Set to Music

by Negeen Papehn

  She snuggles in closer. “I don’t know.”

  “It…hurts. That he didn’t.”

  I can’t think of a time I haven’t been there for my brother or haven’t had his back. We’re supposed to be best friends; how could he doubt that I’d love him for who he is?

  “I know.” She kisses my cheek and settles back down against my shoulder. “I’m sorry.”

  I play with her hair as she draws soft circles across my chest. No matter how hard I try, I can’t wrap my head around why my brother thinks he can’t share his biggest secret with me. And I’m not sure where the hell I went wrong.

  Ternura has one night in Pittsburgh before we head over to Buffalo for the next set of shows, where we’ll have eight days off before the hustle and bustle begins again in New York. We’re all planning on flying back to Los Angeles after our last Buffalo show.

  “What are your plans when we get back home?” I ask.

  “Nothing. I just want to spend time with Maman.” She stretches and grins. “Hugo told me your mom’s going to throw a party for you guys.”

  “Nah, it’s not a party. It’s just us. She and my Tía will make a shit ton of food and the guys will stuff their faces all day. I guess it’s a party for their stomachs.” I glance at her, and the invitation I’ve been too nervous to offer comes out unbidden. “You’re welcome to come by. If you want to, I mean.” I really want her to meet Mamá—which is an unexpected realization I’ll have to unpack later—but I don’t want to pressure her either. Nor do I want her to feel like she’s obligated to take time away from her own mother, especially since she is so ill.

  She props herself up on an elbow. “Thanks, but can I let you know? It all really depends on Maman. I’m not sure what I’ll be dealing with.”

  “Of course. No pressure. There will be other times.” I kiss the tip of her nose. The affection in her eyes makes me brave and I put myself out there a little further. “I’d love to meet your mom if you’re okay with that.”

  The situation with Carlos has me worried that my family is scared that I won’t be there for them in the things that matter the most. I’m not sure what I’ve done to give Carlos that impression, but I don’t want to make the same mistake with Darya. I want to get to know all the parts of her, everything there is to understand about her world and the people she loves. I want her to know that I’ll be there for her through this tough time with her mother, no matter what.

  As I wait for her to answer, I try to hide how nervous I am. I know her situation with her mother is complicated. It makes sense that she doesn’t want to stress her out right now. I’m also aware that our relationship isn’t going to be something her mom will be thrilled about.

  She stalls too long, and I can feel my stomach knot. I’m about to tell her not to worry about it, that we can plan for me to meet her another time, to save us both from the awkward conversation.

  “Yeah, I’d like that,” she finally says.

  Relief floods through me and I push the anxiety away. I try to focus on the possibility that things with her mother could go better than expected. Maybe she’ll warm up to me after she meets me and realizes that I love her daughter. I mean, miracles do happen.

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Anthony

  “Mamá, tell him to stop bullying me.” Hugo is grabbing onto Mamá’s skirt, hiding behind her as he tries to reach around and smack my brother. Carlos is using Tía as a human shield, jabbing his fists in return.

  Mateo fills his mouth with another spoonful of pozole and grins at me. He’s too busy filling his belly to care about their game of tag. Both my mom and aunt are laughing, despite the guys swinging them around.

  “Okay, mijo, ya basta. If you don’t let me be, I won’t have dinner ready.”

  Hugo throws his hands up and steps away. She shakes her head, a satisfied smile on her tired face.

  “Truce,” he yells at Carlos.

  “Mamón,” Carlos taunts him.

  “Whatever, bro. I’m not going to mess with your mom’s food. I’ve been waiting months for her tamales.” He leans in and kisses Mamá on the cheek as she starts on the salsa. “I live for these dinners.” He bumps her hip lightly and takes the knife from her fingers so he can chop the tomatoes.

  “I can’t wait for the tamales, either.” Mateo sits back in his chair and rubs a hand over his belly.

  “Man, how do you eat so much?” I ask. “Where the hell does it go?”

  “Don’t be jealous, bro. We can’t all be hot fuckers.”

  “Mateo,” Mamá warns.

  “Lo siento,” he apologizes.

  I smirk at Mamá’s ability to put four grown-ass men in check. It’s impressive. I lean forward, resting my elbows on the table, taking another sip of my Mexican coffee. The scent of cinnamon fills my nose, reminding me of my mornings with Mamá as a child.

  My thoughts turn to Darya and I wonder what she’s up to. Is she having fun with her family, too? Is her house busy and warm like mine? She hasn’t had much time to talk because her mom had another treatment the day we returned. I hope she’s doing okay and getting some rest. I could see how the constant travel and busy schedule were taking a toll on her.

  It’s been only three days, and I miss her so damn much. I was hoping she’d come by tonight, but I haven’t heard from her today.

  “Que paso, mijo?” Tía sits down beside me and pours herself a cup of coffee while topping off mine. “You look worried.”

  “I’m not.”

  “Mentiroso. I know you better than you know yourself. You can’t hide anything from me.”

  I think about brushing her off but my mind’s been busy lately and I could use some advice. Especially Tía’s. She always knows how to help me figure things out.

  “I’m thinking about a friend.”

  “Would this friend be the doctor who’s on tour with you?”

  I look up to meet her knowing gaze. She smiles, and I throw a dirty look at Carlos, who’s leaning against the doorframe, eavesdropping.

  “Oh, I’m out.” He ducks into the living room and I can hear him laughing. What a little shit.

  “Does he ever shut up?”

  “No. He likes to talk.” Tía shrugs. “What can I say? He tells me everything.”

  Not everything. Carlos is so quick to share the details of my personal life with the family when no one knows the truth about his.

  “He told me her mom’s sick.”

  I shake my head. “Is there anything he hasn’t told you?”

  She reaches out and places her hand on mine. “Don’t worry about him. I want to hear it from you. Tell me about her.” Her kind eyes wait patiently for me to reply. I plan on giving her only a few details, but once I start, I can’t stop.

  “Tía, she’s amazing. She’s so smart and passionate about her work. She’s an incredible doctor. She’s been taking great care of Carlos. And she’s kind. Always trying to be helpful to the crew. She’s like the resident mom, taking care of everyone. Different than the girls I’m used to.”

  “That’s not saying much,” she jokes.

  “Hey, what’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Well, you aren’t the best at judging someone’s character, that’s all.” She rolls her eyes and I laugh.

  “That’s not fair,” I protest. “I don’t get to meet a lot of people with so much traveling.”

  “I know mijo.”

  “We’re actually more similar than I expected. She’s devoted and loyal to her family, and she’d do anything for them. I mean, she’s traveling across the country with a bunch of musicians so she can make enough money to help her family survive while her mom gets treatment for her cancer.” I squeeze my aunt’s hand. “Tía, she always surprises me. Just when I think she can’t be any better of a person, she does something to prove me wrong. She makes me want to do be
tter.” My chest clenches at the thought of sleeping another night without her beside me. “And she’s witty as hell, cracks me up all the time.”

  “She sounds special.”

  “She really is.”

  My aunt leans closer, dropping her voice. “Have you talked to your brother about slowing down?”

  What she doesn’t say, but I know she’s implying, is how do you plan on making this work with the lifestyle you have? Tía is the only person who knows I’ve been thinking about getting out of the business. Or at least, that I desperately need a break.

  “No.” I can see Carlos and Mateo on the couch in the living room, drinking beers and watching the game. “I don’t know how to bring it up. Carlos would be heartbroken if I took this away from him.”

  She sends a worried glance in Carlos’s direction before returning her attention back to me. Her eyes soften, full of understanding.

  “There’s a point in your life when you’re going to need to think about yourself. You’ve sacrificed your happiness for everyone for so long, Anthony. If you want out, or just to take a break, you should do it. Because you deserve it, mi amor.” She pats my arm then sits back in her seat, eyeing me over the steam from her cup. “I like what this girl’s done to you. You’ve changed. I can see it.”

  “I don’t know about that.”

  “Love will do that to you,” she says. Her wisdom is undeniable.

  “Who said anything about love?”

  “You don’t have to.” She grins.

  Suddenly shouts come from the other room as Mateo and Carlos jump to their feet cheering.

  “Bro, you’re missing a great game,” Mateo hollers.

  “Go,” Tía encourages.

  I give her a big kiss on the cheek, grabbing a beer from the fridge before I join the guys on the couch. I do my best to push away the doubt and worry that I’m starting to feel as I realize I may have to make a choice. One I don’t want to make, and one that would hurt someone I love, no matter which decision I choose.

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Darya

  “Hi Anthony.” Niloo sounds unnaturally high-pitched with her excitement. “Oh.” She steps back when she sees the herd of people standing on the porch. “Um, I wasn’t expecting so many of you.” Her eyes widen when she sees the three burly bodyguards standing behind him.

  “They take some getting used to,” I say as I come up beside her. “Hey guys.”

  “It’s very nice to meet you.” Anthony steps forward and takes her hand. “Your sister has told me so much about you.”

  “All good things, I hope?” She holds the door open, eyeing the three men. When they don’t move, she whispers, “Are they coming in?” She’s staring at Travis, who’s now scanning the street in true bodyguard fashion.

  “No,” I answer. “They’re staying outside.”

  “Are you sure?” Travis looks at Niloo and tips his head. My sister smiles politely, her cheeks becoming rosy. She hesitates while closing the door. “I feel rude.”

  “Travis won’t be offended. I know, our Iranian hostess can’t understand leaving them out there, but they’re okay.” Travis grins and I close the door behind me. “We will take some food out for them later.”

  “Okay,” she answers. “Do you always have bodyguards with you?”

  “I do,” Anthony says.

  “How bizarre.”

  He chuckles. “Your sister feels the same way.”

  “Tell me about it. I still haven’t gotten used to it and I’m with them all the time.”

  I wrap my arms around Anthony, no longer able to refuse myself the feel of his body. His warmth cocoons me with longing and I inhale deeply, breathing in the scent of him. I can’t help but smile. Niloo stands in the corner watching us with a lovesick expression on her face.

  “I missed you,” he whispers in my ear.

  “Can I get you something to drink?” Niloo asks, when we’ve finally let go of each other.

  “I’d love some water.”

  She nods and heads toward the kitchen. Anthony and I follow, stopping in the living room when he notices the painting of the old couple weaving a Persian rug.

  “This is great. I love the use of color in the rug design,” he comments. “I can almost see it worked into an album cover.”

  I step up beside him. “That would be pretty cool. I love it, too. Reminds me of my grandparents.” I lean in to him, placing my chin on his shoulder. The way we fit together gives me comfort.

  A few minutes pass and Niloo doesn’t return. I leave Anthony on the couch to go check on her. I find her leaning against the sink, rubbing her hands across her dress. She looks like she’s going to be sick.

  “Everything okay in here?” She’s gnawing on her lower lip, and my stomach drops. Did the doctor call with news on Maman? Every uncertain moment freaks me out these days.

  “I don’t know. I’m so nervous, I don’t even know how to be normal around him,” she answers. “I’m afraid I’m going to sound like a dork.”

  It takes a minute for her response to register, then I begin to laugh. Niloo has always been the cool one, so it’s shocking, and rather amusing, to see her so uncertain. I make my way over to her and kiss her on the cheek, giving her a little squeeze.

  “Be yourself. You’re amazing.” I grab the glass of water from her hand and make my way back to Anthony.

  “Thanks,” he answers, when I hand it over.

  His fingers brush against mine and unbidden images of his naked body flash through my head, sending heat rising in places it shouldn’t. I’ve missed the way he feels so much that I find myself leaning in to kiss him without thinking. I forget that Maman is in the house until I hear her clear her throat from behind me. I freeze like I’ve been caught breaking some unspoken rule.

  She doesn’t say anything, just glares at me. Poor Anthony seems confused as he looks between us. As ridiculous as it seems, I suddenly don’t feel like the grown woman of twenty-nine that I am, but rather a teenager of fourteen. I’m slammed with a wave of embarrassment despite knowing kissing a man is completely acceptable for me to do. Nonetheless, I jump to my feet like I’m guilty of a crime.

  “Maman, this is Anthony,” I say, trying to sound more confident than Maman’s dirty look is making possible. “He’s the lead singer of Ternura.”

  “I know who he is,” she answers.

  Anthony stands. “Hello, Ms. Zameeni, it’s so nice to finally meet you.” He steps up to Maman with an outstretched hand.

  I hold my breath, afraid she’ll outright refuse him, but she doesn’t. Instead, she shakes his hand with a look of irritation on her face. Like he’s intruding on her day. He maintains his poise, acting as if he doesn’t notice. Then she turns and heads toward the kitchen, mumbling under her breath. I don’t catch what she’s saying but I’m pretty sure I wouldn’t love it if I did. I give Anthony an apologetic shrug. He nods, easing into the flow of my mother’s disdain like a champ.

  “I got this,” he says, stepping up beside me and throwing his arm around my shoulders as we follow Maman. I want to shrug him away, because the physical contact will only poke the beast further. Maman losing her shit would be terrible on multiple levels. And with the current status, my Iranian daughter guilt is in overdrive, my need to please her clawing at my throat. But I don’t react, knowing that if I try to step out of Anthony’s embrace, I’ll hurt him, making everything worse.

  Niloo squeezes my hand as she passes me into the kitchen, showing me the support I so desperately need.

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Anthony

  “So, Anthony,” Niloo says, once we’re all around the kitchen island. “Tell me about your brother. Like, is he single?”

  “Niloo,” her mother warns.

  “What? It’s an honest question.” She throws her mom an innocent look, but I can
see her defiant nature. I try not to laugh.

  “Actually, I’m not sure.” It’s not a total lie but not really the truth, either. After finding out about Mike, I don’t know what to say.

  “You don’t know? But aren’t you guys close?” Niloo pushes. Her persistence reminds me a lot of Carlos.

  “They are,” Darya jumps in. “But he’s not Carlos’s keeper. And that one is all over the place.” She waves her hand, dismissing her sister’s question.

  “Makes sense.” Niloo shrugs. “He’s a wild one.”

  I nod my thanks and Darya squeezes my fingers. Despite her effort to hide it, her mom notices. She’s watching us like we’re on trial, and it’s making me uncomfortable. I smile when I catch her gaze, but the scowl on her face gets worse. I exhale; I have my work cut out for me.

  “Food is ready,” she announces. Darya and Niloo leap into motion.

  “Ghormeh sabzi.” Niloo holds out a large bowl filled with something green.

  “What is that?” I ask. Darya’s mom shakes her head at my lack of familiarity with Iranian cuisine and I frown. Was I supposed to do research?

  Niloo ignores her. “It’s a popular Iranian stew. It’s made with cilantro and parsley and a bunch of other stuff. There’s meat and kidney beans in there, too. We eat it on top of white rice.” She waves the dish in front of my face.

  “Smells delicious.” Even if it tastes bad, I’m going to finish every last bite. I may not know much, but rejecting a woman’s cooking the first time you meet her is bad in all cultures.

  I wink at Darya as I grab the dish of white rice she’s holding and follow Niloo to the table. Some of the rice is yellow, spread across the top in a zigzag pattern.

  “That’s saffron,” Niloo explains. “It’s a big spice in our culture.”

  “Oh, I think my mom cooks with that, too.”

  Even if this food is completely different from what I’m used to, there are things my culture has in common with Darya’s, and the connection makes me feel less out of my depth.

  I place the platter down on the table, making my way back into the kitchen to grab another. Darya told me her father never helped around the house, that traditional Iranian men sat while the women in the family served them. I’m no stranger to the machista attitude.