We had dinner at an outdoor restaurant, hidden away from civilization, in what seemed like the middle of the woods. It was the best meal of my life. The owner came out and explained, in Italian, that they had no formal staff, that the kitchen was entirely operated by family. The grandma, the nonna, would come out with each plate of food. There were so many plates. A meat and cheese plate with wild boar, reindeer—meats I never thought I’d get to try. A butternut squash soup that I was skeptical about sharing but now wish I could share with the entire world. And of course, the pasta. There was squid ink pasta that tasted like it had been pulled fresh out of the ocean, and eggy, yolky carbonara, and a rigatoni in tomato sauce that would have blown your mind. We finished the meal with dessert—reluctantly, since I didn’t have room, but Francesco and Neil insisted—and I am so happy they did. I could have happily died with that tiramisu as my last bite of food.

Back at their mountain home, a small apartment in a complex with another family, I slept in a lofted bed. I was relieved that there was no sexual tension whatsoever—not that that giant meal would have allowed for it, as I had learned with Valerio. In fact, Francesco and Neil were very friendly. We watched a movie before going to bed: Milk, since Neil, like Jahan, was disappointed I hadn’t seen it yet. I cried. It’s discomforting, now, to think of that perfect day in the mountains. I fell asleep so full, so happy. And now I’m hungry again. Not just for food, but for the love I thought I had in Italy.

Interrogation Room 39

Afshin Azadi

THAT IS ABSURD; I would never hurt my son. It was an argument. A disagreement. I wish we had not raised our voices like that, in public, on an airplane of all places, but that was how it happened. You can assure those passengers that their concern was not necessary; I would never lay a hand on Amir.

Yes, of course I love my son! I love my son more than words can say. I don’t like that . . . part of him that you keep mentioning, that specific part that we were arguing about on the airplane. But I love Amir.

I can see from your expression that you are confused. I will not lie; I am confused, too. I don’t know, I haven’t figured out how to reconcile those two feelings. I kept telling Amir we’ll work on it. But what if he doesn’t change?

That was the part that hurt most. He kept saying, “It’s not going away. I’m not changing.” Because if Amir doesn’t change, then that image that I had my whole life, his future—it is all wiped away. I pictured him with a certain kind of job, a house and income and wife, a certain life. Not because I am small-minded, but because I want my son to be happy and stable. Because I know what he is capable of.