“What are you doing?”

I glance up at Nasrin, one hip cocked and wrinkling her brow in curiosity, taking in the craft materials scattered across the kitchen table — fabric swatches of different patterns and textures, piping and ribbon, white glue, glitter. I have a scissors in my hand, trimming a miniature stovepipe hat out of black felt. “I’m making something,” I say in bumbling evasion, willing her out of the kitchen. Leave me alone, leave me alone…

“You’re making a…snowman?” Before I can block her, she reaches down and snatches my fabric-and-tagboard creation. It falls open on ribboned hinges, revealing a blank interior. “This is a Christmas card.”

“Yeah,” I admit. “I couldn’t find any I liked at the store.”

Nasrin makes her accusation more pointed. “You’re making a Christmas card for Nick.”

I risk another glance up at her, hoping she isn’t getting that irritated look on her face. Too late. Way too late. Her cheeks are already darkening with anger, her mouth is opening to spit out words that will hurt, probably a lot, even long after she apologizes.

“Are you sleeping with him?” she snaps.

“What?” I gasp. “What are you talking about?”

“I’m not stupid, you know. You go camping with the guy, you spend the night at his apartment.” Nasrin drops the snowman card like it’s diseased. “You’re sleeping with him, aren’t you?”

“No!”

She raises a palm to silence me, her long fake nails gleaming in a French manicure. “Don’t think you owe him something because he gave you a job. You don’t owe him anything, Nooshin. Especially not sex.”

I feel a piercing pain in my right hand and discover that I’m making a fist around the scissors handle, a tiny impotent fist. I carefully unclench my hand and put the scissors on the table. “Please, just listen to me. Nick, he’s…like, the only friend I have — ”

“And what am I?” Nasrin instantly interrupts, a harping voice in my ear. “I’m nothing to you? Is your family nothing to you?”

Our argument is long and loud enough to provoke Farid’s intervention. He meanders in from the living room, standing with his belly protruding into the kitchen, waggling his chins in disapproval. “Nasrin, come on. Just let her be.”

For a moment she’s poised on the verge of attacking him, lips starting to curl back in a tirade — probably something about how our relationship is none of his business — but then she thinks better of picking a fight with husband too. Instead she almost knocks her chair over in her haste to stomp out of the kitchen, nose in the air, giving him the look. The look I always wanted to be brave enough to give Saman. The look that promises no sex until further notice. He follows her into the living room, already apologizing.

Nick’s snowman card is lying open, splayed into six joined circles of white tagboard. I stare at the blankness. What do I write?

Suddenly I’m not even sure about Merry Christmas anymore. He hasn’t revealed anything about his religious background and beliefs, the same way I haven’t told him that I’m a poor excuse for a Muslim. For all I know he could be an atheist, or maybe even Jewish. I better stick to something safe, like Season’s Greetings and Happy New Year.

I scribble out the words in a gold glitter pen, but when I’m done they sit there like cold impersonal things. I need to close with something personal, words that let him know I really appreciate him and everything he’s doing for me.

I try a few different sentiments, writing them invisibly with my fingernail. Nothing seems right. Sincerely yours, Nooshin sounds like a business letter, and Warmest regards, Nooshin isn’t much better. Always yours, Nooshin makes me sound like I’m stalking him to the grave. And Love, Nooshin or combinations of my name and big loopy hearts are even worse, the perfect way to send a guy like Nick fleeing. But Your friend, Nooshin isn’t right either, because maybe, just maybe, we can be more than friends someday.

I wish I’d been allowed to date before I got married. If I had some experience trading notes with boys, I’d probably know exactly what to write.

Resigned to getting it wrong no matter what I do, I pick up the glitter pen and write Thanks for being my buddy, Nooshin.