Tea felt like an understatement for what they were served. The gleaming silver tea set from the sideboard had replaced the flowers on the table, full of an aromatic chai with crystallized sugar on wooden sticks, cookies spiced with cardamom, and tiny cakes with a dizzying variety of fillings. In the center of the table, Leena had placed a polished silver bowl overflowing with fresh and dried fruits: dates and grapes and apricots and plums. There were embroidered napkins and delicate little dishes; even the coasters under their hot cups were hand-carved. It was a bounty not unlike what they’d experienced on the Verseau, but with a fundamentally opposite undertone: this was about showing gratitude and care for your guests, about wanting them to taste and enjoy everything. And catching Danial out of the corner of her eye, seeing him so thrilled to share it with her, made her heart feel as if it might leap out of her chest. Marjane, for her part, remained on her couch, hands neatly folded in her lap behind Benson.

Danial had explained that his mother was very shy to eat or drink around new people with her hands so unsteady, especially on bad days. But he had also assured her that this information should not prevent Alex from eating. She should enjoy everything, and not be surprised if she’s offered more, even after several servings. Marjane had overseen the preparation of a feast for later in the day: stewed chicken with pomegranates, roast onions and tomatoes, herbed rice, shirazi salad with fresh mint, and piles of freshly baked flatbread. She could no longer cook these things by herself, but she had help, and a few more friends and family joining later to help eat it all. It occurred to Alex that this was the first time wealth had ever left her without a trace of resentment or critique. It felt, in that moment, that all the money in the world should go to its mothers: to provide them with beautiful homes and small, fluffy dogs and an abundance of fresh fruit and hot tea to enjoy with their guests. Without thinking, she reached her hand back over to Danial’s on the sofa, and he opened his palm to her.

“Please tell me more about your work, Alex,” Marjane said, Benson yawning at her words.

“Well,” she started, setting down her little plate, “I work in political strategy and communications. Basically, I help our party grow—anything from fundraising to getting our candidates elected.”

“And I hear that you grew the party by 250,000 members overnight.”

Alex flicked her eyes across the sofa, simultaneously embarrassed and delighted that Danial had told her this.