I am not comfortable speaking up like this. I have not been comfortable this entire time. Many times, in this country, however, I am made to feel uncomfortable, just like this. It is normal for me, to feel that I have walked into a party that I was not invited to. To be interrogated. To have my every value, every detail of my existence, questioned.

Soraya, you may experience this in life, too. People will make you uncomfortable. And I do believe, firmly, that most of the time, you should not cause a scene. You should not let people get to you. But there are times when you have to defend yourself, when the things you love most dearly are thrown into question.

You look at me, ma’am, like I’m not capable of loving my own son. And that hurts. Because no matter where I come from, I am a mother before I am anything else. Ever since Soraya told us that Amir is—that he is gay, I have imagined how his life would be different, living a life like that. How much more difficult it would be. I have so many questions. I don’t fully understand what he is going through. But in every single one of those scenarios, I am in my son’s life. I am there for him. I will always, always be there for my Amir.

Interrogation Room 39

Afshin Azadi

Two Days Ago

THE DRIVE UP to the mountains was spectacular. Neil sat in the front with Francesco, while I kept the dogs company in the back seat. We drove through winding, twisty roads, and as we got closer to the mountains, we passed rolls of hay shaped like giant Fruit Roll-Ups. One of the dogs was nestled under the driver’s seat, and the other rested her head out the window, her floppy ears swimming in the wind.

I gazed out the window next to her, thinking about how I had left things in Rome. If I even had anything to go back to there. I hadn’t heard from Valerio since our Sistine Chapel date, and I was afraid to text him—he had probably heard what happened, that I’d hooked up with Giovanni and ruined his relationship. He probably wanted nothing to do with me. He’d had his heart broken before. Why risk it again?

The dog licked my face, and I smiled.

We had a picnic that afternoon in a huge field. The air was chilly. The grass was tall and weeds whipped all around us. We were surrounded by the most spectacular view of mountains and flatland, endless green fields. There was a hut out in the distance. “For the cow herders,” Neil said. It was all very Brokeback Mountain. Francesco had prepared a basket of fresh prosciutto, bread, and different cheeses. We made little sandwiches and lay out on a picnic blanket and took in the fresh, cool air.

We took a walk around L’Aquila. It was an ancient Italian city an hour and a half north of Rome that had been ruined by an earthquake about a decade ago. Walking around was surreal. It was like the whole city was holding its breath. We walked down these shade-covered alleys, one side an old house, the walls painted yellow, half-covered in dirt, cracking, and the other side scaffolding. A new construction. But left deserted. There were abandoned mansions. There was construction and scaffolding, cranes hanging from the sky, but no one was working on it. Francesco said that the city jumped right into revitalization after the earthquake, into rebuilding itself, but they ran out of money. So all of a sudden, the development stopped. He said he was hopeful it would pick up again soon.