Desiree Akhavan

Their marriage wasn't arranged, it was introduced, and they were married three months after meeting.

He was 26 and she was 19.

When I was 19, I found myself seated at a table with my parents and their friends when one of them said, honestly, I would rather my children to have cancer than to be gay.

They say to me, maman, you are being the homophobia, but what can I say?

It is the truth.

And everyone laughed because, yeah, it was the truth.

And because none of them would ever have to worry about one of their kids being gay.

They had all raised good, obedient Iranian kids who would marry other good, obedient Iranian kids.

I told my parents I was in love with a woman six years after that conversation.

I did it with my eyes closed, like I was jumping off a skyscraper.

When my mom's upset, she wants all the information, like she is a bad news detective and she's trying to sniff out the even worse betrayal that you're hiding behind your back.

My dad is the complete opposite.

You can tell it's real bad when he goes completely silent.

It's kind of like you flip his off switch.

Why can't you keep your private life private, is what my brother wanted to know.

He was born in Iran and left before he turned one, but those early days managed to infuse him with a sense of propriety that's always eluded me.

Because I was born in New York, which is why I am an entitled millennial cliché.

I'm incapable of lying, and it is a character flaw.

It's gauche to be so straightforward.

There's no elegance to it.