The night before the wedding we stayed up all night, whispering, confiding. “I feel closer to you than to anyone else in the world,” Simin had said. “Nothing is going to make us grow apart, not marriage, not having children.”

On the wedding night Simin sat smiling behind the gauzy veil of her wedding dress, two orange and yellow glass bracelets glimmering on her wrist. She seemed to blend with the glow of colors and noise all about—the exquisite platters of fruit and saffron rice, bouquets of flowers, patches of sequins on the guests’ dresses, rows of pearls and gold jewelry, sounds of laughter, admiration and concern. Older members of the family, sitting in a corner and fanning themselves, were already whispering about the flaws in the bridegroom’s character—he had been ungenerous in his gifts to the bride, he rarely spoke or smiled.

I thought of my own wedding, standing beside Tony in a simple white dress in the City Hall. I had felt a remoteness from everything around me—the cream-colored walls, the dark heavy doors and furniture, the clerk himself. I had looked up at Tony and felt like giggling.

We had married there and then we had gone for a week’s honeymoon to Nantucket. We bicycled all over the small island, ate in quiet restaurants overlooking the sea, made love at all times of the day and stayed up late at night to read aloud to each other.

Zizi yawned loudly.

“Why don’t you go inside, dear, where your sisters are,” Simin suggested.

Zizi’s head moved back and forth and finally she fixed her eyes on her mother. “They only talk with each other.”

“Oh, are you feeling sad, dear? Come here, let me kiss you. You’ll feel better.”

Zizi sat on her mother’s lap, putting a hand on her breast.

“Pretty soon your own breasts will grow,” Simin said. “Right here.” She brushed her hand over Zizi’s chest. “Two little breasts. You’re only eleven—maybe in a year or two.”

“Will I look like you then?”

“Sure.” She put her fingers into Zizi’s curls. “You’re my nicest girl.”

Zizi yawned again. “I’m going to sleep.”

“I have to help her get undressed,” Simin explained. “I’ll be right out.” She went with Zizi.

Simin’s husband had fallen asleep with his head against the wall, snoring. I watched a row of ants going towards an empty flower bed. The shadows swam with them. When Simin returned she woke her husband. “Why don’t you go in? You fell asleep.”

He stared at Simin for a moment and got up without saying a word.

Simin watched him go inside and then said, “I wonder where his mind is all the time.”

“He’s just a quiet person,” I said.

“He should never have gotten married.”

I shrugged, thinking of what Tony’s mother had once said about him. “I’m so glad he met you. I worried sometimes if he’d ever settle down. On every holiday he brought another girl home.” At another time Tony said to me, “With you I don’t feel that marriage is a burden. You know how to leave me alone.”