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The funeral was over. Babak stood outside and listened to the music, now pulsing from a pick-up truck. The radio would be playing Big Dane's music all day long to honor his memory. Babak walked to his van parked five blocks north. He left his spot and called Atefeh from his cell phone. He told her he was considering a drive to their storage unit in Long Island City, to go throw out more of the stuff that they had amassed in their twenty-eight years here. "I'm so happy you're finally clearing that place out," she said. "That's all of your junk."
"I know, I know. But it makes me happy to see all of these things from when we were younger."
"That's one thing I do not mind about the pain," Atefeh said. "I do not have to go with you to that place and watch you cry about old Farsi newspapers. Did you see Omar yet?"
"I did, but too early."
"Tell him I say hello."
Babak's cell phone started to vibrate.
"That is Navid. See you soon."
Babak hit a button on his phone and heard a rush of noise, of construction.
"What time are you coming?" Navid said.
"Five-thirty. That's when you'll be ready?"
"Don't be late today."
"I got business cards," Navid said.
"Did you keep the old design?" Babak asked.
"No, I went with something new. I'll read one to you. It reads," Navid cleared his throat, "Navid Omidi. Executive Property Manager. BB Real Estate, and at the bottom right of the card, my cell phone number, no logo this time."
"Why the abbreviation? We're Bronx Bob's," Babak said. "Why did you put all of that? No one knows what real estate means. This will hurt business. We don't announce ourselves with those words—real estate." Babak switched lanes to avoid a double-parked livery cab. "What is real estate? Estates? We buy buildings. Just put that on the card. We buy buildings."
"Oh, come on, you retired. You're an advisor now."
"Why must you use titles with me, son? We never agreed on titles. Don't give these cards out."
"5:30," Navid said, and he was gone.
It had hurt Babak to think of his son's name on the business card of an enterprise that had been Babak's baby. Now Navid was passing the idea off as his, with such arrogance, such permanence, right there in boldface. For twenty-one years Babak had passed out his simple cards with his name and the BBHD logo of a silver lion and an orange sun that Atefeh had designed. Your name. Your phone number. An emblem signifying your original home. That was all anyone needed to get started.
Babak decided against a trip to Access Self-Storage. Instead he went on his way to pick up Navid at the worksite and bring him home. One day Navid would have to get his own apartment, but Atefeh had said not yet. He stopped off at Omar's and exchanged in mid-embrace, a roll of eight twenties for a bag of pot. Omar did not count the bills in front of Babak and this made Babak glad, to know that someone trusted him. As he left, he imagined Omar saying at his funeral, "Babak was the most trustworthy man I ever met."