An Illusion of Trust (Sequel to The Brevity of Roses) (8 page)

"You will have no part in this," she tells him. "I don't want your advice or critique or anything."

"I think it's a great idea," Paul says.

"I agree," I say. "And I'm sure we'll have no problem working around your schedule."

Jalal's face is blank now; he's lost in a memory. I can't wait to ask him what history between them sparked Azadeh's prohibition.

"Paul seems like a nice guy," I say as we're getting ready for bed.

"Green technology is hot and his company is one of the most successful in the business."

"You see that? I mention Paul as a
person
, and you calculate his net worth. That's what I hated about the conversations at Judith's party. Money is all anyone talks about, how much they make or how much they spend. All that tells me about a person is that they're boring."

"You enjoy having money."

"Yes, but all I really care about is that we have enough to live. If your investments dried up tomorrow, we could sell this house and live off that money for the rest of our lives."

"You would deprive our children of all the advantages money affords us?"

"I wasn't suggesting you give every dime to charity and we live on the streets."

"What were you suggesting?"

"I just don't think acquiring or spending money should be the primary focus of life." He comes up behind me and nuzzles my neck.

"I am not the least bit focused on money right now, Mrs. Vaziri." He slips his hand up under my sleep shirt.

"Not so fast. You have to tell me something first."

"Anything."

"Why did Aza insist you say nothing about her plans to take a writing class?"

He groans in dismay and his hand slides down to rest chastely on my stomach. "Because I acted like a jerk once when she asked me to read a poem she wrote."

"You wouldn't read it?"

"No, I read it. Then I analyzed, dissected, and rewrote it for her."

"Jerk." The baby kicks his hand. "See? Your daughter agrees with me."

"In my defense, I was only nineteen."

"But still."

"I know."

I pull his hand back to my breast. "Shall I presume you have more tact now?"

"Indeed." He guides me to the bed. "I will be generous in my critique of your performance here tonight."

"Jerk."

M
ia Grace enters the world five weeks before expected. She's perfect in form, but her jaundice requires photo therapy and her sucking reflex is weak, so because I want to breastfeed her, I stay in the hospital with her five days. Those days are agony because I feel like I'm choosing between my two children. Though each morning Jalal brings Adam to me right after breakfast, active toddlers don't tolerate confinement to one room very long.

So Adam will nap with me, Jalal tires him out each afternoon at the nearby park before bringing him back to the hospital. Jalal reads while I sleep with my daughter cradled in my arms and my son curled against my side. Still, I cry for my son each of the nights I spend away from him.

I would have a dozen babies if they were all as good as Mia Grace. At six weeks, she's already sleeping four hours straight at night. Jalal says it's because she's not in our bed like Adam was; we put her to sleep in a mini crib in the alcove of our room, though after she wakes for a feeding I keep her in bed with me. And I've promised Jalal that in a few weeks I'll trust the monitor and start her nights in the nursery.

Adam's had trouble adjusting to the baby taking some of his spotlight. After our first night here, when he slept with Jennie, he's insisted on sleeping only in his bedroom, but several times since Mia Grace's birth he's ended up snuggled between me and Jalal. And sometimes, like now, when I nurse Mia Grace, he sits beside me, patting her head and sucking his thumb. Jalal worried until his sister Goli assured him this is only a temporary regression. Since she has eight of them, beating Jalal's mother by one, Goli is the family expert on children. But Adam is also protective of his sister and already tries to teach her the words for things. It's so cute. I love being a mother.

"He's nodding off," Aza whispers. "Do you want me to carry him up to his bed?"

"Don't forget to turn his monitor on." Even though she smiles, I realize that sounded ridiculous. We
always
turn on the monitors when the kids are in their rooms. Why do I feel the need to tell her every damned time? Why is she so patient with me?

Mia Grace doesn't even open her eyes when I buckle her in the baby bouncer in the great room. As Jalal enters from the garage, I shush him. He sets a bag carefully on the kitchen island and then freezes while I walk over to him. "Did you already eat lunch?" I ask before I catch the scent of the food he's brought home. "What did you get?"

"Your favorite hot and sour soup."

"Sometimes I love you." I try to kiss him, but he holds me back.

"Sometimes is not enough, Renee." He looks so serious I blank on a response. Then the corner of his mouth quirks, and he pulls me to him. We're still kissing when Aza comes back downstairs.

"Oops," she says. "Should I take the baby up to the nursery or stay here with her while you guys take
that
somewhere else?"

I wriggle loose from Jalal. "We're not going anywhere. I want my soup."

Jalal shakes his head sadly. "Obviously, we've now progressed to the old married couple stage."

"Only one of us is old." As soon as I say it, I remember what Jennie said and wish I could take my words back, but Jalal only laughs. I carry the food to the table while Jalal gets plates and silverware. "Are you still enjoying your class, Aza?"

"I love it," she says. "It's activated an area of my brain that I haven't used for a long time. The only problem is, since I'm still going by my married name, I thought I'd be safe from comparison with Jalal, but the instructor asked me yesterday if he's related."

"She has to grade you on your own work,
kharar-jan
," Jalal says.

"Not in her head,
baradar-jan
."

"We should teach Adam and Mia Grace those words for brother and sister," I say.

Jalal glances at me as though some part of his brain heard me, but he's still focused on Azadeh. "How does she know you are my sister?"

"I told her. I mean, she asked if we were related, and then I told her."

"But what made her ask that?"

I tune them out and concentrate on my soup because I know from experience conversations like this between them can last an hour. It's driving Jalal crazy that Aza won't discuss her writing with him. I don't blame her. He even critiques my shopping lists.

"… she met you at a conference," Aza says.

That gets my attention.

"What conference?" Jalal asks.

"San Francisco."

"What's her name?"

"Diane Benson. Tall, blonde, pretty?"

He shrugs and shakes his head. How many tall, blonde, and pretty women
are
there at these conferences? Maybe I should go with him next time.

I'm driving Kristen to the mall when she says, "Did my mom ask you to take me shopping so you could grill me about something?"

I'm tempted to lie, but she'll know, and then I'll never gain her confidence. "I wouldn't say
grill
. She's concerned because you won't talk to her."

"I told her there's nothing to worry about. I'm not seeing guys behind her back."

"You're sixteen. Aren't most of your friends dating?"

"Friend. I have one friend."

"I think she's worried about that too." From the corner of my eye, I see her shake her head, and I know she accompanied it with a roll of her eyes. "You had a lot of friends in Seattle."

"Yeah, and my Seattle friends are why we're living in Coelho now." She turns her face to the passenger side window. "Mom's never going to trust me."

I'm not supposed to know about the miscarriage, so I have to be careful what I say. I can't even draw on my experience with my mother, because she never cared what I did or who I did it with. Trust was not a resident in our house.

"I had a miscarriage," Kristen says.

By reflex, I take my foot off the gas and move it to the brake pedal and then instantly reverse that because we're on the freeway and stopping is not an option. "I—"

"You already knew, right? Mom admires you, so I figured she would tell you. Please say you didn't tell Uncle J."

"No. I swear." Aza admires me? "I mean, yes, I knew, but I didn't tell Jalal."

"So you understand why I'm not dating, right? And why my best friend—my only friend—is the
nicest
girl in school."

"No." I take the exit to the mall.

"Forget it. You can't understand."

"You'd be surprised." I pull into the first empty parking spot I see.

"Why are you parking so far from Sephora?" she asks.

"I'll move after we talk. And I do understand why you're hanging out with Brittany, but I'm not clear on whether you even like her."

"Well, yeah, I like her. She's a little boring sometimes, but she's helping me improve my grades. And she's actually pretty funny. But she doesn't date or party yet, so I figured guys would assume I don't either. You know?"

"You can't date without having sex?"

Kristen looks at me like I've suddenly aged fifty years. "I knew you wouldn't understand."

"Not all guys are like the ones you were friends with in Seattle. Just like Brittany's a good girl, there are also good guys."

"Aw come on, Renee, what guy doesn't want sex?"

I can't help myself; I smile. "I didn't say they don't
want
it, but nice guys won't
expect
it, and even if they try, they
will
take no for an answer. You do have the right to say no. You can be different here. No one here knows Kristen, the Seattle version."

For a minute, she just stares at the parking lot. "I guess it's not like I have
slut
tattooed on my forehead."

"You don't think of yourself as a slut, do you? Because you're not."

"Mom thinks I am."

"I'm
positive
she doesn't. She loves you so much she gave up her home to move here and give you a fresh start. It would break her heart to know you thought so little of yourself." Kristen turns her head, but I'd already caught the glisten of tears. "Why can't you and Brittany ease into it together?" I ask. "Group date. Find a couple of nice guys to share a pizza or see a movie with. Agree to meet the guys there. Keep it public, so there's no temptation."

She nods.

I start the car. Do as I say. It's amazingly easy to give advice to do the opposite of what I did. Aza admires me. What would she think if she knew how I was before I met her brother? Trying to keep the real Renee hidden is like trying to eat one of those huge sloppy burgers without letting any of it squish out the sides. Sooner or later, you make a mess of it.

Azadeh and her teacher, Diane, have become friends. The semester is over, and Aza received an 
A
 in her creative writing class, but Jalal wonders if she really earned it. He didn't say that to her, of course, and since she still won't let him see anything she wrote for the class, he has no way to know. I'm suspicious of Diane's motives too—not for the grade but for the friendship. Her disappointment is obvious when she comes here with Aza and realizes Jalal's not home. For Aza's sake, I hope I'm wrong about Diane's using her.