A hallway separated the washroom, shower room, and kitchen from the rest of the house. I carefully opened its door and stuck my head inside. The only noise came from the kitchen to my right, pots and pans and something steaming on the stove. Silently I wriggled my way through the door and slipped into the kitchen, taking the noise as an advantage.
Mom was at the stove. I could hear her from behind the fridge that blocked her from my view. This should be easy then. I’ll open the fridge door and take a piece of the cake, then sneak out without her ever knowing I was here.
I stepped inside and the smell of Abgoosht[1] overtook me. It was that tomato and lamb broth aroma that always filled the air when Mom made this particular dish. Among all her recipes, this was my least favorite, mainly because it had no resemblance to the rustic dish they served at restaurants and more a concoction of tomato soup with meat and potatoes swimming in it. I didn’t know why she insisted on making it so often when no one in the household liked it.
The moment I opened the fridge door, Mom spoke up from behind it. “Are you looking for something to pack as a snack for recess tomorrow?”
I was busted, but she hadn’t asked anything incendiary yet. Maybe if I leaned into her assumption and mixed it with a bit of the truth, she would leave me alone.
I stuck my head further into the fridge and said, “Yes, I am. I was thinking a piece of that cake you made would be good.”
“The cake I made last week? There isn’t any left, joonam. I was going to bake another one today but we ran out of cooking oil,” Mom said.
I closed the fridge and looked at her. “How could we be out of cooking oil? Didn’t you go to the distribution center yesterday?” If she didn’t, we would be out of tea, butter, and cheese too, and dinner would be a miserable affair.
She wiped the sweat off her face with the back of her hand and pushed a stray lock of hair behind her ear. “I did, but I had no cooking oil coupons because I gave them to Zari joon upstairs. Her cousin is hosting a wedding soon and they needed as many coupons as they could get their hands on. She asked me if I could give her mine and I said yes. You do that for neighbors when times are tough.”
It sounded like she was defending her actions when she didn’t have to. I understood people were struggling. Hosting a wedding was hard enough in normal times. Adding a war and rationed goods to it only made it worse. Maybe Zari joon’s cousin should have waited until the war was over, but the conflict between our country and Iraq had been going on for over seven years now. There seemed to be no end to it any time soon, so it made sense for people to go on with their lives.
Mom said, “The new coupon booklet should be out soon. As soon as I get it, I’ll pick up the Mazola oil and bake another cake.”
I shook my head. “It’s okay. I wanted it for tomorrow.”
She eyed me suspiciously. “Why? What’s so special about tomorrow that cake can’t wait?”
I didn’t want to tell her. I had seen how she and Dad reacted whenever I told them my school problems. It was always, ‘you should be proud of who you are and honest with people about us. Who cares what they think when you tell them the truth?’ Well, I cared. I had to sit in class and listen to mean girls’ jeers and gossip crows whisper behind my back. I wasn’t doing it this year. If I had to bribe someone to be my best friend and support me in all of that, so be it.
I said to Mom, “You got me. It wasn’t just for recess. I wanted to take the cake to class and share it with my deskmates. You know, the girls who’d be sitting at the same desk as me? I thought it would be a clever ice breaker on the first day.”
Mom turned back to the stove. “It might have been, but we don’t have it right now, so you’d have to think of something else.”
“Like what?”
“Like those chocolate bars you brought from Germany perhaps?” →
[1] Traditional Iranian lamb stew.