“She just left?”
Julian shrugged and stretched out his hands, drumming his fingers against the table. I stared at the fries, which were starting to look particularly greasy under the fluorescent lights of the diner.
“Yeah, kid. She just left.”
“But that doesn’t make any sense.”
“Tell me about it.”
I gave him a you-know-what-I-mean glare. “Didn’t you call her?”
“I called her over and over again. I flew to try and visit her. She rebuffed me, Taliah. She wanted nothing to do with me.”
“And you just gave up?”
He hung his head. “I had to respect what she wanted. I didn’t let go, but I let her let go. That’s all there was left to do.”
A rosy-tinted love song came on over the diner’s speakers. Julian flinched a little.
“Not your jam?” I asked.
“Not particularly,” he admitted, smiling sheepishly.
“Was your way of not letting go to write songs about Mom?”
He nodded. “That’s kind of my brand, isn’t it? A certain type of unrequited melancholy.” He tapped his fingers on the tabletop. “You know the pause in ‘That Night’?”
I nodded. Of course I did. It was one of S.I.T.A.’s biggest hits, if not their most famous song, and was well known for a part where the music cuts out completely. You think the song is over, and then all of a sudden, the music starts again at full blast. It takes the listener by surprise, and the first time you hear it, you’re truly thrilled to realize the song isn’t actually over yet.
“That pause was always sort of a metaphor for my inability to let go.” He shrugged in a way that made him seem younger. Helpless, almost. “I’ve never been good at endings.”
My insides swelled with several different conflicting emotions. I couldn’t believe that Mom in some ways was directly responsible for one of the most famous stylistic choices in a modern rock song. That was pretty freaking cool. But it was also devastatingly sad. As I looked at Julian, I could see that even after all these years, he still wasn’t sure how to let it go.
“I think most of your songs end in a pretty satisfactory way,” I offered.
He gave me a little nod.
I thought about it some more. “I still don’t understand why she just left. Why then?” I narrowed my eyes. “Are you sure you’re telling me everything?”
Julian fidgeted. Something crossed his face, but it was gone quickly.
“What?” I said.
Julian kept folding and unfolding his sunglasses. Putting them on the edge of the table and picking them back up.
“What is it?” I pressed.
He let out a deep sigh. “I mean, your mom and I weren’t in the best place then.”
“What does that mean?”
“You know,” he hedged.
“No. I don’t. That’s why I’m asking.”
He tilted his head back and ran his hand through his hair. “I don’t know, Taliah. We were fighting a lot. She thought I was partying too much. She thought I was cheating on her.” He held up his hands. “Which I wasn’t. I maybe was too flirtatious with fans at times, but I never cheated on her.”
“Okay,” I said slowly, unsure that I fully believed him.
“And I thought she resented my success. So you see, we fought over normal, petty things and suspicions. I just didn’t realize how bad it had gotten until it was over.”
I wasn’t sure what he was describing fell firmly into the category of normal, given that most people weren’t famous musicians, but I understood what he was trying to say. “You think her mother’s death just changed her?”
He slumped down in a defeatist way. “I think that was probably the catalyst for it. But she gave up on me, on us. She left.”
I felt like I should defend Mom, but I didn’t know how to. A knot formed in my throat. “Do you think she knew about me? You know, she always told me that my father was someone from back home in Jordan. She says they reconnected during her mother’s funeral, and she didn’t realize she was pregnant until she was back in the States.”
Julian pinched his lips together. “I don’t know if she knew she was pregnant at the time she left, but I’ve been wondering that too. And I can’t decide if that makes it better or worse.”
I nodded a little. “It just doesn’t seem like Mom. She’s never struck me as a rash person.”
Julian made a noncommittal sound.
“Okay, okay. But you know what I mean,” I offered. I reached out for my milk shake. I gripped the sides of the cold glass and spun it around.
“Yeah,” he said. “Something doesn’t add up. But sometimes I wonder if I think something is off because I want it to be. Instead of the cold hard truth—that she just didn’t want me anymore. That she was done waiting for me to turn into a person who didn’t disappoint her.”
I leaned forward in the booth. There was something I wanted to say but was afraid to. “For what it’s worth,” I said slowly, “you haven’t been a disappointment to me.”
Julian’s face slowly broke into a smile. A small one. But a smile nonetheless. “Really?”
“Yeah. Really.”
“That’s something, Tal. That’s really something.” The vulnerability and rawness of his voice reminded me of the way he sang some of S.I.T.A.’s most popular songs. It also made me want to cry. Julian’s hand instinctively went to his eyes. I could tell he was a little embarrassed that he was getting so emotional. He put his sunglasses back on and crossed his arms, slouching back down in the booth.
I chewed on my lower lip. “I’m sorry.”
He jerked to look at me. “Sorry? What for?”
I shrugged and sank into the booth. “For being difficult. For being sort of distant. It’s just hard for me . . . it’s always just been me and Mom, you know? I’m trying to figure out how this—you, this other piece—fits.”
“I get that.” He gave me a sad smile. “Is that why you don’t want to talk to me about your own music?”
I stared down at the booth’s tabletop. “Not exactly.”
“Taliah, what is it?”
“It’s just,” I said, squirming in my seat, “I feel dumb. You’re like a rock star. And I’m this wannabe. I don’t want to be some second-rate carbon copy of you.”
“Look,” he said, and he reached across the table. “You never have to worry about being some second-rate carbon copy of me.”
I blushed. “You don’t know that. You’ve only heard one of my songs. The rest of them could all be like the musical equivalent of bad fan fiction of your albums.”
He laughed. “I doubt that.” And then paused. “Wait. Are they?”
“No,” I said, shaking my head and laughing a little. “Maybe someday I’ll play the rest of them for you.”
His whole face broke into a grin. “I’d love that.”
“Not yet, though,” I said quickly.
“I know,” he said. “I’m willing to wait. We have time.”
Something washed over his face. Sadness maybe. Longing.
“Are you thinking about your dad?” I asked softly.
He nodded. “I think the thing that hurts the most right now is I’m grieving all the moments I lost. All the times I didn’t call home or visit. All the times I didn’t just sit him down and force him to talk about our issues with me.” He sighed. “I wish I was spending more time feeling nostalgic for the memories I do have, and less time feeling greedy and bitter about the memories I don’t.”
Before I could say anything in response, his phone started to ring. “Hello?” he answered.
His face fell. He nodded to himself and tersely said, “Okay. We’ll be there.”
Once he’d hung up, he turned to me. “We need to go to the hospital.”
IV.
Debra and Sarah were already at the hospital when we arrived. And so were Carter and Brady. Everyone was huddled right outside Tom’s room.
On the car ride over, Jul
ian had explained that the doctors had told Debra that Tom’s vitals were dropping. The time had come.
Debra embraced both of us, and Sarah pulled me into a tight hug. When she hugged me, I could feel how tense her body was; her grief was palpable.
“The boys and I have already been inside to see him. You should go,” Sarah said.
I looked at Julian. I understood if he wanted to have this moment to himself, but he grabbed my hand and we entered Tom’s hospital room. The room didn’t look any different than yesterday, but it felt different. Maybe because we’d been told that this was the end, or maybe somehow the room knew it too.
Julian and I both walked up to the side of Tom’s bed. Julian bowed his head and grabbed for his dad’s hand.
“Are you sure you don’t want a moment alone?” I asked.
Julian’s jaw trembled. I could tell he was doing his best to choke back his emotion. “Maybe you could say your good-bye, and then I’ll take a few moments?” he said.
I nodded. I stared at Tom. His eyes were closed and his body was still. If it weren’t for the beeping monitor, I wouldn’t have known he was still alive. I shivered slightly and wrapped my arms around myself.
It didn’t feel right that I was there. As I looked down at his motionless face, I became overwhelmed with questions. But I knew they were the wrong ones. I wanted to know if he’d seen this moment coming. If he was prepared for it. And if he was scared. I wanted to know if he would’ve done things differently.
This was the closest I’d ever been to someone who was about to die, and I couldn’t stop wondering what was going on inside his mind.
Julian squeezed Tom’s hand and let out a slow exhale. I knew he was waiting for me to say something. Anything.
So I awkwardly said, “I’m really glad I got the opportunity to meet you. And that you think I have my mother’s nose.” Then I winced, unsure if I’d crossed some line, but Julian made a sound of amusement and smiled a little. “Debra yesterday told me you were a secret fan of S.I.T.A. I wish we’d gotten a chance to talk about records. I would’ve loved to know what your favorite album is.” I felt a pressure building in my throat.
I suddenly felt mortified, like I had said the wrong thing. But then Julian walked over to me and hugged me.
Really hugged me. In a way he hadn’t ever before. He rested his chin against the top of my head and whispered, “Thank you.”
When he released me from the hug, I could see that his eyes were filling with tears. He self-consciously patted at his eyes. “I’ll meet up with you outside. Okay, kid?”
I gave him a slight nod, and on my way out, I caught sight of him kneeling beside Tom’s bed. There was something about his posture that told me he was learning how to say good-bye. How to let go.
V.
We left Debra alone at the hospital. That had been her request. It was implicitly understood that Tom would pass within the next few hours. Julian and I rode in silence for the first part of the drive back to the Oliver farmhouse.
There was something different about him. I couldn’t quite put my finger on it. Sure, he was grieving. But he also seemed more comfortable. Less antsy. His leg wasn’t constantly bouncing, he wasn’t tapping his fingers against the steering wheel.
“He said something to me,” Julian said.
I turned my head to look at him. “What?”
“Yeah,” Julian said, almost as though he couldn’t believe it himself. “It was faint, but I swear I heard it.”
He was staring straight ahead and he looked almost lost in the memory. “He said, Fireproof.”
“The title of your third album?”
Julian nodded. He still looked deep in thought. “My most unpopular album.” He let out a sound that sort of resembled a laugh. “But I think my dad was trying to tell me it was his favorite album.” He glanced over at me quickly. His face was full of unbridled surprise. “I think my dad was trying to tell me he liked my music.”
We came to a red light and Julian rested his weight against the steering wheel of the car. “Holy shit, right?”
“Yeah,” I said weakly because I didn’t know what else to say.
“And it’s all thanks to you, Tal.”
“Huh?”
“You’re the one who brought it up. You asked him what his favorite album was. I think he was answering you.”
I shook my head. “No. I don’t think so . . . I . . .”
“Taliah,” he said firmly. “I know so. And thank you.”
I stared down at my sneakers, feeling very unworthy of the compliment. “You should thank your mom. She’s the one who told me Tom liked your music.”
Julian whistled lightly. “I know it seems like such a small thing, but that brought me so much closure. I think my dad maybe respected what I’ve dedicated my life to. Maybe he didn’t always understand it, but I think he was letting me know that he respected it. That means everything, you know?”
“Yeah,” I said. “He accepted that version of yourself.”
“Exactly,” Julian said. “You know, a couple of hours ago I thought that once my dad died, my relationship with him would be over. And I thought it was so fucked up that the universe was going to let him die when I still hadn’t worked things out with him. But I’m starting to think that’s not the case. I still have the chance to work through things. My dad and I still have a relationship. It’s just changed.”
I was silent as I thought about that for a moment. I wondered if he was right. If relationships really have a life of their own, if they live on. I hoped he was.
He steered the car into the Olivers’ long, gravelly driveway. “I don’t think we’re going to have a proper funeral for Dad.”
“Oh?”
“No. Sarah’s going to host a memorial. Mom says he wanted to be cremated. She’s going to keep his ashes and eventually sprinkle them out here.” He gestured toward the acres of farmland that spread out on either side of the driveway.
All of a sudden, Julian slammed on the brakes. I looked over at him and his eyes were glued on something up ahead in the distance. I followed his gaze and then I saw her.
My mother.
VI.
“Get in the car, Taliah” was the first thing Mom said to me when she saw me. Julian tried to reason with her, but she refused to even look in his direction.
“Mom,” I pleaded. “Please. At least let me get my stuff from inside the house.” This had been a white lie, since of course I hadn’t packed anything, but it did the trick. Mom reluctantly followed me inside to the guest room.
“I’m not leaving,” I said as I closed the door.
Mom paced around the bedroom, looking as polished as ever. She was dressed in black linen pants and a pale rose-colored blouse. Her hair was swept up in a bun. The only physical traces of unease I could detect were bags under her eyes. I wondered briefly if she had taken extra care with her appearance since she knew she would be seeing Julian.
“I can’t believe you,” I said again. It was a phrase I’d been repeating since I stepped out of Julian’s car.
“Taliah, HB,” she said calmly. “I understand why you’re upset, but you have to understand.”
I shook my head and sat down on the bed. “You don’t get to tell me that I have to understand. You kept my father a secret, and me a secret from him. You lied to me about who he was, and even when I gave you a chance a few years ago to revise your story, you dug your heels into your lie.”
“Tal,” she said, and this time her voice was sharper. “Considering you ran away from home—”
“I didn’t run away from home! I left with my own father. To come visit my dying grandfather.”
She gave me a stern look. “Without my permission. When I was on the other side of the Atlantic Ocean and assumed you were at home. Do you understand how frightened I was when I heard your voicemail? I booked the first flight to Indianapolis I could and raced here. I was so worried about you, Taliah. So, so worried.”
I grabbed a
pillow and pressed it against my chest. “Are you kidding me? You really want to lecture me about my poor choices when you’re the one who lied to me my entire life? My entire freaking life, Mom.” I hugged the pillow tightly. “You’re the reason I never had the chance to meet Tom before his stroke. The reason my dad is—”
“I know,” Mom said, cutting me off. She walked over to sit down beside me. “It’s complicated, Taliah. Looking back, it felt like the right choice at the time. I know now that maybe it wasn’t, but you have to understand that I was only trying to do what was best.”
I looked down and saw Mom’s hands were trembling. Threads of both anger and sadness pulsed through me. “But I don’t understand. Help me understand?”
Mom squeezed her hands together in an attempt to steady them. “It’s complicated.”
“You keep saying that,” I insisted. “But from what Julian told me—”
She shook her head sharply. “He shouldn’t have told you anything.”
My anger swallowed my sadness. “Why not? Don’t you think I have the right to know?”
“Of course. But . . . I would’ve liked the opportunity to be the one to tell you.”
“You had sixteen years.”
“I know,” she said softly. She didn’t meet my gaze.
“Sixteen years,” I repeated.
She finally looked up at me. She reached over and brushed a strand of hair away from my face. “I know, HB. I know. But I made a mistake. Can’t you understand that?”
A mistake. It felt like more than a mistake. And I wanted to tell her that. It felt like a betrayal. But she looked so sad, and even though a large part of me wanted to cut into her some more, I held back. After everything that had happened today, I was tired of seeing people I cared about hurt.
“Maybe,” I said. “But I think you owe me an explanation.”
“I do,” she agreed.
“So?”
She shook her head again. “Not now. Right now, we should focus on your grandfather.”
I couldn’t believe that after sixteen years, she still wanted to wait. But I knew my mother well enough to know that even if I pushed it, she wasn’t going to crack. At least not right now. So I pushed for something else. “So we can stay?”