I want to tell her that I’m confused and ask her what she thinks Maman would say, if her disease is enough of a reason for me to sacrifice something magical. Or if she thinks I’m stupid for believing someone like Anthony could be serious with someone like me. Are our worlds so far apart that we’d surely crash and burn? But I don’t ask her any of it. Because right now, she’s dealing with taking care of Maman, and my romance seems small in comparison.
“How’s she doing?”
“She’s okay.” Her voice is lighter and more positive than it has been in weeks. “She seems to be better. We went for a nice walk tonight and she actually ate a full plate of dinner. Maybe we’re on the upswing?”
“Maybe.”
Her hopefulness rubs off on me. I send a silent prayer that her change in energy is because the tumors are shrinking. That’s what this poison we’re pumping into her body is for. Maybe it’s doing what it’s supposed to? Please God, let it be working. We need a little good right now.
“She even had me take her to the mall this morning. She wanted some new shoes for work.”
“Is she going in?”
“Not every day. But yeah, she’s gone a few times this week when she feels up to it. That’s okay, right?” Niloo suddenly sounds panicked.
“Yeah. It’s fine. As long as she wants to.”
“She’s hilarious.” She giggles. “Nordstrom had a sale and she was trying to haggle down the price with the saleswoman. I swear, if I gave her two more minutes she’d have had that woman giving her the employee discount. She’s pretty impressive.”
I laugh. “She’s turned haggling into an art.”
“Isn’t that the truth.” I love the newfound calm I can hear in Niloo’s voice. It gives me hope. “So, how’s my man?”
“Carlos?”
“Yes,” she teases. “Is he still as yummy as I’m envisioning?”
“Yes, Niloo. But I have to warn you, I think he’s cheating on you.”
“What?” she answers, feigning shock. I can imagine her placing her palm against her heart for added dramatic effect.
“Yup. I’m guessing he’s officially made it to his room with his hottie of the night. And she looks like a supermodel, so you’ve got your work cut out for you.”
“How scandalous.”
We spend the next few minutes discussing band life as I hash out all the details of what it’s like being on the road with the guys. She’s relentless in her questions, begging me for the most minuscule of details. The conversation keeps returning to Carlos, and I indulge her crush because it’s easier than thinking of my own. And when we hang up, I feel the loss of her proximity, wishing she were lying next to me in bed like she’s done so many times before.
Sometime before sunrise, I fall into a fitful sleep, the apprehension of facing Anthony in the light of day ever present and suffocating.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Darya
Breakfast brings more silence. Anthony shows up for a few minutes, grabbing a cup of coffee and a bagel, then heads back to who knows where. He gives me a begrudging nod as he passes.
“Guess someone is grumpy this morning,” Mike comments, crinkling his face at the brooding rock star.
I shove a doughnut into my mouth and mumble incoherently.
Mike’s gaze finds me, raised brows waiting.
“What?” I ask, licking the glaze off my fingers.
“You going to tell me what that’s all about?” He waves his hand in the direction where Anthony just escaped to.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” I feign innocence, but judging from the smirk tugging at the corner of his lips, he doesn’t believe me.
“Doorooghgoo! Don’t even try to lie to me. I could smell the scandal when you walked in this morning.” He wraps his fingers around the coffee mug balanced at his lips, and I can’t help but notice his perfectly manicured fingernails. When does he find the time to look so good?
It’s seven in the morning. I could barely get on my Macy’s sweats and hoodie. And here I thought I deserved brownie points for gelling my curls so they weren’t shoved into a bun. But this dude’s in Lululemon and runway ready.
“I could use some gossip to get my mind off my own love life.”
I lean forward, my interest piqued. I may not be the only person on this road trip harboring a secret. “Your love life? Daram goosh meedam.”
“Oh no, you’re not getting out of it that easily. We’re talking about you right now, khanoom.” He leans back in his seat and takes a sip of coffee, waiting patiently.
“Fine!” I huff. I don’t do this. I don’t talk about my life with anyone. Maman always told us to keep our private lives to ourselves.
You never know who will use something against you when they get angry, she’d say. As a woman, you don’t want to taint your image over a stupid argument. Especially for a Persian girl; reputation is everything.
The truth is, I don’t really know Mike. Other than some meals shared and conversations in passing, he’s a stranger. But there’s something about him that makes me feel like we’ve known each other for decades. He just has to look at me with those big brown eyes and suddenly I want to tell him everything.
This road trip has me on edge. I’m thinking things and doing things that I shouldn’t. Like making out with a rock star I barely know, and then toying with the idea of a romance with him when clearly it could never work. But despite not wanting to hash out the details of last night, I need to confide in someone before the thoughts in my head consume me.
“We kissed,” I whisper.
“I knew it.” There’s no judgment in the chocolate warmth staring back at me, just pure curiosity.
“You did?”
“I mean, I didn’t know you kissed, but I knew you had a thing for him.” Mike looks pleased with himself, as if he had some personal bet going about Anthony and me.
“Really?”
“You may think you’re hiding it, but I can totally see that you dig him by the way you look at him. It’s obvious.”
“Great.” I grab another doughnut. “Does everyone know?”
“I’m not sure. But even if they did, who cares?” He eyes me carefully. “Are you going to eat all the doughnuts?”
“Leave me alone. I eat my feelings.”
“I can see that,” he teases. “But you should find a better way to deal.”
I drop the half-eaten doughnut onto my plate. “Stop judging me. I get enough of that back home. Iranian mom and all.” I brush off my hands, wiping the remaining sugar from my fingers. “I don’t want to talk about Anthony anymore. Now your turn to spill.”
“I don’t want to talk about it, either.”
“Oh no you don’t. You at least have to give me some details before saying that.”
He shakes his head, then stalls by taking a long gulp of his coffee.
“That’s not fair! I told you.”
Worry settles in his features, and his beautifully plump lips press into a thin line, as if he’s trying to hold the words from toppling out onto the table.
I push forward, partly because now I can sense his anxious energy and partly because the curiosity is killing me. “Come on, Mike. You can talk to me. You know you can. I won’t say anything. Besides, other than you, I don’t really talk to anyone.”
He’s silent so long, I think he’s not going to confide in me. “Okay, but ghasam bokhore, Darya, that you won’t say anything to anyone. Not just people here on tour. I mean anyone. I’m not supposed to be telling you this when he isn’t ready for people to know.”
“Beh jooneh madaram, ghasam meekhoram. I swear on my mom’s life, Mike. Your secret is safe with me. I promise.”
He watches me thoughtfully for another moment, then looks around to make sure no one is in earshot before he quietly says, “It�
��s Carlos.”
Carlos. I maintain my composure, aware that any sudden reaction will cause Mike to clam up and stop talking. And judging from the relief that smooths out across his forehead, I can see he wants to tell someone. But oh my God, Carlos? Seriously? I toggle between shock and excitement, all the while maintaining the concerned, calm expression I wear. “What’s going on?”
He leans back in his seat and chuckles. “You know you can act surprised, right? I know you weren’t expecting it.”
I exhale. “Oh thank God. I didn’t want you to think I was uncool.”
“I’d never think that,” Mike assures me, which makes my heart smile.
“So what’s going on?”
“Well, first off, no one knows he’s even into me. And by me, I mean men.”
“I’m assuming that’s the issue, then? That he’s gay and no one knows? Or that he’s not out of the closet?” I stumble. “Is that offensive? I’m not sure how to phrase it without sounding ignorant,” I say, with a half smile. I’m hoping I haven’t suddenly lost my newly acknowledged coolness.
“No, you can say that,” he explains. “We’ve been doing this thing in hiding for almost a year now. And I get it. He’s a star and there’s an image to uphold for the fans or whatever. But, now that it’s becoming serious, I can’t do it this way anymore,” he admits. “I need more than stolen kisses and sneaking out of hotel rooms before the sun comes up.”
“You deserve more than that.”
“Thanks.” He smiles but there’s no truth in it, and the sadness in his expression pulls at my heart. But before I have a chance to dive further into the ins and outs of their relationship, he shakes his head, and his face transforms into the light, happy version I’ve grown accustomed to. “I don’t want to talk about it anymore,” he says, snatching the leftover half of my doughnut and shoving it into his mouth.
“Fair enough.” I twist around to grab the platter of sugary goodness off the food table behind me and plop it down between us. “Let’s eat some feelings.”
“Five minutes until we head out!” Travis yells.
I watch as Mateo and Hugo fill their arms with junk food before laughing and heading toward the exit. I shake my head, knowing that the tour bus is already stocked with crappy snacks.
“Should we grab some for the road?” Mike wags another doughnut in my face.
“Of course,” I say.
We both grab two and giggle like children as we follow the others to the tour bus, leaving discussions of men and relationships behind us. At least for the morning.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Darya
I sit down beside Anthony on a lounge chair. It’s not an exceptionally warm Chicago day, which explains why it’s so empty by the pool. The sun’s out but there’s still a chill in the air. Other than a couple across the water from us, there’s no one else in sight. I wrap my arms around my chest, wishing I’d brought down a jacket.
He’s in a black hoodie, trying to remain unseen. Travis is sitting a few chairs over, pretending to be busy on his phone, but his gaze keeps darting back and forth. Does the guy ever stop being on the clock? He takes work ethic to a whole other level.
Anthony has his earbuds in, furiously scribbling in a notepad resting on his lap. I can hear the faint flutter of a melody playing from his headphones as it carries on the breeze, but I can’t place it. Curious, I lean in closer and glance over his shoulder. I half expect him to snap the notebook shut, but he doesn’t. Instead, he tilts it in my direction and lets me witness the makings of a new song.
Her touch makes the world stop turning
Her smile makes my insides burn
She’s like a drug I can’t stop taking
She’s everywhere I turn
I don’t let myself believe those words are about me, because one kiss couldn’t inspire feelings deep enough to create an entire ballad. Could they? But when his eyes meet mine, the intensity of desire embedded in them causes me to pause, frozen beneath the weight of an unsaid conversation.
He pulls an earbud out of his ear and gently places it in mine. The rhythmic beat of a drum, paired with the humming of a guitar, strum against my eardrum. A few bars pass before Anthony’s hypnotic voice fills in the spaces between the keys. He sings to me quietly, allowing the words written on the page to paint their magic across my mind. And when they run out, he creates more, as if singing naturally flows out of his soul. I close my eyes, unable to witness the beauty of his creativity without crying.
When he finishes, my chest heaves with emotion, the air strained as it passes through my lungs. He reaches out and slides his thumb lightly beneath the corner of my eye. Tears have moistened my cheeks.
“What do you think?”
“It’s beautiful.”
“Thanks.” He grins, but his heart isn’t in it.
“Anthony—” I begin, but he raises his hand to stop me.
“Darya, don’t.”
“Don’t what?”
“Begin a conversation that won’t end well.”
“But we need to talk.”
“No we don’t. There’s nothing to talk about. We kissed, that’s all.” His nonchalant definition of what happened between us stings. Yes, it was just a kiss, but it was so much more, wasn’t it?
“You’re an ass,” I say, warding off the bite of his rejection. Not as poetic as I’d hope to be, but it gets the point across.
“I’m the ass? You’re kidding, right?”
“What does that mean?”
“If anyone’s the ass, it’s you.”
I gasp, my words lost to disbelief. Just as I’m getting ready to throw my shoe at him and storm off, he continues.
“You’re the one who decided I wasn’t worthy, not the other way around.”
“I never said that!”
“You didn’t have to.”
Gone is the desire and longing emanating off him moments ago, and I’m hit with unexpected disappointment. He works his jaw in frustration and when his gaze remains determined, a panic settles in my gut. My first instinct is to defend myself against his accusation. I’d never make anyone think they were less than. But then again, we shared an amazing kiss on a romantic rooftop and I freaked out, basically running away. I’d be pissed if I were him, too.
“Please don’t put words in my mouth, Anthony. I never meant to make you feel like I thought you weren’t good enough. And I’m sorry if I did.”
Anthony pulls his gaze from me, searching the premises for an audience. Or worse, paparazzi. When the coast appears clear, he pulls his hoodie back and runs his hand through his hair, exhaling loudly.
“I’m usually the one doing the walking away.” He’s trying to lighten the mood with his attempt at being playful. But I can hear the sadness in his words.
“I bet you are.” I smile, hoping to ease the tension between us.
“What is it that you want, Darya? Because I’ve been trying my best to figure you out, but I seem to be getting it all wrong.”
“You know I don’t think you’re unworthy, right?”
“Honestly, I’m not sure about anything. You’re pretty damn confusing.” He searches my face, then scrubs a hand over his own. He looks tired and deflated.
“I don’t mean to be.”
“I know.” His brows pull together and the lines that run across his forehead are deep grooves of despair. “You’re not like anyone I’ve ever met.”
“Is that bad?”
“No.” He reaches out and grabs my hand. The warmth of his skin causes tingles to run down my spine. “It’s refreshing.”
“Why, because I’m not easy, like the rest of your groupies?”
“Exactly.” He squeezes my fingers as he laughs. “You’re amazing.” His voice is hoarse with emotion and, for a moment, I wish he’d lean in and kiss me again
. But he doesn’t.
“You’re pretty amazing, too.”
“Then I guess we should talk, because now I’m more confused than when we started.” He gives me a grim smile.
“It’s not you, it’s me.”
He rolls his eyes.
“Wait, hear me out.”
He nods and gives me his undivided attention, despite my cliché of an opening statement.
“I don’t do well with relationships. My only example of one is my parents, and they sucked at it. So I have a tough time trusting people. And being vulnerable.” Even though I’m only a foot away from him, I move closer until my knees press into his thigh. The need to be near him overwhelms me. “Plus, women throw themselves at you. You could have anyone you want. That reach makes me nervous.”
“I don’t want those women.”
God, I want to believe him. But, like most Iranian moms have a way of doing, Maman’s voice fills my head, even though she’s miles away. I can hear her telling me to be careful, that Anthony’s lifestyle would only cause me pain. Would she be right?
Anthony is nothing like my dad. And despite him being in a position to be with almost anyone, does that mean he would? He doesn’t seem like the cheating type. But then again, I don’t have much experience with which to compare him. I’ve always been focused on my studies, so relationships have taken a backseat. Now I’m hating myself for not being more ambitious in love.
“My father cheated on my mom.” I don’t say anything else, but I know Anthony understands as he lightly strokes my arm. I hate admitting that what my father did affected me so deeply. But it’s the truth.
“I’m not a cheater, Darya.”
“He said he wasn’t, either,” I whisper. I drop my head and stare at our fingers. The dark of his skin clashes against the lighter shade of mine and piano keys come to mind, as we attempt to find a harmony that works between us.
He doesn’t let me hide, lifting my chin until I’m forced to meet his gaze.
“You forget that I had a father who treated my mother badly, too. I know what it feels like to watch your mom put up with shit she shouldn’t have to and just wish you could give her the strength to leave a marriage everyone knows isn’t working.” Our pasts are not exactly the same, but the fact that he understands things that others don’t, appeals to me. “And Darya,” he continues, “you’re not the kind of woman anyone would cheat on. And if he did, he’s a fool.”
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