“You could’ve still gone back to the trapeze,” I offer.
“But I didn’t want to. Not after the fall. I didn’t want to risk getting hurt again, but I also changed. My priorities were different,” she explains.
“And you wished you would’ve had a backup,” I finish for her. “Look, I know you’re worried I’m going to end up feeling like you did, but that’s for me to find out. It’s my life, and right now I just don’t see myself ever changing my mind. Besides, it’s not like you didn’t end up having a backup. You opened an entire circus, for crying out loud!”
Mom bites her lip, and I realize she hasn’t finished telling me the truth. “I was only able to open Teatro della Notte because I had your father’s help. His… financial support.”
I frown, not understanding what that’s supposed to mean.
Mom’s cheeks darken, like she’s ashamed. “I felt like I owed your father so much. More than I could ever pay back. And I didn’t want that for you. I didn’t want you to feel like you had to depend on someone, or owe them anything. I wanted you to have the freedom to make your own choices without struggling. The choice to travel, or change jobs, or… leave.”
Leave.
I feel sick. “Are you saying you want to leave Dad?”
Mom shakes her head quickly, the tears building again. “No. I mean, not exactly. Not anymore.” She shuts her eyes and presses her lips together. “It’s complicated.”
My blood starts to heat up. “Does Dad know how you feel? Does he know you want to split up?”
“I do not want to split up with him,” Mom says, and she does actually sound certain despite her previous words. “But your dad and I have been best friends for most of our lives. I know you called him a ghost, but for me he’s been an anchor. He’s always been there for me, just like I’ve always been there for him. And that hasn’t changed. We are still best friends, and we love each other. But… well, all I’m saying is that I didn’t feel like I was allowed the choice to fall out of love with him. Romantically. Because by that point we had a daughter, and I depended on him for everything—even all the physical care that was required after I broke my leg—and I just felt trapped. Like, the more he did, the more I couldn’t do. I’m not saying any of this is his fault—it’s nobody’s fault—but I wanted something different for you. I wanted you to be independent, so you always, always had options. More than I felt like I had.”
I don’t know how to comprehend what she’s saying to me. Mom and Dad always seemed so in love. So perfect together.
It doesn’t make sense she wouldn’t want it. She was a part of it.
“It’s complicated,” Mom says again. “And I know it’s confusing to hear. But sometimes love changes. Not necessarily to something less, or more, but just—different. But how much we both love you? That’s never changed. I love you the most you could possibly love anyone, and it’s been like that since the moment I knew you were in my belly.”
I hear her words and let them sink in.
“I’m not telling you this for any reason other than that I just want you to know why,” Mom says quietly. “Maybe it will explain why I sometimes pushed too hard.”
“Okay,” I say.
She smiles, relieved. “Okay.”
I raise a brow. “This doesn’t change how I feel about the circus. But thank you for telling me.”
Mom laughs. “I figured that. And I suppose community college isn’t the end of the world. But promise me that if you change your mind, you won’t be too stubborn to tell me? Because if you ever wanted to take more classes…” Her voice trails off and she smiles.
I hold up a hand. “I swear, if I decide I’m missing out on dorm and sorority life, you will be the very first person to know.”
She wipes her tears away and sighs, frowning. “So does this mean you don’t want the university hoodies I bought the other day? Because I got one for me, too. And your dad.”
I laugh first, and then Mom follows, and we don’t stop until a nurse sticks her head in the room because she heard all the noise and worried something was wrong.
CHAPTER SEVENTY-THREE
It takes a while before Popo is feeling better. But in that time, I realize I’ve been feeling better too.
The clouds still linger, but they aren’t as black. Sometimes I forget they’re there at all.
Popo says she’s proud of me for staying true to myself, and that she’s sorry she took all the attention away from my big moment.
I don’t know if Mom tells Dad what we talked about that day at the hospital, but their relationship goes back to the way it’s always been. Which I guess is different from what I thought, because now I don’t see two people with an epic love story.
I see two people who love each other deeply, who work hard at loving each other, but relish their friendship over everything else.
And that’s okay. I want to believe it’s okay.
Because I want my parents to be happy as much as I want to be happy.
And I won’t judge them for the choices they make to find that happiness.
Hopefully they’ll treat me the same.
* * *
I’m sitting between my parents on the couch one evening watching a movie, the smell of the buttered popcorn in my lap dragging me deep into memories that still feel like wounds, when I realize I’ve been so concerned about trying to make pieces of me fit together that I failed to see how they already fit.
They fit here, with Mom and Dad.
I’m their daughter. I’m parts of Mom. Parts of Dad. Parts of neither, and both. Some parts belong to just me.
But I will always be home here.
My parents will always be home.
It doesn’t mean I have to stop searching for family, or another place in the world where I belong.
But it does mean that if I don’t find it—if life has other plans—that I will always, always be able to come home.
And maybe I’ve been so busy chasing this idea of belonging somewhere that I’ve been failing to see what’s right in front of me. I have parents who love me. It’s a privilege not everyone has.
And maybe belonging isn’t like arriving at a destination—it’s about cherishing and nurturing relationships over time.
Following my dreams isn’t how I’ll find my family. It isn’t how I’ll find my home.
Family comes from the love I put into the world around me.
And home is my parents, who forever live in my heart.
Which means home is always with me.
Six Months Later
CHAPTER SEVENTY-FOUR
I fall into the chair at my dressing table, my skin still tingling with the adrenaline of being onstage. I don’t even realize I’m beaming until I look in the mirror and see my own face. I hardly recognize myself with all the makeup and glitter, but I know I’m in there somewhere.
Mom’s here too, in the photograph I have taped to the glass. It’s her on the trapeze, all those years ago. Before she had me. Before she even knew she wanted me.
I have a bit of Popo here too, in the form of the hóngbāo she gave me for Chinese New Year—a bright red envelope with shiny gold writing on the front, and eight dollars inside.
It’s a present Popo has given me every year for as long as I can remember, but this year was different. This year the luck worked.
Because look where I am.
I still have dark days, even though my world is bursting in yellow, but I’m learning to manage them better. I’m getting better at sensing when they’re coming—like watching the tide roll in from a pier.
I don’t think they’ll ever go away, but I’m here and I’m trying my best and I think that matters more.
Tatya pokes her head around the corner. “I’m taking off. See you tomorrow at the gym?”
I smile. “Yeah, see you tomorrow.”
She disappears, and I turn back to the table, scouring the pile of stage makeup for face wipes. I know they’re here somewhere, because I
just used them last—
The entire world spins when my eyes fall to the pot of flowers sitting on the edge of my table.
Bubblegum-pink orchids.
My heart pounds like it’s signaling the opening of an act.
A shadow moves behind me, filling the space in the mirror. I close my eyes, not sure I want to look.
I’m scared I might be wrong, and hope is already lifting me out of our atmosphere.
I breathe chocolate and trees, and every color in the world fills my soul.
My eyes flash open, and he’s there in the mirror, his green eyes filled with nervous joy, his beautiful honey-brown hair shoved to one side.
Vas.
“Hello.” I didn’t know I could miss a voice so much until just now.
“Hi,” I say, my own voice barely above a whisper. I turn around in my chair so I can see all of him—the real him.
“You were amazing out there,” he says, hands stuffed in his pockets.
Sparks ignite all over my skin. “You saw the show?”
He nods. “Someone was kind enough to give me a ticket, so I thought I’d better not waste it.” He pauses. “And I was hoping to run into you.”
I want to scream “I’ve missed you” at the top of my lungs, but I’m working on my self-control. So instead, I go with, “It’s really nice to see you.”
He looks down at the floor, and I suddenly don’t think it matters what I’d said. We’re like dance partners who’ve never met before, trampling on each other’s feet and trying to figure out a rhythm.
We’re out of sync.
“How are you?” I ask after a long pause.
He looks back up, sighing into a smile. “I’m okay. A bit jet-lagged.”
“Jet-lagged from Denver?” I make a face, recalling the last place Vivien told me they were.
“I see you’re keeping tabs,” Vas says playfully. “But no. I flew in from London.”
I nod like this is all perfectly normal, even though it most definitely isn’t.
Vas is in my dressing room and we’re making small talk.
What happened to us?
And then I remember. I happened to us.
“I’m sorry,” I say, my brain feeling like it’s about to collapse. “For everything I said. Most of it was just coming out wrong, but I handled the whole thing terribly. And you didn’t deserve that.”
“No,” he cuts in. “I did deserve it. I was interfering with something that had nothing to do with me. There’s no scenario in the world where it’s okay to want your girlfriend to stay at a job she hates just because you don’t want to lose her. That was me being selfish, and I’m the one who’s sorry.”
Girlfriend. We’d never used titles out loud before. Hearing him say it in reference to the past—to our breakup—makes my chest quiver.
He sighs. “And everything you said to me was true. About being a hypocrite. But everyone needs to be called out on their bullshit now and then, right?” There’s a twitch in the corner of his mouth.
I try to smile, even though my face feels heavy. “I appreciate the apology, but there’s really nothing to forgive.”
He looks at me like there’s so much more he wants to say.
The feeling is definitely mutual.
“So,” I say. “You’re here. In Las Vegas.” I’m trying—and failing—to hide my excitement.
He bounces on his toes, nervous again. “Uh, yeah. I have a job offer, actually.”
“Really?” I’m standing now, one hand clutching the back of my chair because I’m worried his news is going to make me topple over.
I knew this was a possibility, but seeing him right here, in front of me…
I’m unprepared.
He nods. “Here. At Teatro della Notte.”
I feel dizzy with hope.
“Your dad got in touch and said he loved the song I wrote. The one we performed to. He asked if I had any more material—said he was looking for an up-and-coming composer to mentor, because he’s been thinking about slowing down his schedule.” Vas smiles gently. “He said he wanted to spend more time with his family.”
My heart tumbles and tumbles and tumbles.
“I haven’t officially accepted the job yet,” he explains while my brain is still processing that he’s really here because of my dad. Because of what I asked my dad to do. “It didn’t seem right to accept without asking your permission first.”
“You should take the job,” I say, like everything about this is simple. I’m trying my best to look surprised, but I don’t think it’s working.
Vas watches me, a glint appearing in the corner of his eye. “Did you have anything to do with the job offer?”
And because there’s no point in lying to Vas about something he clearly knows the answer to, I say, “Yes.”
“Why?” The word vibrates through my core.
What kind of question is that? Why do I want Vas here? Why do I want him to be happy? Why do I want to make things better between us?
Why implies he doesn’t have a clue.
Maybe we’ve grown further apart than I realized.
“Because you deserve this,” I say at last.
“I thought—hoped—it was because of you,” he says quietly. “I’m glad I wasn’t wrong. I would’ve felt pretty silly right about now if you’d said you didn’t know a thing about the job.”
“Why would that make a difference? It’s a great job. My dad is a great… composer.” I make a face. It’s impossible to hide how awkward I feel.
“But we’d see each other a lot. Maybe even most days.”
I shrug like it isn’t a big deal.
“And I’d basically be colleagues with your dad. Maybe even friends.” Vas looks at me seriously. “I might even get invited over for dinner sometimes.”
Is he trying to make a joke out of this? I roll my eyes. “It’s not like we haven’t done the whole ‘stay on your side of the big top’ before.”
He frowns. “Why would we stay on opposite sides of the big top?”
“You know—so we can stay as far away from each other as possible and not make this more awkward than it needs to be,” I say exasperatedly.
The muscle in his jaw tightens. “Is that what you want?”
I sigh. If he’s asking, I might as well tell him the truth. He’ll see it in my face sooner or later anyway.
I’d rather he reject me now and get it over with.
Preferably before my dad invites him to dinner.
“No, of course not. I’ve missed you. I’ve missed you so much, it literally makes my heart hurt to think about you. And I do—often. And I know you’re only here because of the job, and that’s fine. When my dad said he wanted to hire someone, I told him about you because I knew you’d be perfect for it. And because once upon a time you went out of your way to give me a chance. I wanted to return the favor. But there are no strings attached here, and I don’t want you to feel like I expect anything at all. Not even a hello, if that’s what you want. I promise you that I will not make working together weird. Because you deserve to have your dreams come true, Vas. More than anyone I know.”
There’s a long silence between us, our eyes flitting back and forth, trying to understand each other.
And then Vas’s face softens. “It’s true that I’m here because of the job. But I would’ve been here months ago if I knew that’s what you wanted. I only stayed away because I thought I was supposed to.”
His words tug at my chest, prodding my heart to hope.
“I still feel the same way about you as I did in November,” Vas confesses. “But if you don’t feel the same, just tell me and I’ll—”
“I do,” I blurt out.
He raises his brow, the corner of his mouth slightly curling. “You do?”
I nod.
“So… I should take the job, then?” He’s grinning.
I smile back, and it feels so much like relief. “Yes. Please take the job.”
Vas takes a st
ep closer, letting his hands fall to his sides.
“Wait,” I say with wide eyes. “Does this mean you get to give Simon a resignation letter?” I’m not going to lie—imagining the look on Simon Tarbottle’s face when he loses his double trapeze act is bordering on thrilling.
“There’s no need. I quit Maison du Mystère the day after you left.”
I feel like I’m spinning again.
I’ve noticed for months that Vas’s name never came up in any of my conversations with Vivien. I assumed she was trying not to open old wounds, but now it makes sense.
Because he wasn’t even there.
“I… didn’t know that.”
“Don’t be too hard on Vee and Dexi. I made them promise not to say anything,” he says with a grin. “Which was probably really hard for them, because I kind of made a scene.”
“You?” I laugh. “I don’t believe it.”
He nods. “I may have set your dad’s sheet music on fire. In front of Simon’s trailer.”
“What?” My mouth hangs open.
“I admit, it was a bit dramatic,” he says sheepishly. “But I didn’t want him to have your dad’s set list. Not when you’d already left. And I didn’t want him to have our act, either. That was your story to tell, not anyone else’s.”
The ache in my heart returns, but this time it’s in the best way possible.
“Thank you, Vas.”
I close the gap between us and let my fingers brush against his. The moment our skin touches, he takes hold of both my hands and stares tenderly into my eyes.
“Would it be possible for us to start over?” he asks.
“I would love that,” I say.
It’s the circus, after all. What isn’t possible?
* * *
Everyone backstage rushes toward the doors, all crowding together because the finale is always chaos. Every performer has to be fast getting to their marks. The aerialists especially, because the technicians have a schedule to follow too, and there are plenty of us that need to be in the air when the timpani roll ends and the fanfare plays.
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