Here We Are Now

by Jasmine Warga

  “Yeah,” I said quietly. “But you couldn’t have known he was going to have a stroke.”

  Julian sighed. “Yeah, well, I should’ve known I wasn’t going to have forever. But . . .” He trailed off and pinched the skin between his eyebrows, his forehead wrinkled with thought. “Life has a way of tricking you into thinking that you’re always going to have forever. But this, this has snapped me out of it. And I don’t want to make the same mistakes with you.” He looked at me earnestly. “I’ve lost enough time, and I’ll be damned if I’m going to lose any more.”

  “You could’ve had a whole other year,” I said, half joking.

  He hung his head. “I know. But I was a coward. An ashamed coward.” I could tell by the way he said that that there was something else there, but before I had the chance to push it, he said, “You know, I’ve written a lot of songs about death. And people have loved them.” He winced and his cheeks flushed red. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to sound like a blowhard.”

  “You didn’t,” I volunteered. “I know what you’re saying. ‘Watermelons and Clocks’ is one of your most popular songs.”

  He nodded, a sense of relief on his face. “That’s ’cause people love to think about death. Or we love to think that we love to think about it. There’s something almost romantic about death that sort of intrigues everyone because of the terrifying knowledge that it’s coming for us all.”

  I stared at him blankly, not quite sure where he was going with this.

  “But it’s not exciting when it’s like this, is it?” he said, and I could tell he wasn’t really asking me, so I stayed quiet. “Like how it is with my dad? It’s just sad. Really fucking sad. Slow and sad and almost boring. Isn’t it awful that it’s boring? That it’s a morbid waiting game?” He shook his head, his lips pursed in disgust. “This shit, the real shit, it doesn’t make a good song. No one wants to hear or think about this.”

  “I don’t know,” I said tentatively. “I bet you could come up with something meaningful. There are plenty of really, really sad songs that are also beautiful.”

  “Yeah,” Julian agreed. “But now I’m not so sure how honest they are. Mine especially.” He tapped his fingers against the rim of the Styrofoam coffee cup.

  “But that’s what I’m saying,” I said, less tentatively this time. “I think your newfound honesty and awareness is what would make the song beautiful. Brutal, but beautiful.”

  A look crossed over his face and he gave me a tiny smile. “You’re right. And you know what? You should write it.”

  My stomach dropped. I crossed my arms over my chest and sank down into the plastic cafeteria chair. “I don’t think so,” I finally said, my voice barely above a whisper.

  “It was just a suggestion, since Harlow mentioned you write songs and—”

  I cut him off. “Can we not talk about my songs?” I squeezed my arms tighter around myself.

  He gave me a wounded look. He held his hands up in the universal gesture for surrender. “Okay, okay. I’m sorry. It’s just . . .”

  I knitted my eyebrows together. “It’s just what?”

  “I’m sort of wondering when you’re going to let me in.”

  I squirmed in my chair. An uneasiness that felt a little bit like anger was bubbling in my gut.

  He gave me a desperate look. “Am I wrong? I just feel like since we’ve met, you’ve been holding back.” His eyes searched mine. “Your mom was like that.”

  The uneasiness faded away as the anger took over. “And she was obviously right to be—considering what you did.”

  “Tal . . .”

  “Do you expect me to spill my guts out to a man I hardly know? A man who hasn’t been around for the entirety of my life?” I stood up from my chair. “You really have no idea.” I spun on my heel and headed toward the hospital cafeteria exit.

  I heard him call out from behind me. “Tal. I made a lot of mistakes, but you don’t know the whole story.”

  I shook my head, but I didn’t turn around. I kept on walking.

  “Tal!” he shouted, this time louder. “I’m not the one who left.”

  V.

  I gaped at Harlow from across the room where we’d been hanging out. It took me a moment to process what she was telling me. I couldn’t believe this was happening, especially right after my argument with Julian.

  “You’re seriously going to leave?”

  Harlow nodded. She was sitting on the end of one of the twin-size beds in Debra’s guest room. “In about two hours. Julian said he could take me to the bus station before you guys eat dinner.”

  I flopped down on the other twin bed.

  “Tal,” Harlow said. “Don’t be mad.” She fiddled with her elephant-shaped pendant that had been made out of a recycled spoon. Quinn had given it to her last month. Before the elephant-shaped pendant, she almost always used to wear a simple silver necklace with a tassel. I had a matching one that I still wore.

  “‘Mad’ isn’t quite the word,” I said. “I feel like you’re ditching me.”

  “I’m not ditching you,” Harlow insisted. “It’s just . . . I don’t think you need me here anymore. This is your time. For you to be with your family. And you’re going to be able to get to know them better if I’m not always around talking over you.” She smiled nervously. “I know you think it’s annoying when I talk over you.”

  I didn’t say anything. I didn’t want to give her the satisfaction of being even the tiniest bit right.

  “Plus,” she admitted sheepishly, “if I’m being honest, which I think I have to be, Quinn has a show tomorrow that I really want to make it to.”

  I sighed and pressed my head deeper into the pillow. “Of course. I should’ve guessed.”

  “But it’s not like that,” Harlow said quickly. “I would stay here if I really thought you needed me. But I don’t think you do. And I actually think I’m making things worse. But you know that I would stay, right?”

  “Honestly? Not really.” I stared at the black-and-white photograph on the wall. It seemed to be a picture of the Oliver house, and it was the only decorative item in the whole room, unless you counted the one simple brass lamp. Debra was clearly not an ostentatious woman.

  Harlow hopped off her bed and came over to sit down next to me. “Tal. Look at me.”

  I glanced up at her reluctantly.

  “I would stay. You know that, don’t you?” she repeated.

  “Actually,” I snapped, “I don’t. Because I just had a big fight with Julian and I definitely feel like I still need you and yet you’re leaving anyway.”

  She sat up on her knees. “You told me it wasn’t a fight. You said it was an argument.”

  I half laughed. “Are you kidding me? You know it was a fight. Or at least something like it.”

  She touched my shoulder, but I shrugged her off. “You know, Tal, I think it will be really good for you to talk with him about what he said.”

  I squinted at her in confusion. “Why? So I can get pissed off at him all over again? I mean, what right does he have to push me to be more open with him? Or even worse, to judge my mom?”

  “I don’t think he was judging your mom,” Harlow said quietly. “And you have to admit, he’s right. You aren’t exactly an easy person to get to know.”

  “Yeah,” I said, tossing my hands in the air. “So maybe I’m making things a little difficult for him. But don’t you think I have the right to be a little suspicious of the dude? Just a tiny bit hesitant around him? I mean, where has he been my whole life? And now I’m thrown into this situation where I’m supposed to grieve a grandfather I never even met before today. So excuse me for having some emotional barriers, but I think it’s justified.”

  Harlow chewed on her bottom lip.

  “Just say whatever it is that you’re thinking,” I mumbled.

  “It’s just,” she said, straightening her posture. She folded her hands onto her lap. “I think it’s totally natural to have a little bit of emotional distance
with Julian, but it’s not just Julian, Taliah. You never let anyone new in.

  “The whole time I’ve known you, which in case you’ve forgotten is since the first day of second grade, you’ve only ever trusted me and your mom.”

  “So?” I said, and leaned back against the headboard.

  “Doesn’t that strike you as odd?”

  I made a face. “That I don’t have a lot of friends?”

  “No,” Harlow said quickly. “Obviously you have other friends.”

  That was a generous thing of her to say, but not entirely true. I had other acquaintances. It’s not like if Harlow and I didn’t have the same lunch bell, I wouldn’t have anyone to sit with, but there wasn’t anyone else I told anything meaningful to. Sure, I had those people I’d chat with about my score on the pop quiz in bio or the latest episode of True Detective or Sufjan Stevens’s new album, but it never got any deeper than that.

  “You just don’t . . .” She trailed off.

  “Don’t what?” I pressed her, even though I already knew what she was going to say.

  “Really have anyone close to you other than me and your mom.”

  “Yeah,” I admitted. “Well, it’s tough. You wouldn’t get that, but it is.”

  Harlow narrowed her eyes. “What does that mean?”

  “It’s just it’s obviously so easy for you to trust people. You don’t ever seem worried that they’re going to hurt you.”

  “Tal,” she said firmly. “Of course I worry about that. But that’s life. And I think the risk is worth it.”

  I shrugged. “Well, good for you. But I don’t know about that. And you know what? You were enough for me, even though I obviously wasn’t enough for you.”

  Harlow shook her head. “That’s so unfair.”

  “How, Har?” I said, raising my voice and surprising us both. “How is that unfair? Did you or did you not basically ditch me for Quinn?”

  Harlow shook her head again. “Tal. I didn’t ditch you for Quinn. Don’t you get it? The two of you occupy different places in my heart. Just because I love Quinn now too doesn’t mean that I love you any less. You seem to think that there’s only a limited amount of space in your life and in your heart, and I think you need to reconsider that. Expand your world and let down your guard a little bit.”

  “Yeah,” I argued back. “But you were my number-one person, Harlow. The person I told everything to first. And you still are. And I used to be for you, but now I’m not. Don’t you get how much that sucks? How much that hurts?” I sucked in a deep breath as I felt a pressure building behind my eyes.

  “But it doesn’t have to be like that. It’s not an either/or thing. I’m not ranking the people in my life. It’s not like Quinn is first and you’re second.”

  “Well, it feels that way.” I clenched my fists. “I mean, we’ve stopped hanging out as much. We stopped writing our songs. Everything changed once you started dating Quinn, so I don’t get how you can just sit here and pretend like it didn’t.”

  “Fine!” Harlow shouted, and it took me by surprise. I drew my knees to my chest. “You’re right. Maybe things have changed. But I’m not going to apologize for that, Tal. It’s called growing up. It can’t just be me and you forever and ever. That’s not healthy.”

  I swallowed. The tears I was fighting back had left a briny taste in my throat. “It was enough for me,” I repeated quietly. “And I miss it.”

  “Yeah,” Harlow said. She gave me a pitying look that somehow felt even worse than her yell.

  “But it wasn’t enough for me. And it shouldn’t be enough for you. You need to learn how to let other people in. It’d be good for you, Tal.” She reached out for my hand. “I really do think this whole Julian thing is going to be good for you in that respect.”

  There was a knock on the half-opened door to the guest room.

  “Yeah?” I called out.

  Julian poked his head through the doorway. “Sorry to interrupt, but we’ve got to leave now if we’re going to make it in time for Harlow to catch her bus.” He looked from me to Harlow and then back again. “Is everything okay?”

  “Yeah,” I said, hugging my knees even harder. “Everything is really effing great.”

  VI.

  After Harlow left, I felt more alone than ever. Julian was confused about why I didn’t want to ride along with them to the bus station, but he finally let it go. The sympathetic glances they both gave me as they left were the absolute worst.

  There’s nothing more humiliating than feeling sorry for yourself while watching other people feel sorry for you too. So of course I spent most of the time while Julian drove Harlow to the bus station moping around upstairs, feeling sorry for myself. I was going to stay up in the guest room the whole time, until Debra called up to me, asking me to come join her in the kitchen.

  Once I went downstairs, I saw the kitchen was a blur of pots and pans. The whole room was filled with a delicious scent—a mix of fresh bread and spices and fried grease. Debra’s hands were coated with flour and her cheeks were smudged with some kind of sauce. She reminded me of Harlow for a moment and a sadness welled in my chest. I tried to push it aside.

  “There you are,” she said, grinning at me. She walked over to the stove to check on one of the pots. “Looking good, looking good,” she mumbled to herself, and then turned back from the pot to me. “And how are you doing?”

  I contemplated deflecting. I knew a standard “fine” would probably get me out of any uncomfortable talk. But I felt too worn down to bother with a lie. I took a seat on one of the kitchen stools, my feet dangling above the floor. “I’m not sure.”

  Debra breathed audibly and then whistled to herself. “I hear you, sweetheart. That’s why I’m cooking. Whenever things feel overwhelming, I cook.” She pulled out a cutting board and started chopping up tomatoes. “What about you?”

  “Hm?”

  She looked over at me, her face glowing with genuine curiosity. “What do you do when you get overwhelmed?”

  I thought about it for a moment. “I play the piano. Or I sit in my room and listen to music.”

  She smiled a little but didn’t say anything. I knew what she was thinking, though. Julian’s daughter.

  “This must be strange for you,” she said. She sprinkled herbs over the fresh tomatoes.

  I nodded.

  “It’s strange for us, too.” And then she quickly said, “Not in a bad way, of course.”

  “I get it,” I said in a way that I hoped let her know that I wasn’t offended.

  “You know,” she said, walking back over to the stove to check on a boiling pot, “you’re so much like your daddy when he was younger; he reacted the same way as you when he was overwhelmed. He’d always retreat up to his room to play the guitar after a big fight with his daddy. He’d have the volume turned up so loud it would shake the whole house.”

  “They fought a lot?”

  Something crossed over her face. Her lips pulled into a straight line. “I’m sure he told you about all that.”

  “A little,” I admitted.

  She opened the oven door and peeked inside. “Sometimes I think the problem between the two of them was that they loved each other too much. Same with him and your momma.”

  I swallowed. The mention of my mother unsettled me slightly. “What do you mean?”

  “Julian, he’s like his daddy. He feels things strongly. And sometimes that scares him. I think it makes him lash out because he’s afraid of how much he’s feeling. He gets distant and moody, just like his old man.” She swung a pot holder over her shoulder. “But maybe I’m just another old woman making excuses for my boy and my darling husband. But it’s what I like to think, so I do.” She smiled with her eyes. “That’s the best thing about life. You can think what you want to.”

  “But Julian told me that Tom and him fought a lot because they had different ideas of what Julian’s life should be like. Was it the same with my mom? Did she want Julian to be someone other than
he was?” Julian hadn’t given me the sense that Mom didn’t want him to pursue music. If anything, he’d given me the opposite impression.

  Debra exhaled. She wiped her hands on her apron. “I can’t really speak for your momma. But concerning Tom, I’m not sure he wanted Julian to be someone different than who he was.” She paused and drew her eyebrows together. “Or maybe he did. I think the problem is that sometimes when we love someone, we see a certain version of them. And we get attached to that version. Convince ourselves that that’s the only version, the true version. So for Tom, Julian was his baseball-card-and-toy-train-loving little woodworking assistant. His mini-me.” She laughed at the memory and then her face went serious. “It was difficult for him to accept Julian the aimless and sometimes moody musician. But I believe strongly that we all have multiple versions of ourselves. And the true test of love is learning to accept all of those versions, even when it’s messy. Actually, especially when it’s messy.”

  She ambled over to the stove, lifted the lid off the pot, and declared, “Looks like it’s all cooked up.” She turned off the heat. “So what I’m saying is that I think Julian and Tom got hung up on singular versions of each other. And then they told themselves a certain story about the other one. A story that wasn’t necessarily false, but it wasn’t the whole truth either.” She shook her head. “That’s one of the toughest things about love, right? The way the people we love are constantly changing and we have to learn how to accept those changes. Love isn’t a constant thing, you know? It’s active. It’s always growing.” She smiled again with her eyes. She wrung out her hands. “But what do I know? You probably think I’m just a crazy old woman rambling nonsense at you.”