopted children any different from the natural-born ones. They all just accepted each other. I smiled. “You grew up. Your mother offered to have you help me, but it’s okay if you can’t.”
“That’s why I wanted to talk to you. If I’m your lawyer, then you’re my client, and you need to direct me on what to do.”
“I…” I wasn’t used to getting what I wanted so easily. I lifted my chin. “I’d like a divorce and full custody of my daughter. She’ll testify that she wants to stay with me and not go back.”
The Norouzi boys were a one-stop shop for love, medical advice, and legal help.Now, if I could get one of them to fix my car, I’d be set.
Jeff, the lawyer, said, ”On it. Mom said you had bruises, so take some pictures and send them to me as soon as you can, but for now, go get settled. We’ll talk later.”
My heart raced. Jeff sounded normal talking about it, though Arman seemed stiff. I reached for Jeff’s arm and squeezed it. “Thanks, Jeff. Nice to see you both again.”
“No problem.” Jeff slid around us.
Arman rubbed my arm, and I stopped massaging his. “My family’s all jumping in, it seems.” He seemed agitated.
I narrowed my eyes and wondered why. Then his mother opened a door and told Aurora, “This is your room.”
Blush curtains that went from top to bottom and black-and-white photos of London, Paris, and Sydney hung on the walls as if the room had been designed for my daughter, who dreamed of traveling. With her eyes wide-open, she asked, “Is this for me?”
Roxanne held her shoulders and spun her around to face the view of the ocean. “Do you like?”
“I love it.”
Roxanne pointed to the door. “I need to speak to Arman for thirty seconds in the hall.”
“Of course.” He let me go.
Once the door was closed, Aurora said, “Our old house was smaller than this room. Can I play volleyball with the Solomons tomorrow?”
I hugged her. “Absolutely. It’s okay to talk to anyone who you think is a good person.” My heart told me I’d been lying to it for years about people being dangerous.
The door opened, and Arman said, “We overheard you. I wanted to add that you can invite them to our private beach and use our court, right there, if you want.”
