My father was not grasping the gravity of the situation and I had no idea how to describe the earthquake without the handy Richter scale number. “It was a big earthquake. Everything broke,” I told him.

“Don’t worry,” he said. “Things are replaceable.”

“Just know I’m okay,” I said. “I gotta go.”

As soon as I hung up, I thought that I should also call my in-laws, who at the time were living in Marin County, forty-five minutes from San Francisco.

Ever since marrying François, I had clung to the notion that my mother-in-law, in a moment of enlightenment, would cast aside her prejudices and join François and me in celebrating our union. I imagined us preparing elaborate Christmas dinners together and her telling me for the hundredth time how narrow-minded she had been before getting to know me. And for the hundredth time, I would tell her that I forgave her.

I dialed my in-laws’ number. My mother-in-law picked up the phone. I was pretty sure this would be the moment of bonding. It would go something like this: “Oh, dear, Firoozeh, this earthquake shook me up and made me realize what a fool I’ve been! How could I have judged you because of your nationality? What was I thinking? Muslims, Jews, Catholics, we’re all the same. Imagine, it took me this long to wake up and see that we all laugh the same laughs and cry the same tears. Please forgive me!”

I got it almost right:

My mother-in-law asked whether her china had broken.

Before the wedding, François had discovered in his parents’ garage two large boxes of Limoges china that had never been unpacked. François had never seen these dishes. He assumed they were yet another box of inherited dishes that his parents owned but had never gotten around to using. He asked his mother whether he could have them. In a rare moment of generosity, she said yes.

For weeks following the Loma Prieta earthquake, building inspectors measured the damage and labeled structures with green, yellow, or red stickers. Ours was given a yellow sticker, which unlike a red sticker, meant that we could return to our homes. However, many repairs needed to be made. The elevator had to be fixed for the elderly residents, but otherwise we didn’t expect much; we had come to accept that our landlord’s idea of maintenance was cashing the rent checks.