Everyone laughed. I realized from the harshness of my laughter how tense I was. My father had rested all his hopes and expectations on me rather than Darius. He had hoped I would get an education, that I would come back. He had hoped perhaps that I would marry an Iranian man and have children.

“Where is Darius?” my aunt asked.

“At the garage probably, looking out at girls.”

Everyone laughed again.

Ziba picked up a scarf and a tie and gave them to my aunt and uncle.

“I haven’t worn a tie for so long,” my uncle said, studying the gift closely. “But I’ll keep this as a souvenir from Feri.”

His wife thanked me and folded the scarf, putting it neatly in a corner.

My uncle began to talk in an animated way, telling me stories about my childhood, squeezing my thigh, pinching my arm. He tried to use some of the English words he had learned in the oil refinery company where he worked.

“You used to love your uncle so,” his wife said, looking at her husband with adoration. “You followed him around. You wanted to be with him all the time.”

“That’s right,” I said, thinking of the energy that had always drawn me to him.

“I was so happy for you when your father decided to send you to college abroad,” my uncle said. He suddenly seemed agitated, beads of sweat gathered on his forehead, his words came out rapidly, jumbled. “Everyone works and works over there, in America, all for the dollar. More work and more dollar. They have so much money and yet they keep running after more. Here no one is willing to work for more than a few hours a day. Human feelings come first here. I work only enough to make a living. Now, as my children grow older, I work a little harder.” His body grew rigid. “Tell me, why didn’t your husband come with you? Does he consider our country beneath him?” His hand was wet with sweat as he touched my arm.

“He was busy and I wanted to come alone.”

“You’ve become one of them—you abandoned your family.” He winked at me and laughed. “I’m only joking.”

Two women, wearing black chadors, appeared in the courtyard and came into the living room.

I recognized the thin, sallow-faced woman as my cousin Simin. She and I had been good friends as children.

She held me to herself and we kissed on both cheeks.

“Feri, what happened to you? You just disappeared,” the older woman—my father’s sister and Simin’s mother—asked, her head shaking a little. She had only four large rotting teeth in the front of her mouth and this had made her cheeks sink in and her chin protrude. She came over and we kissed.

We all sat around the room.

Ziba gave my aunt a dark, somber dress and Simin a nightgown. “These are for you.”

Simin held the nightgown before her and smiled. “What a pretty color.”