Together Tea

by Marjan Kamali

  Ramin squeezed Mina’s hand.

  After what seemed like a very long speech, the officiant finally asked, “Veel dees voo-man, Mina Rezayi, agree to marry dees man, Aghaye Mohandess Ramin Dashti?”

  Mina said nothing.

  “She went to pick flowers!” Aunt Nikki called out.

  “She’s picking out sweet jasmine!” Darya said.

  “She went to the library!” Baba cried.

  Mina stayed silent, not saying yes the first time, as Persian tradition warranted.

  The officiant asked again. “Does she accept eet? Does she vant to join him in marry-age?”

  “She’s busy!” Hooman called out.

  “She’s got a million things to do!” Kayvon said.

  “She has tests to study for!” Yung-Ja called out, catching on.

  Mina stayed quiet, playing along.

  “I veel ask again,” the officiant said. “Does this laydee accept dees man’s hand in marry-age?”

  Mina looked up from behind the bridal veil, threw it off, and shouted, “Yes!”

  Baba jumped into the air. Hooman and Kayvon whistled. The room burst into applause and cheers. Aunt Nikki flapped one hand against her lips and made a loud cheering sound “Looo loooo loooo looooo!”

  After Ramin said yes the first time (as was deemed the tradition for grooms), they exchanged rings. Hooman and Kayvon handed Mina her ring, Mr. Dashti handed Ramin his.

  The white cloth above their heads dropped behind them amidst cheers and music. Darya bent down to where Mina and Ramin sat on the bench and held out the bowl of honey. Ramin and Mina each dipped a pinky finger into the honey and then, at the same time, inserted the honeyed finger into the other’s mouth. Ramin sucked the honey off Mina’s finger, and Mina sucked the honey off Ramin’s. For sweetness. For life.

  Then Ramin sucked the rest of Mina’s fingers. The crowd went wild. The officiant turned away.

  Darya was the first to give them her gift—a gold necklace that Mamani had given her on her wedding day. One that had belonged to Mamani’s mother. Women came up to Mina and handed her boxes of jewelry. Some of the boxes were new, American. Tiffany’s and Fortunoff’s. But most were wrapped in tiny ancient velvet pouches—gold and silver owned by grandmothers and great-grandmothers. Guests went up to Ramin and kissed him on either cheek, then kissed Mina’s cheeks. Mina and Ramin were engulfed in hug after hug. Mina hugged Ramin’s mother as Aunt Nikki clasped another necklace around her neck. Someone, Mina didn’t know who, slipped a bracelet around her wrist. Soon Mina’s and Ramin’s feet were surrounded by boxes and boxes of jewelry.

  Darya bent down to put the boxes away, to keep them organized in a tidy pile. The guests continued to come up to congratulate the bride and groom. Before long, Ramin was dabbing at his eyes, and Mina was doing the same. Darya gave them tissues. Mina started to laugh, then cry, then laugh again.

  The Mobarak wedding song with its lyrics wishing joy for the bride and groom started then. The guests began to dance, couples and groups joining in a circle. Mina and Ramin got up from their bench and walked around the room, shaking hands and kissing everyone.

  “The bride and groom must dance!” Baba yelled.

  Slowly, Ramin raised his hands in the air like a flamenco dancer. He stomped his feet on the ground and moved his eyebrows up and down at Mina. Mina hesitated for just a moment, then she attempted her best Persian dance. Together they moved to applause. As the song ended, Mina saw Baba rush to the DJ as though on a mission.

  “Baba, no, please don’t!” Kayvon yelled.

  But it was too late. Within minutes, the familiar first notes of ABBA’s seventies’ classic filled the room.

  Baba pointed at Mina. “You are the dancing queen!”

  In a half cartwheel, half jump of joy, Baba joined Mina and Ramin on the dance floor. After a few minutes, Hooman and Lisa, Kayvon and Deborah joined them too.

  DARYA WATCHED HER FAMILY DANCE. She watched Parviz jump with Mina and Ramin. Watched Lisa—Hooman’s sensible, pediatrician wife—and Deborah—Kayvon’s kind, creative girlfriend—dance with her sons, the sons she had feared would die on the border of Iran, whose future she had been determined to shape without participation in a war. Her mission to protect her children had been successful. Though America would never be home for her, on a day like today, she could deeply appreciate the great gifts she had been able to give her children.

  “Dance with us!” Mina called out to her. “Come on, Maman!”

  “Come on, Daryoosh!” Ramin called out to his brother.

  The older Mr. Dashti hesitated at first, but then jogged onto the dance floor with his petite girlfriend. They both started to do furious disco moves. Everybody cheered and clapped.

  They had made it, Darya thought. The bombs hadn’t killed them, the Revolutionary Guards hadn’t imprisoned them, their home hadn’t been confiscated, and their family had left alive. Almost all alive.

  As she walked to the kitchen to get the cake out, Darya was acutely aware that Mamani’s place was empty tonight. But the joy in her home outweighed the loss. For that she was supremely grateful.

  KAVITA AND YUNG-JA HELPED DARYA place the cake on the same dining room table where they had solved equations together for years. Mina and Ramin posed as Kayvon took photos, and it was then that Darya realized she had forgotten to bring out a cake cutter. Before she could get it, Parviz marched out of the kitchen brandishing a huge black plastic spatula.

  “It’s her wedding cake, for goodness’ sake!” Darya tried to stop him.

  But it was too late. Mina plunged the spatula into the cake, laughing, and cut big uneven chunks.

  Darya cringed as the lopsided slices were handed out. Ramin delicately placed a bite in Mina’s mouth as Mina scooped up some cake for Ramin, crumbs dropping all over his beautiful shirt, both of them laughing through the mess. Darya told herself to let it go. Real life was messy. It would never add up, it would never be perfect.

  It didn’t need to be.

  LATER, IN THE KITCHEN, MINA walked in and flung her arms around Darya’s neck.

  “Oh, Maman!” she said as Darya tried to balance saffron pudding on a tray. “Everything was so delicious! Thank you! The cake was a hit . . .”

  “You should have used the cake cutter,” Darya said, not for the first time.

  “This is all I wanted. Just this,” Mina said.

  Darya wobbled on her feet. She was exhausted. She had worked her fingers raw. Stayed up nights preparing the bridal sofreh. She put down the tray and steadied herself against the kitchen counter.

  “You know what?” Mina swept a piece of hair from Darya’s face. “She’s here. I know it. Mamani is here tonight.” Mina’s eyes were filled with tears. Darya blinked back her own and nodded. She was relieved when Mina drew her in and hugged her tight.

  “Come on.” Mina took Darya’s hand and led her out of the kitchen. “You’ve toiled enough. Come and dance with me, Maman.”

  “No, Mina Joon.” Darya resisted.

  “Yes,” Mina said.

  When they reached the middle of the living room, Darya and Mina joined the rest of the dancing guests. Darya mirrored Mina, swaying her hips and twirling her hands. She remembered teaching a three-year-old Mina these very moves, patiently playing the music over and over. The joy on that three-year-old girl’s face was right in front of her now. Only her daughter was now a bride. It had all happened in a minute.

  When the song finished, Mina stopped, and Darya was relieved to catch her breath. The rest of the guests bounced to a new beat.

  Mina stood still in front of Darya. She opened her mouth as if she were going to say something, then closed it again.

  “What is it, Mina? Are you all right?”

  “You know, Maman,” Mina said quietly. “I haven’t thanked you.”

  “You just thanked me.
In the kitchen.”

  “No, I mean I haven’t thanked you. Really ever.”

  The music blasted around them. People danced, lost in their own worlds.

  Mina rested her hands on Darya’s shoulders and paused for a minute. Then she said, “Thank you, Maman, for everything. Thank you for the bridal sofreh. For the food. For all your zahmat, your efforts these past few weeks. Thank you for everything you’ve given me. For all your hard work through all these years. For all that you’ve done for me.”

  Darya felt then that everything she’d ever lived was worth this moment. She saw herself reflected in her daughter’s eyes. She would say those very words to Mamani if she could.

  She did, in her heart.

  Acknowledgments

  Years ago Leonard Michaels told me to write this book. It took a while. Lenny, how I wish you were still here.

  I want to thank my editor, Lee Boudreaux. She is a dream come true. Her skill, exuberance, and good humor made working on this book a pleasure. A huge thank-you to her assistant, Karen Maine, whose expert eye and endless talents helped this project so much. Thanks also to cover designer Allison Saltzman, production editor Tamara Arellano, copyeditor Georgia Maas, and the entire amazing team at Ecco.

  I am grateful for my wise and wonderful agent, Wendy Sherman. It is because of her belief in my characters that this book found a home. And my deep appreciation goes to Jane Rosenman for her excellent advice.

  A few teachers can’t be forgotten. Charles Muscatine encouraged me to become a writer. Chuck Wachtel was my MFA thesis adviser. E. L. Doctorow’s novel class provided lasting guidance. And Alexander Chee is not only a gifted teacher but one of the most generous writers of our time.

  Thank you to my peers who provided feedback on early drafts: Courtney Angela Brkic, Cara Davis Conomos, Susan Carlton, Victoria Fraser, Lisa Liberty Becker, Lee Hoffman, Charity Tremblay, and Lara J. K. Wilson. And a big thank-you to Linda K. Wertheimer, who met with me over many a tea and made sure I never gave up on this book.

  Charles Baxter’s lecture on “what’s done cannot be undone” at the Bread Loaf Writers’ Conference helped me form Darya’s thoughts. Najmieh Batmanglij’s cookbook New Food of Life was a great resource for traditional Iranian wedding items. And Grub Street’s inaugural Launch Lab provided much-appreciated knowledge and camaraderie after the book was done. Thank you to all my fellow Launch Labbers and to Lynne Griffin and Katrin Schumann for being excellent coaches.

  Photographer extraordinaire David E. Lawrence braved a freezing fall morning at Walden Pond to work his camera magic. His skills are second to none. Thank you to both Lawrence families for their friendship. And thank you to Marjorie Travis for her perspective and many chats.

  My sister, Maryam, encouraged me to write essays, in English, when we were children in Iran. She gave me the classics to read. I am grateful that our bond has weathered war, revolution, and several continents.

  My mother’s love and her belief that I could be successful at anything I pursued has been a driving force in my life. Her endless energy and strength in the face of many hardships inspire me. It is her dishes that I cook, her tea that I brew, and her soul that is mine.

  My father’s wisdom and calm have encouraged many, always. Despite decades of a debilitating disease, many surgeries, and constant pain, he has retained his optimism and excellent humor. My love and respect for him know no bounds. He is my kindred spirit.

  I owe the greatest thanks of all to my husband, Kamran. Throughout the journey of this book, he has been my biggest supporter and truest friend. His love has sustained me. And he’s really good at thinking of chapter titles. Thank you, Kamran Joon, for everything.

  A big thanks to my children, Mona and Rod. Your creativity, joy, and mischief have enriched my days in ways I could never have imagined. It is my hope that you reach for your dreams and fulfill your potential. Even if it takes a while.

  And to my grandmother, Mamani. How I wish we’d had more time.

  About the Author

  MARJAN KAMALI has an MFA in creative writing from New York University and an MBA from Columbia University. Her work has been a top finalist in Glimmer Train’s Fiction Open and the Asian American Short Story Contest. She lives in the Boston area with her husband and their two children.

  Visit www.AuthorTracker.com for exclusive information on your favorite HarperCollins authors.

  Credits

  Cover design by Kimberly Glyder Design

  Cover photographs: women © Michael Trevillion/Trevillion Images, glass © Gallo Images/Getty Images

  Copyright

  This book is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents, and dialogue are drawn from the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  TOGETHER TEA. Copyright © 2013 by Marjan Kamali. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the nonexclusive, nontransferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse-engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.

  FIRST EDITION

  ISBN 978-0-06-223680-7

  EPub Edition © JUNE 2013 ISBN: 9780062236821

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