own face to show how shocked they were about something. Aunt Minoo’s legs seemed to sway under her, so Baba held her arm. They walked briskly into the library, closing the door behind them.
I stood awhile in the entrance of Aunt Minoo’s house, waiting for them to come out. But they didn’t. Eventually, I walked into the kitchen and looked around the room. This house was so familiar to me, it felt like my second home. Minoo was only two years younger than Baba, and they had been very close growing up. When we had moved to Iran from the United States, we lived with Minoo and her family for almost six months before finding our own apartment.
—
That first night in Tehran, Aunt Minoo’s house had looked like a castle I might have seen in a cartoon. With all the lights on and situated on top of a hill, her home glowed in the dark almost like a Halloween jack-o’-lantern. There was a beautiful smell in the air, one I had not known before. Two large jasmine bushes stood on either side of the entrance, filling the evening with their magical perfume.
Aunt Minoo had given us a tour of their new two-story house. She was so excited to show it to us. Every room had bright colors. The living room and dining room were decorated in white curtains and Persian rugs, with tall windows all around. The kitchen had maroon tiles and white cabinets. Large wooden bookcases lined the library walls, and an inviting brown leather sofa waited for anyone who wanted to sit and sample any of the books. Upstairs, my cousin Sara’s room was all pink, my cousin Omid’s room was brown and orange, my aunt and uncle’s room was all white, the guest bedroom was orange, and the TV room was beige. I felt like I’d walked into a rainbow.
When Aunt Minoo spoke, it sounded like she was laughing. She was petite, but her big smile looked like Baba’s. I had overheard Baba say to Maman how happy he was that his sister had married well, affording her luxuries the rest of the family did not have. He said she was the most generous person he knew and that she loved to share her wealth with those around her.
Sara took after her mother in her generosity and kind spirit. Already 14 when we arrived, she shared her bedroom with me, her five-year-old cousin.
She had arranged her collection of stuffed animals neatly on her dresser—a dozen cats, five puppies, and three frogs. I really liked the frogs. I’d never seen any at the toy store Maman used to take me to in Pittsburgh. I had been surprised to see that a teenager still had toys in her room, but I had instantly loved her for it.
Despite feeling comfortable with my cousin, I felt scared in Aunt Minoo’s big house.
One morning, just a few weeks after we came to Iran, Maman had pulled the pink curtains aside in Sara’s room to let the sun in. Maman wore a short-sleeved navy dress with a red belt, and a wide red headband held back her long blond hair. She looked normal to me, but something about the house felt far from normal.
“Good morning, chérie.”
“Good morning, Maman. Can you come to the bathroom with me?”
“Are you still frightened?” Maman asked. “Maman, there’s a ghost living outside that bathroom window. I just know it.”
“All you’re hearing is the ivy from the neighbor’s house rustling in the breeze.”
“No, Maman, I’ve heard the ghost walking. It is really scary.”
“I’m sure it’s just the neighbor’s cat walking on the gravel downstairs. You’ve seen that cat. He’s adorable.”
“It’s not the cat.”
“All right, Nioucha. It’s time for me to go now.”
“Are you leaving already?”
Maman had started working for a French oil company as an executive secretary.
“Yes, I’m leaving soon,” she said, kissing the top of my head.
I wrapped my arms around her waist, wishing she could stay longer, at least through breakfast.
“Can’t you take me to school today?” I asked.
“I’m sorry, chérie, but I can’t.”
This was the first job Maman had taken since I was born, and I couldn’t stand not having her all to myself anymore.
When I wouldn’t let go, she added, “I’ll be here when you get back from school. I have to go now. Baba will take you.”
One more kiss and she was gone.
It seemed to me that Maman and Baba were hardly around anymore. They were always invited to parties with Aunt Minoo and her husband, and they left me with Sara and her 11-year-old brother, Omid. I remembered what had happened the night before, and I ran after Maman.
“Wait, Maman!”
She was halfway down the stairs. I ran into her arms and buried my face in her belly again.
“What’s wrong?” she asked.
“You’ll be back, right?”
“Of course I will.”
“Promise?”
“I promise.”
The night before, I had whimpered in Sara’s lap, asking her over and over when Maman and Baba would be back.
“I’ll go make us some dessert,” Sara said. “That’ll cheer you up.”
She left me in the TV room with Omid.
As soon as she was downstairs in the kitchen, Omid said, “Your parents abandoned you. They’re never coming back.”
“That’s not true,” I said.
“Sure it is,” Omid said. “They told me so.”
He left the room and returned with my toy telephone. He dropped it in my lap.
“Here,” he said. “Call them yourself and ask.”
I started dialing a number.
“Maman? Hello? Hello?”
Of course, nobody answered. Omid sat in front of me and sneered. I couldn’t stop myself from crying.
“What’s going on?” Sara asked when she returned, holding a tray with three ice cream bowls. She put the desserts down on the coffee table and knelt beside me.
“Maman and Baba left me forever!” I wailed. “Omid said they’re never coming back! Hello? Maman?”
I still held the telephone receiver to my ear. Omid laughed. Sara pushed her brother and he tumbled sideways.
“Get out of here,” Sara said. “What’s wrong with you?”
Sara pulled me into her lap and rocked me.
“Your mom and dad are with my mom and dad at a friend’s house,” Sara said. “I promise they haven’t left you. Don’t listen to Omid. He doesn’t know what he’s talking about.”
Omid had taken one of the ice-cream bowls and gone to his room, slamming the door.
After he’d been so mean to me the night before, I dreaded having to see him again at breakfast.
I gave Maman one last squeeze before she left for work. Then I slowly made my way down the semicircular staircase to join the family in the kitchen.
Aunt Minoo stood by the stove making scrambled eggs while Sara and Omid sat at the table drinking fresh-squeezed orange juice. My aunt already had feta cheese, butter, walnuts, and quince jam on the table. The samovar brewed tea on the white kitchen counter. Through the large bay window, I saw Baba sitting in the garden reading the newspaper.
“Good morning,” I said.
Aunt Minoo turned around and blew me a kiss.
“Good morning, sleepy girl,” Sara said. She patted the chair next to her. I took a seat, linking my arm through hers, making sure