Page 14 of What Hurts Us

“There’s a difference between being into older men and being intoold men,” I clipped as I helped arrange the large serving dishes. “Do y’all give Karim this much crap? He’s single, too!”

“Ah, but Karim goes on dates,” my mother said with a soft smile.

“What was the name of the young lady you were with last night?” my grandmother asked.

Karim sputtered on the sip of water he had just downed. “Uh,” he said, coughing. “Candie.”

A wicked smile crossed my face. “And what does this …Candiedo for work?”

My brother glared at me. “She’s a Ph.D. candidate.” My mother, aunt, and grandma swooned.

I raised an eyebrow. “A Ph.D. candidate?”

Karim swallowed. “Yep.”

I lowered my voice. “That stands forpretty hot dancer, doesn’t it?”

“Fuck off, I just spent three years of my life without any fun because I was studying my ass off for the bar exam. I deserve to blow off a little steam now and then,” Karim hissed.

“Turnabout’s fair play, buddy. You let mom and dad set me up with a balding geometry teacher, and I will sic them on your love life.” I pointed two fingers at my eyes, then back at him.

He raised his hands in surrender, then muttered, “Bitchy.”

I shrugged innocently. “In a world full of bitches, be a bad one.”

We crowded around the table and gorged ourselves on dinner. Karim lobbed softball questions to keep them off my back, and I did the same for him.

I loved my family with every fiber of my being, but sometimes they could be a bit much. They meant well, but the well-intended smothering left me gasping for air.

I volunteered to do the dishes just so I could have a little breather from intrusive conversations.

“How is work?” my mom asked as she sided up to me with a dishtowel, plucking a plate out of the drainer to dry off.

“Good,” I said as I scrubbed a piece of fused chicken off a serving dish. “Busy.”

“You know,joonam, you have to go after love just as hard as you went after your degree and your job. It won’t just fall into your lap.”

“Maman,” I said with a frustrated sigh.

“At least go on dates,” she pleaded. “It doesn’t have to be a love connection right away. Or, you know, you could let us set you up likemaman bozorgand yourbaba’smamandid for your father and me. Sometimes your elders know best. They see what you can’t.Maman bozorgknew that I needed a husband who wouldn’t be threatened by my career. In the secondKhastegarimeeting, your father told me about his dream to immigrate to America. I told him that my dream was to be an attorney. It wasn’t a love connection at first, but it was a partnership. We trusted each other enough to share our dreams and our goals. Find someone you can trust,azizam.Love will flow from that.”

I leaned into her side. “Thanks, mom.”

“Dooset Daaram,” she said, dropping a kiss on top of my head the way she had when I was little.

“I love you, too,Maman.”

She grabbed a platter out of the dish drainer and began drying it off. “But if you don’t bring a man with you the next time you come for dinner, I will rent the biggest billboard I can find on I-40 and put your picture on it.”

Great.I would have laughed, but I knew she wasn’t joking.

6

CALLUM

“Get your lard ass in the car, Muriel.”

Muriel snorted and wobbled her three hundred and fifty pounds of ornery should-be-bacon rear end in the opposite direction of my open cruiser door.

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