– Of course. Who else calls at this hour?

– Sorry… I’m at the airport. Flight takes off in an hour.

– Okay. Have a good flight.

– Don’t you want to know where I’m flying from?

– I knew you were here, Hamid.

– Oh, you’ve been told.

– In passing.

– Who told you?

– People.

-Okay, never mind. I knew you’d hear about me being in Vancouver. I just called to make sure you don’t take it personally. You know, the fact that I didn’t contact you.

– How am I supposed to take it then?

– Oh, your tone! So, you were offended. You are offended.

– I’m not. I don’t care where you travel to or from. But it is outrightly personal if you didn’t call me while you’re in my city. Not that I mind.

– I thought it was better for both of us.

– Better for me, according to what you were telling people.

– Ava, you know how people are. They twist things. They spice things up.

– Okay.

– Do you have to go?

– I know that I don’t want to discuss people and their twisted minds.

– Are you being sarcastic?

– Okay, I’ve got to go now.

– Are you alone?

– Hamid!

– You must be. You wouldn’t have repeated my name so freely otherwise.

– You know what? These people actually added more of a twist to your innocent blabbering. They said you’d inquired about my relationship status.

– I only asked how you were doing. I was being nice.

– You’re always nice, mature, in control of things. Everything is mapped out for you. Right off the bat, you scheduled this call for the end of your trip. Don’t act as if this was spontaneous.

– Ava, I swear I was tempted to call you several times, to come to your place even. I thought it was best not to. Because of our thing.

– Good thing that you didn’t show up here.

– Wouldn’t you have been happy?

– You didn’t do it and now you’re at the gate. So cut the crap. Please.

-Just give me a hint and I’ll let the plane go on without me.

– Oh, poor, lonely plane.

– Just a hint. Blink twice.

– …

– You laughed, didn’t you?

– Hamid, please.

– A hint.

– Bye, Hamid.

***

– Hi, it’s me.

– Look who’s calling.

– I understand it’s late there. Can you speak?

– I can if you can.

– Good. Um, how are you?

– Great. You?

– Fine, just fine…

– Did you really want to know how I’m doing or do you simply want to buy some time before broaching the main issue?

– Both.

– You mean the latter.

– Hamid, the thing is… I’m dating.

– Sure.

– …

– I don’t remember that we had any sort of pact between us to tell each other if we start seeing other people. I didn’t tell you about Sanaz, or Sara, or—

– You don’t have to name names. I know you sleep around.

– How come it’s called “dating” when it’s about you and then it’s—

– Sorry. It just slipped out. I don’t want to go there. All I wanted to say was—

– You moved on.

– What?

– You wanted to let me know that you’ve moved on.

– Haven’t you?

– I sure have. We were talking about you.

– Yes, I moved on. It’s been… it’s been quite a while now.

– …

– So, back to what I was saying before. Not that he said anything, but I don’t think he likes the comments you make on my Facebook posts.

– He?

– My boyfriend.

– The guy you are dating just got promoted to boyfriend status. Good for him.

– Don’t change the subject.

– What is the subject?

– Your comments on—

– Oh, your husband doesn’t like it. In fact, you think he doesn’t like it. Why do I get this feeling that it’s you who doesn’t like my comments?

– First of all, he’s my boyfriend. Stop trying to get me. To mess me up. To trick me… I just… Can I kindly ask you not to put comments?

– What about likes?

– That’s fine. But maybe not on profile photos… Scratch that. It doesn’t—

– How about you block me? He might like that.

– Hamid, I didn’t want to hurt you. I hope you understand. It’s not that—

– Are you happy?

– What? What do you mean?

– Simple question. I asked whether you’re happy, as in, are you tired, are you cold, are you blah blah?

– Happiness is not absolute.

– I thought the comparison to the days we were together was implicit.

– See? Your questions are never simple. There are always, always things implied. Are you asking if I’m happier with him than I was with you?

– Yes.

– Yes, Hamid, I am.

– It took you quite some time to answer.

– I’m comparing two eras. It takes time!

– Thanks for being comprehensive. I’m suddenly sleepy.

– Sorry, it’s past 1:30 over there.

– Yes, that must be it.

***

– Hi, it’s me. I’m coming to Vancouver this Friday for about a week. I wonder if we could hang out. I’d also love to meet your fiancé. So, I leave it to you to come up with how and when and where… By the way, you’ve changed your voicemail message. I think I liked the other one better. But, your accent has improved a lot.  You sound like a native speaker now… Okay, gotta go. Call me. Oh, I heard about a new Iranian restaurant in North Van. How about we go there? Anyway, call me.

***

– Hi, it’s me.

– Hi Hamid. Been a long time.

– I know. The last time… let’s see, it was me leaving you a message.

– You’re still holding a grudge. Come on. A lot has happened since.

– Yeah, you got married.

– And you didn’t send me a card.

– I thought my happiness would be so obvious it didn’t need to be documented.

– What was that noise? Are you at the airport?

– I am. I called to say goodbye.

– Don’t tell me you’re in Vancouver again and leaving.

– No, I’m in Boston and I’m leaving.

– Haven’t you been living in Boston for the past two years?

– And I’m leaving for good.

– What? Where to?

– Iran.

– Wow!

– Yeah, that’s big. That’s why I called. And I almost hung up after a dozen rings.

– I was in the shower… but what the hell? Why are you going back?

– Because we have to rebuild our country?

– Now? Isn’t it the worst possible time?

– This election will turn things around. Things can’t stay like this. I also have a job offer.

– You think Ahmadinejad gives up so easily?

– I’ll come back here if he doesn’t. I’m a Canadian citizen after all.

– What about your position?

– Sabbatical leave… Ava, I’m at the gate, my stuff is in storage, don’t try to dissuade me. Just wish me luck and a safe flight.

– Why do you always call me from airports? Why are you always dramatizing things?

– Are you yelling at me?

– It’s so noisy there. I want you to hear me.

– No, you sound upset.

– I don’t know if I am. But I don’t fathom why you keep moving around. Why don’t you settle in a place? Why don’t you take root somewhere?

– Because I’m not you. We’d be together if I was.

– …

– I shouldn’t have said that.

– Why are you going Hamid?

– I like the way you said it. It’s as if you really care.

– Well, I do. So stop evading the question.

– I heard the new chicks are hot out there. I’m going to sleep around. You know me.

– Answer my question.

– Did you say you were taking a shower?

– Don’t change the subject.

– What are you wearing?

– …

– You don’t want me to leave the continent without knowing the answer, do you Ava?

– If you answer my question.

– I will, if you will.

– A towel.

– Knotted just above your breasts.

– No more questions!

– I didn’t ask. I described.

– You’ve got no clue how and where it’s tied.

– I do. I’m seeing you. You’re perching on the edge of your bed. You’re holding your phone with one hand, with the other you’re removing the towel.

– …

– Now your hand, the free one, is in the vicinity of your nipples. Around that little birthmark near your left boob. Wow! Your nipples are erected already.

– Hamid, you’re in the airport.

– Curiously, you’re more concerned about where I am than where you are… in your conjugal home.

– Shut up.

– Your voice sounds far away. Of course! You’ve put me on speaker. You need your both hands. Now, you’re all wet. Not like you were minutes ago, in the shower. You’re wet in certain areas, where you’re now massaging, imagining me doing it.

– Hamid… Hamid!

– You used to be louder. You can be louder. No one hears you here. My tongue is—

– Hamid… Hamid… Hamid.

– Almost there. Keep going.

– …

– No rush. I’ll let the plane go without me if I must.

– …

– If you need visual assistance, remember your twenty-sixth birthday. The spa, the resort. Your third wine glass. I pushing you to—

– Yes! Hamid! Yes!

– …

– Hamid. You!

– You’re welcome.

– …

– I hope you’ve had a pleasant flight with us. It’s safe to unbuckle your seatbelts. And now I have to board.

– Wait! Hamid! Why, why are you leaving? Why?

– Remember, you owe me one, big time now… And hereby I conclude this call and all the calls I’ve made in North America.

***

– Hi, it’s me. I got this number from Roya. I don’t even know if it’s yours. I hope it is. I’m terribly worried about you. People keep me in the dark, as if I’m quarantined. About what’s going on in Iran. About you in particular. No one tells me anything. Your Facebook is deactivated too. Please call me back once you hear my message. I wish I could say this under better circumstances, but… I’m pregnant. Now, you’ve enough incentive to call me, don’t you? Please, please. I’m dead worried.

***

– Hi, it’s me.

– Hamid! Oh, Hamid! I’d heard you’re out. I didn’t know how I should contact you.

– I was released two days ago. On bail.

– I left you a message.

– They wiped everything. What did you say?… Is that a baby crying?

– That’s what I told you… in the message. Meet my daughter, Diba.

– Wow! Great news and an awesome name.

– You should see her.

– I should. Though it’ll take a while. They confiscated my passport.

– What happened in jail? How did they treat you?

– How old is your baby now?

– Can’t you talk about it?

– How old is Diba?

– Three months.

– Where’s your husband?

– Work. It’s Tuesday morning here… He was a bit jealous.

– Of me? I was completely out of the picture. Wasn’t I?

– When people deliberately hid the news about you. Practically any news related to Iran’s unrest. He knew that among my friends and family in Iran, you’re the only one crazy enough to actively participate in protest rallies.

– Crazy enough?

– Sorry, it just slipped out.

– You were right. You were also right the last time we talked. I should have stayed.

– What did they do to you? I’m shaking now. Give me a hint. Blink twice if—

– …

– Hamid… Are you crying? Hamid! Talk to me.

– I’m fine. I just missed you. Suddenly.

– I miss you too.

– You wouldn’t have said that if I had my passport.

– You’ll get it, I’m sure. Did they say anything about it?

– No court date set yet. First, I need to get cleared of the charges to get my passport back.

– What are the charges?

– The usual. Deeds against the national security, among other things.

– Shit.

– Don’t use a curse word in front of the baby.

– Hamid, I hear the door lock turning. I should go now. I’ll call you, okay?

– That means I shouldn’t call you.

– Please. You know, because of the thing. But, I promise I’ll call you.

– You don’t have this number. Can you write it down now? It’s two two—

– I’ll find it. Sorry. Gotta go.

***

– Hi, it’s me.

 

Mehdi M. Kashani lives and writes in Toronto, Canada. His fiction and nonfiction can be found in Passages North, The Rumpus, Catapult, The Malahat Review, Wigleaf, The Walrus, Bellevue Literary Review, among others. He has work forthcoming in Emrys Journal (for which he won 2019 Sue Lile Inman Fiction Award) and Minnesota Review. To learn more about him, visit his website: http://www.mehdimkashani.com