by Anita Claire
“Ana-jan, I’d like you to meet Farah.”
I shake Farah’s hand.
“I’m pleased to meet you,” she politely says.
I give Dad a hug and a kiss on the cheek. “Bâbâ, there’s been rumors you had a girlfriend. I’m glad to meet you, too, Farah.”
There’s a pregnant pause.
“Did you know that an ostrich can run faster than a horse and that a male ostrich can roar like a lion?” I ask. Immediately, I want to shrink into the floor for saying something so off the wall.
“I had no idea,” Farah replies in surprise.
“Yup it’s true.”
“Ana’s a scientist,” Dad fills in.
“Yes, you’ve told me,” Farah answers.
“It’s been years since I smelled anything as welcoming as this coming from our kitchen.” I hope that comment makes me sound normal.
“I love to cook. My children have moved out and when my husband died, I had no one to cook for…until I metMajid.”
Okay, this is weird, watching this woman and my dad making eyes at each other.Suck it in,I remind myself,this is what you wanted, be happy for him.
“I’m so sorry to hear that your husband passed. How long ago did that happen?”
“Almost three years ago. He had a massive heart attack while playing tennis.”
“That must’ve been shocking.”
“Ironically enough he was a cardiologist. Farah is an obstetrician,” Dad interjects.
“Do you live near here?”
“I live in Los Angeles. I went to college with your parents.”
“Farah and I were both on the same antiquities trip to China. After the conversation you and I had last month the one where you told me to call a nice woman for dinner well, I was in LA and I decided to give Farah a call.”
“Wait, you were friends with my mother?” I turn to her.
“Yes, there was a group of us who shared a house our senior year. I remember your mother so fondly. She was a natural beauty, always so high spirited, and she had the most contagious laugh.”
“She was sick for so long, I forgot about her laugh,” I say.
Farah warmly squeezes my hand. It takes me aback. It’s been years since a woman has shown me any maternal kindness.
“It’s nice to remember the good times. That’s one more reason I like being with Majid, we knew each other’s spouses. We understand each other when we talk about them.”
My father nods as he smiles at Farah. It seems like it would be unsettling to be friends with a boyfriends ex-girlfriends. How can Dad and this woman be so...so...okay with it?
“I look forward to meeting your brother and sister. Over the years I’ve heard so much about them,” Farah comments.
“Yes, I’m sure they are looking forward to meeting you.”
As if by clockwork, I hear the front door open.
“Yo!” my brother yells out.
“Darius, that isn’t even a real word,” Dad scolds.
“Bâbâ, slang isn’t worth arguing over,” I comment, falling back into the role I’ve played ever since Mom got sick.
“You sound like your mother,” Dad reflects.
Immediately I look at Farah to gauge her reaction. She smiles kindly and squeezes my hand. “I’m not jealous of your mother. She was a fine woman. Your father and I both had good marriages. It’s comforting to be with someone who understands.”
Now this is a level of evolved I never knew existed.
Darius enters the family room. He’s an artist-turned-programmer, living in a commune in San Francisco. He’s dressed in the typical fashion: jeans, T-shirt, and hoody. Whereas most hipsters these days have beards, Darius is clean shaven. He jokes that he can never rock facial hair since it makes him look like a terrorist.
My dad introduces Farah to my brother.
“Cool, who ever thought the first one of us that would get serious would be Bâbâ,” Darius comments.
Farah and Dad let out a collective sigh.
“Don’t relax yet,” Darius warns. “Jazz is still in the car. She spent the entire trip over here telling me how she needs to derail your relationship.” He turns to Farah. “I’m sure you’re a nice lady, but Jazz, she’s convinced you’re conspiring with theIblis to help steal our father’s money. ”
“Hey, majority rules. Farah has support of two out of three,” I hedge. “Anyway, Jazz will come around. She loves Persian cooking.”
“What did you make? The house smells fantastic,” Darius asks Farah.
Farah begins to review the menu with Darius when Jazz makes a grand entrance. She’s always reminded me of a Persian princess tall, thin, elegant. As a child, she loved ballet and it’s given her a regal bearing. Unlike me, she's dressed in the latest fashion. Today she’s wearing designer jeans that you can tell have been professionally distressed. I’m sure she paid extra for the hole in the knee. They look trendy paired with her yellow stilettos.
With an imperial glare, she looks over Farah. “You must be my Bâbâ’s…?”
“Yasmine, Farah is my girlfriend,” Bâbâ introduces, as he gives her the “behave yourself” look. You can tell he means business since he calls Jazz by her full name.
“Let me check on dinner.” Farah excuses herself.
“Yasmine, be polite,” Dad admonishes before following Farah to the kitchen.
“What did I do?” Jazz innocently asks Darius and me. Neither of us responds. It would only increase the tension and cause another argument.
“Of course, he’s dating another Persian,” Jazz hisses as the three of us head into the family room.
“Did you expect anything different?” I ask.
“I would never date a Persian man,” she proclaims.
“What’s wrong with Persian guys?” Darius fumes.
“I don’t see you dating any Persian women.”
“Persian women are too high maintenance. They expect the man to be rich.”
“So, it’s not that you don’t like Persian women, they just don’t like you.”
“Jazz, those shoes are beautiful. Where did you find them?” I interject.
“Changing the subject, Ana? Online. I found this wonderful site. What’s new with you? Dale dumped you ages ago, have you still given up on dating?”
About a million responses roll through my mind, but I decide not to voice any of them. Jazz is in one of her nasty moods. It will take all of our good graces to get through this dinner unscathed.
***
Last night ended fairly early, so I still easily wake up before the sun. I fill my travel mug with coffee and finish packing to go camping. I’m not sure what Brody will bring we should have coordinated. But that would have taken communication—he’s a typical Silicon Valley highly articulate but low communication engineer. I pack enough food for the two of us, along with my pup tent. I head out through the sleeping streets of Palo Alto to pick him up. My body hums with excitement and anticipation as I park.
Ana:Downstairs.
A thrill runs through me as I watch Brody emerge from his building. He looks rugged and handsome, dressed for hiking, with a full pack slung casually over one shoulder. He opens the door and greets me with welcoming nod. He enters the truck and places his travel cup of coffee next to mine.
Casually he leans over the drive shaft and gives me a light kiss.
“Not enough,” he growls.
Cradling my head in his hand, he pulls me closer and kisses me like he means it.
Mmmm, he is a good kisser.
“Now that’s a nice welcome back,” he murmurs.
I’m temporarily stunned from that kiss, as I watch him settle into his seat and buckle up.
Chapter 16 – Brody – Camping
Ana and I study the maps and imagery for the chosen area. We lay out a plan to hit each of the suspect spots we identified from the plane. The first two areas we check out are nothing but a couple of dead trees. Even so, Ana takes a number of soil and plant samples. We de
cide to hike up to the top of the ridge for lunch. After reaching the summit, I enjoy the feeling of taking my pack off. It’s the middle of the summer, the air is warm. Even so, my back feels cool from the light breeze hitting my sweat-soaked T-shirt.
“It’s nice having a purpose to your hike,” I state as I sit down and pull out some energy bars I took from the office.
Ana takes off her pack and rolls her shoulders. Her sweat makes her shirt adhere to her body. It outlines her breasts. They’re not big, they’re nicely proportioned. Realizing I’m staring at her boobs, I make a conscious effort to look at her face. Her head is tipped to the sun as she stretches in what looks like a yoga pose.
Ana sits down next to me and offers me some food that she brought.
”Mmmm, these are good,” I comment as I eat her food.
“I made them.”
“You can make energy bars?”
“How do you think packaged food is made?”
“I never thought about it before.”
“Don’t you remember being a kid and going grocery shopping? The foods that were the most processed were always the ones that I wanted.”
“It was all the commercials on TV. I, too, always wanted all the crap my mom wouldn’t buy.”
“My mom used to say, ‘I’ll make it better at home,’ and she’d actually do it with real food. My brother, Darius, never liked the homemade version. I used to love helping my mom figure out the recipes to recreate the healthy version.”
“Is that why you became a scientist?”
“Probably had something to do with it. My mom was a scientist. She turned our kitchen into her lab. I think if she were born thirty years later, she’d have become a professional chef.”
“She cooked that well?”
“You know how some people have voices with perfect pitch? My mom had perfect taste. She could eat something and tell you what spices were in it and which ones were missing. Her food always looked and tasted like it came from a top rated restaurant. When I was little, I loved to watch her bake. She always let me help. When she died, my sister got all her jewelry, but I got her recipes.”
“It sounds like you and your mother were close.”
“We had a very special relationship. It’s been ten years I’ve dealt with my grief, but I still miss her.”
I never know what to say in situations like this. I’m tight with my family and it would be painful to lose any one of them. I wrap my arm around Ana and tug her a little bit closer. I give her a kiss on the temple.
***
In late afternoon, we start scouting for a good place to camp.
“I’m surprised there’s still water here,” I comment as we pass a small pool of water.
“There’s an aquafer that runs under this area. Some of the anomalies I noted are near the dry creek bed we’re visiting tomorrow.”
“How about we set up camp here. We should stay far away enough from the water so the nocturnal animals don’t bother us in the middle of the night.”
Ana nods and we agree on a good flat spot. We start to pull out our kits.
“Where’s your tent?” she asks.
“I’m a soldier.”
“Are you planning on eating MREs for dinner?”
“You’re familiar with MREs?”
“Not personally, but I know the acronym. I take it when you were in the Army you had plenty of them.”
“When we’d leave the FOB to go on missions, the smell of MREs made me want to puke. But after a couple of hard days, I’d be so hungry that they’d almost start to taste decent. The only consolation was that our British counterparts had even worse rations than us. They were always jealous of ours and spent a lot of time trying to get us to trade.”
“That sounds like a bad joke.”
My mind flashes back to those days and I start to chuckle.
“What?” she asks.
“This conversation makes me think about my men andsome of the shit they’d pull. Most of the time, there’s not much to do, you get bored, you start to miss home. The movies make everyone think it’s all action and adventure. But there’s days sometimes weeks between skirmishes. Still, you’re always on guard.”
“And you were the boss?”
“I was the captain of a small team, we were sent out on specialized missions. In situations like that, everyone has to have each other’s back.”
“Did you like it?”
“I loved it. It was even better than your job. But, like what Dylan said, ‘the times they are a-chang’n’”. The Army made me the man I am today. Now, I’m doing something different in the civilian world, and I love it too.”
“You don’t have a nine-to-five view on your job. I think that’s one thing the Army gave you.”
“You don’t have a nine-to-five view, either. When was the last time you took a day off?”
“I was a grad student for too many years, that was my training. It wasn’t a nine-to-five life. When we figure out what got my lion, then, maybe, I’ll take a couple of days off. I’ll use it to catch up with my dad or meet my sister in the city for dinner. Speaking of...I’m hungry, and I brought something better than MREs.”
She pulls out a little propane camp stove and a package of organic rice, along with a few baggies of other things. “What have you got?” I ask.
“Gourmet camping. Let’s see if it beats your company’s cafeteria.”
“Is this one of your mom’s recipes?”
“No, she was never into camping. But she taught me a lot of her tricks.” She starts the rice in a small pot and puts the rest of the ingredients in a modest pan. “If I had the right-sized pan, it would be Paella, but it’s going to be a little more likeArroz con Pollo.”
“I loveArroz con Pollo.”
“Wow, you have a good Spanish accent.”
“I’m good with accents.” I’m not in the mood to elaborate I grew up bi-lingual.
We sit quietly as I watch her prepare the food. I start to mull over our conversation.
Ana dishes half of her rendition of “campfire Paella” into the pot she used for the rice. She hands me the remaining half still in the pan along with a fork.
“Bon appetite.” She smiles.
“This is marvelous,” I exclaim after taking a couple of bites.
She sits cross-legged eating her dinner, looking comfortable and at one with this lifestyle.
“Yeah, it always comes out great, that’s why I like to make it.”
“You should learn how to make MREs, soldiers would love you.”
“You want to turn me into an entrepreneur? Next time, I’ll bring my risotto. I also make a Persian dish,Fesenjān. It’s made with pomegranate seeds, walnuts, and onions. I serve it over rice.
“Persian, now that’s exotic.”
“Not if you’re Persian.”
“Is that your background?”
“Yeah, my parents came to this country for school, they met in college. After the Shah fell, they stayed. What about you? Where are you from?”
“I was born on post at USAG Baumholder in Germany. I was a military brat until I was twelve and then my dad retired from the Army and we moved to Detroit. That’s where I consider home. What about you? Where did you grow up?”
“Walnut Creek. Right before I was born, my parents bought the house I grew up in.”
“So, you’re a local Bay Area girl.”
“Yeah, I’ve lived my whole life in Northern California.”
“Have you ever thought of leaving?”
“I’ve left for internships, but my family is here, and with my mom gone it falls on me to make sure we all stay together.”
“Wouldn’t that be your dad’s job?”
“Dad has the house, but I think it’s food and holidays that bring us together as a family.”
“Yeah, I can see that, my oldest sister is the one who now hosts most of the family events.” I take another bite. “Mmmm, this is good, the only thing that would make this dinner nicer
would be a beer, but I’m not humping in that extra weight.”
“That’s what I like about kayaking to a campsite. You can stuff the kayaks with all kinds of foods you would never want to carry on your back.”
“Then next weekend we should go sea kayaking.”
“Only if we’ve found what got my lion sick.”
“We may never find out what got her sick.”
“True, but I’m going to keep looking until I feel like I’ve exhausted all possibilities.”
After eating, Ana pulls a baggie of what looks to be chunks of dirt. Her expression turns disappointed. “They got a little banged up, but I made brownies.”
The brownies might have been crumbled but they are delicious. As the air cools, we feast on dessert and watch the sunset.
I scoot next to her and place my arm around her shoulder. She leans her head on my chest. We gaze to the west. The edge of the Pacific is in the distance. The sun hangs low on the horizon making the ocean glisten. We watch as the sky turns yellow, then orange. Soon there is nothing remaining but gray sky with outlines of trees backlight against it. I cup Ana’s face and lean down to kiss her. She tastes like a chocolate brownie.
As our kiss gets deep, I scoot us back onto the tarp. Our kiss goes long as desire takes over. I twist our bodies so she’s lying on her back on top of her sleeping pad. My desire grows.
Chapter 17 – Ana – Keeping Warm
Brody smells musky and warm, like hiking and camping. It’s a smell I like. His lips feel strong and soft. I lean into our kiss as I run my hand down his back. He’s all lean muscles and hard angles. I search for the hem of his T-shirt and run my hand up the warm skin of his back. While I’m searching for his skin, he’s searching for mine. We both want more. Releasing the kiss, I gasp from pleasure as I sit up and strip off my shirt. Our eyes meet and he pulls his off, too. My eyes move down his torso. His chest muscles are well defined under a generous covering of chest hair.
The two of us are breathing hard as I pull off my sports bra. Yeah, not very sexy, but what can I say? We’re camping. My lack of sexy underwear doesn’t seem to bother him. His eyes go wide and his pupils dilate. As the cool, night air prickles my breast, Brody runs his warm fingers over them.