With parents as happily married as mine, it would be easy to associate relationships with fairy tales or meet-cutes, but I promise that’s not me. I associate marriage with finding a person who knows you wax your upper-lip hair and loves the shit out of you anyway. I want someone I can be completely at ease with, but I’m beginning to think that person doesn’t exist. Case in point: Aside from Gideon, my biggest crush has been on my English teacher, Mr. Dennery, who is twice my age and has a fiancée so attractive that she makes Zendaya look like a plain Jane.

I hear a light tapping on my door and assume it’s Neda stopping by to decompress after her phone call with Gideon. Some nights, she complains that he sounded distant on the phone or didn’t tell her she looked pretty on FaceTime or that he didn’t say “I love you” when they hung up. And other nights, probably after another phone sex session, she says that she’s never felt this way about anyone before. Sometimes she wishes they could break up and date other people, then get back together in ten years when they’re both ready to get married. Champagne problems, I think to myself.

But tonight, it’s not Neda at my door. It’s my dad. And he’s holding two giant bowls of homemade saffron ice cream.

“I come bearing gifts,” he says. “Your mom made ice cream!”

My mom sometimes tells us she doesn’t think she’s Iranian enough. She’s too busy to make ghormeh sabzi from scratch. She doesn’t always remember to have a bowl of fruit at the ready and a pot of tea brewing when we have relatives over. And she’d much rather listen to Adele than to Leila Forouhar. But I think she’s more Iranian than she realizes.

For starters, she’s obsessed with what other people think. That’s a quintessential Iranian trait. As her daughter, I’m a direct reflection of her parenting. If my skin breaks out, then her cousins will start to wonder whether she’s feeding me too much processed sugar. If I only get into my safety schools, then her aunts and uncles will assume she was too lenient. If I don’t become a doctor or a lawyer or an engineer, then all the Iranian doctors, lawyers, and engineers will say she didn’t push me hard enough. But on the bright side, when she is having an identity crisis? She likes to overcompensate by doing things like making homemade saffron ice cream (or Bastani Irani). And the rest of the family happily reaps the benefits. I accept the bowl and take a bite. It’s the self-care I need right now.

“What’s going on? Why are you bringing me ice cream? Did you get laid off or something?” I ask with my mouth full.