“See that old lady over there? The one in the
wheelchair?” Maman said in a low voice, smiling at people as we passed.
“That’s Nader’s grandmother. The woman standing next to her is his
mother. They want to meet you.”
I should have known that I would be vetted first. It was
like being interviewed for a job I didn’t want. “OK,” I said
reluctantly, not that I had a choice in the matter.
We walked over to the Bazargans. I was sure that
everyone was watching us, and my skin prickled. The chatter and laughter
drained from the room. Time slowed to the beat of my heart.
“Khanoom-e Bazargan, this is my daughter,
Layla,” Maman said, elbowing me to stand up straight.
Two pairs of dark eyes fixed on me.
“So, Layla. I understand you’re a teacher. Which
school are you at?” Nader’s mother s
