Trying different this time...
+{Noah's Starship}+
-+-[Ch. 14]-+-
~By Emri~
+++ Noah +++
"Why we need tiny cups?" Navid asked as he pushed the cart behind me. It was 10 PM and we were out picking up things his mother needed for a dish she wanted to make. He jumped at the chance to have alone time with me when she asked if our onions were still fresh. He immediately told her to make a list of what she wanted.
He'd grabbed me out of my comfortable perch under a blanket on the couch next to his father, Mr. Naseri, who was watching a soccer game. He had said he would go with us, but Navid had told him to stay put. Even though I was yawning, he insisted I needed to get my energy out before bedtime.
"We use them all the time! Mouthwash, a sip of water, um...." I trailed off in thought. He usually paid little attention to me when we were at the grocery store. He would push the cart while checking his emails and texts. I would guide him through the aisles and put in what we needed for the week. Tonight though, he'd put away his phone and was watching me with an interested smile like this was a show he couldn't miss.
"Mouthwash? I sip from the bottle! You don't? Baby... I kiss and adore every inch of your beautiful body and you not want my germs? I spend good money so you can reject me?" Navid faked being offended, but I still felt bad. The grocery store was deserted at this time of night so he was a little more free with his words.
"I... Oh... should I put them back?" I asked. I started to reach into the cart and pull them out but Navid took my hand and brought it to his chest.
"No, if the baby want cups, I buy cups. I will buy the moon if my Noah wants it," Navid said. He brought me into his chest and then leaned me back against the cereal shelf. He put his arm around me and leaned down to kiss my forehead.
"I am so happy we get a minute to be us, my love. I love them but I can't wait for they go home soon. I need my life with you back," Navid said and put a hand to my cheek as I stared up at him. He kissed me on the lips and rubbed my back.
"Me too... I love them though and they are so nice to me," I said when his lips left mine to travel back up to my forehead.
Then he pulled away suddenly. I turned to see what had caught his attention. There was a man a few feet away from us paused with his cart. He gave us a friendly smile when he saw he had interrupted us. He was an older guy, maybe 40 and he had on a suit like he'd been at the office all day. He pushed a cart full of wine and meat like he expected big things out of the rest of his evening.
"Sorry...Excuse me," he said and reached past us to get a can jar of olives off the shelf.
Navid nudged me out of the way and gave him a friendly nod.
"I wish I had been out at your age. I couldn't... You two have a good night," he said and pushed away quickly.
Navid and I looked at each other awkwardly.
"Let's finish up," Navid said and nudged me back towards the cart. I knew what had bothered him the most about the man. It was that he'd assumed we were out, open, living honestly. We weren't. He wasn't. He wanted to be. It bothered him.
"It's ok," I said and took his hand. He started to pull back, but then relented and interlaced his fingers with mine.
"It's a different culture. It's different here. It's ok here," I said and he squeezed my hand tighter. I was the strong one this time. I wished so hard that I could make him realize that no one blinked at two guys holding hands here; that people knew what we were when they saw us together; that here he was allowed to be open about loving another man. Until then though, I'd keep pushing until he wasn't afraid anymore. My strong, proud, Persian love needed his boy.
"I know, Noah... I know," he said and leaned in to kiss my neck.
He was brave for me too though. He pushed me to open up about my anxiety problems. He'd ask me every night how I was and he checked my palms for fresh marks from where I would unconsciously dig my fingernails in when I got a panic attack. It had been a long time since I'd done that, but he never failed to check.
Two nights before, I'd had stomach issues from his mom forcing a heavy dinner on us. Navid was used to it, he ate a lot and burned it off at the gym. I've always hated the feel of food sitting in my stomach and this food didn't feel like it would go peacefully.
I sneaked off to our bathroom upstairs and made myself throw it up. Navid had followed me and walked in, but mistakenly thought it was the food that caused it. I didn't correct him. I didn't want him to think I was gross.
He cleaned me up and helped me brush my teeth, apologizing for his mother's cooking. He helped me to bed and held me in his arms. He didn't act grossed out in the least. He was supportive and took care of me.
"I am so sorry you feel bad. I will do more protective for you with her meals. She pushes because she think you need this more food," Navid explained. He held me against his chest and rubbed my back in the cold, dark silence of our room.
+++
We got home and his father got off the couch to help us put away the groceries. Navid never helped when we went to the grocery store. He did carry everything inside, even if it hurt his hands. He would usually let me carry the paper towels, but he felt it was his duty. He'd usually drop everything on the table and then wander off to work on business. But tonight I had two men who obviously had no idea where anything went.
Navid knew where to put the cereal since he ate it by the box. He loves cheerios. But everything else went in strange places. His dad put the bananas in the refrigerator and Navid thought the kale would do ok in the pantry. It's like they were intentionally messing up so I would never ask for help. Maybe that was the secret to being the Persian man.
I thanked them anyways and waited for them to leave before I fixed everything. Navid lingered on the couch next to his father until I finished. He was playing on his phone as his father watched the news. They sat on opposite ends of the couch like strangers waiting to see the doctor.
Navid followed me upstairs and we got ready for bed, spent some quiet time together, and then drifted off in each other's arms. He had so much pent up tenderness that he'd built up throughout the day for the moment we could be together behind a locked door.
I woke up the next morning to smells of food cooking. It was a sweet nutty smell and I padded downstairs to see what his mother was up to. His father was reading something on Navid's tablet while his mother was taking something out of the oven.
"What is that? It smells really good," I asked.
His father turned to look as though he hadn't noticed his wife was cooking.
"It's a Persian sweet pastry for breakfast. Navid loves it," he said and then offered me a good morning smile.
She turned it out onto a cooling rack and then went to the refrigerator and pulled out some vegetables as she greeted me. I pointed to what she had just pulled from the oven. I inhaled loudly and smiled to show her my excitement for what she made. She laughed and put her right hand on my cheek to thank me.
She seemed to enjoy our kitchen. She had rearranged everything, but very slowly. Each day she moved something to a new location. It must have just been where things were in her own kitchen. I was just glad that she felt so comfortable here. I tried to show her the respect she should have as Navid's mother.
She laid out the vegetables on the cutting board and started talking to me in Persian as though she thought I should know it by now. She lined up the cucumbers we bought the night before, and started to slice them like she was showing me how she wanted them.
"Does she want my help?" I asked Mr. Naseri, Navid's father. He hadn't been paying attention. He was reading something on his tablet.
"Ah... Yes, my boy, she is showing you how they should be sliced for the Maasto... salad she is taking tonight. She says she is sad you cannot go with us to try the traditional meal. Both women usually try to outdo each other and it ends up being the best we eat all year. The Hamids are old friends from our neighborhood back home. But I understand you need to spend time with your father," Mr. Naseri said.
Navid had warned me about the traditional meal. He said it would be very heavy and things I didn't like to eat. He was looking out for me and also letting me spend time with my father. I loved his parents, but I also was beginning to miss my own culture.
I started to apologize and offer to go, but Navid had been adamant that I would be stuffed with food and feel miserable. With his mother, he could protect me somewhat, but with two Persian moms it was every man for himself.
I turned back to his mother and she handed me the knife to finish with the cucumbers. She watched me for a minute and then nodded approval. She gave my shoulder a pat, turned away and went for a bowl to mix up the ingredients.
I heard Navid come into the kitchen and I turned to look for a second. Just as I was appreciating how sexy he looked with messed up hair and a small pair of loose shorts, the knife slipped against my finger. I felt a sharp pain and yelled out as he was saying something to his parents.
"What? Oh shit!" Navid yelled and ran over to me. I held up my hand and watched a trickle of blood running down my finger. My eyes lost focus and I felt weak as he made it to me.
"Why he uses big knife? He is just a boy!" Navid yelled angrily and put his arm around me.
"I think it's just a cut," his father appraised as he moved to Navid's side. His mother shrieked something in Persian and came to look.
The three of them argued in their language as Navid slid his hands to my waist and lifted me up to sit on the counter. His mother grabbed a paper towel and tightly gripped my finger to stop the bleeding.
Navid rushed to the first aid kit we kept in the laundry area and came back with it. He broke open the plastic case and fished out some alcohol pads.
