Anthony is still pacing the waiting room floor when I head back out to meet him. His bodyguards have multiplied, all six of them “securing the perimeter,” or whatever they call it as they isolate him in his own space on one side of the room. They’re like superheroes, always showing up out of nowhere. Not that there’s any point.
I can see a crowd of paparazzi already forming outside the ER doors, and resentment rattles in my chest. I hate them for invading our privacy. Maman is going to be so angry when her picture shows up across the internet. I can see the headlines now: Anthony Castillo, knight in shining armor, rushes his girlfriend’s mother to the hospital. By tomorrow morning, they will have figured out Maman is dying from cancer. I glare at them, clueless and unapologetic as they chat among themselves, realizing I can’t do this. I can’t let them ruin the last few months Maman has with their unwelcomed impositions.
Anthony leaps toward me, his face a crumpled mess of anxiety and concern. “How is she?”
“She’s okay. She’s dehydrated, which can happen from the chemo. We’re still waiting for her oncologist to come.” I choke on my words; a large knot lodges in my throat at the thought of the dire news she will give.
I’m tired, azizam. I don’t want to feel this bad anymore. Maman’s words ring in my ear, making it difficult to think behind the rapid beating of my heart. She’s refusing treatment, which means she’s waiting to die. My eyes fill with tears and I lose control of the sob threatening to burst from my lips. Anthony wraps me in his arms, and I let myself cry against his chest.
“The tumors have spread,” I choke out. “She doesn’t want any more treatment.” He holds me tighter, running his hand softly up and down my back. “She’s going to die,” I say, looking up at the blurry image of him. “My mom’s going to die.”
I come undone for the first time in months. I shatter into a million pieces beneath his embrace, crying as the core of me is lost to the cancer demon.
This isn’t fair. She doesn’t deserve this. Please God, please don’t let this be it.
“I’m so sorry, cariño.” He whispers to me as he holds me close. I can feel his heart beating against my cheek but I can’t find the comfort in it. There’s no place for soothing thoughts and perfect moments any longer. And I can’t be here, letting this man make me feel better. Not while my mother is dying in a hospital bed. Maybe she isn’t dying today, but each minute that passes is one fewer moment she’ll spend on this earth. And I can’t let her last image of me be that of disappointment. I won’t let her leave her body, worrying that Anthony will hurt me. I refuse to break her heart before she goes.
“Darya?” I hear Niloo’s tiny, broken voice from behind me.
I pull away from Anthony abruptly and his hands fall to his sides as I quickly wipe away my tears. He stares at me in confusion, but he’s not my concern at the moment. Niloo is. And right now, she’s terrified, sad, and all I want to do is save her. But I can’t.
I can feel the anger boiling inside me, furious at fate for dealing us such a bad hand, at Maman for giving up and leaving us with this unbelievable choice we have no control over, and at Anthony, for making me fall in love with him. Maman is right. His unrealistic schedule, my career, and now her impending death leave little room to get swept up in a relationship. Especially one that will be front page news no matter what we do.
I’m a doctor. My patients will lose faith in me if they’re constantly faced with rumors and gossip about my life. How will they take me seriously? I can already see the people in the waiting room whispering and searching their phones right now.
This isn’t going to work.
“The oncologist is here,” Niloo says. My heart sinks, but I don’t let her see it.
“I have to get back to her.”
“Okay,” Anthony answers. “I’ll be here if you need me.”
I stare at him for a second longer, taking in the perfect curve of his soft, plump lips, remembering the way they felt on mine. I memorize the chisel of his jawline and the way my tongue ran across it, causing him to moan with pleasure. I hold on to the feel of his strong, thick, arms, adorned with images of his past and present, wrapped around my body, pulling me in to him. I imprint those pictures into my memory for safekeeping.
“You should go. I’ll probably be here for a while.”
I leave before he can reply, not allowing him to protest. The weight of his gaze buries me under the linoleum floor, but I keep moving, telling myself there’s no other way. I have no time to fret over heartache and casualties. The biggest loss is looming on the horizon, and I’ll need all the focus and strength I can find to keep from disappearing into oblivion.
…
“What time is it?” Maman whispers.
I look at the clock on the wall. I can barely see the image of the hands, my eyelids so swollen from crying. “It’s three thirty.”
Niloo passed out hours ago, curled up in one of the armchairs beneath a thin hospital blanket Trina dropped off earlier. I gaze at her longingly, envious of her ability to find peace in the chaos. Maman tries to sit up but falls into another coughing fit, attempting to muffle the sound with her hands. Niloo stirs, moaning softly in her sleep, then settles back down. I rub Maman’s back until the coughing subsides.
“You girls should go home.”
“We’re fine.” The anger seeps into my tone despite my best efforts to hide it. Maman manages to pull herself up until she’s facing me. Her pale features stand out against the muted blue walls. All that’s left of her thick, coarse, Iranian hair are wisps of the curls she once wore.
“I’m sorry,” she says. When I don’t reply, she continues. “I know you’re angry, dokhtaram, but it’s going to be all right.”
“How can you say that? How can you tell me it’s going to be okay when you know it won’t be?”
“It will. You’re strong, smart, and amazing. You’ll figure out how to keep going, even after this is all over.”
“You mean after you die.”
A sad smile finds her lips. “Beeyah nazdeektar.” She motions me closer with her hand. I scoot in until she can reach out and hold mine. “Eshgham, don’t be angry. Ghesmateh. This is my destiny. Have faith in yourself and your sister. Everything happens for a reason, even if we can’t see it at the moment. I’ve lived a good life. I’ve been blessed with two beautiful daughters. I’ve had my share of tough times, but I wouldn’t change a thing, because it led me to the two of you.”
Tears run down my cheeks again, and I shudder beneath the breaking of my heart. “I don’t want to lose you. Please, Maman, please don’t give up.”
“I’m not giving up. I’m just choosing to enjoy the last bits of my life with the two of you. I don’t want to be here, in this hospital bed, feeling like I’m not myself.” She runs her hand across my face, wiping away the new trail of tears. “I love you so very much. You know that, right?” I nod, unable to find the words. “Promise me something.”
“Anything.”
“When life gets hard and you think you’re alone, remember I’m with you. Just close your eyes and tell me everything that’s in your heart. And listen closely. I may not be able to speak to you in words, but I’ll answer you. I promise.”
“How will I know it’s you?” I ask in desperation.
“You’ll know.”
I break down into long, torturous sobs, burying my face in my hands. Maman runs her fingers delicately along the back of my head, murmuring soothing words. In that moment, I know there’s no way I’m surviving this. When Maman leaves, she’s going to take all the best parts of me with her.
I hear a rustle and know Niloo is awake. Maman motions to her but she doesn’t come.
“I’ll be right back,” she says, her tone manufactured to sound brighter. “I’m going to go get some water.” She grabs Maman’s water pitcher and heads out the door like there’s a fire un
der her feet.
“Go after her, azizam. She’s not doing well. She thinks I can’t see it but I’m her mother. She needs you right now.”
I wipe my face and pat my eyelids with the back of my hands. Then I give my mom a smile, despite how badly my heart is aching, and follow my sister into the hall. I find her on the floor, against the wall, hyperventilating.
“I…can’t…breathe.” She’s crying and gasping at the same time. “I…can’t…do…this.”
“Just breathe,” I say, sitting down beside her. I face her, putting one of her hands on my chest. “Follow me.” I take slow, deep breaths and she mimics them, slowly calming down. But despite her breathing returning to normal, she still wears the hysterical look in her eyes.
“Darya, I can’t do this. I can’t watch Maman die.”
“I know.”
“What do we do?” Her breath picks up its pace again.
I grab her hand and squeeze, hoping it steadies her. “What can we do? If she’s refusing treatment, then there’s not much else.” I suppress the tears that are threatening to undo me again, focusing on Niloo instead. I need to think about her, not myself. I’m the older sister—it’s my job to be there for her right now. “I thought you were on board with her decision.”
“On board?” She gives a bitter laugh. “I’m not on board with any of this shit. I want Maman to be healthy and for this to have been a horrible nightmare.”
“Me too.”
“If we ask her to keep going, she will, Darya. But she needs us to agree with her so she doesn’t feel guilty about her decision. That’s the only reason I’m not putting up a fight. I can’t make her life any harder. I don’t want her to feel like she’s doing something bad to us by wanting the torture to stop.” Niloo begins crying again. I pull her into my arms. “I’m not going to make it through this.”
“Yes you are,” I insist. I stroke her hair. “We’ll get through this together. I promise you’re going to be okay. I’m going to make sure of it.”
As my sister cries in my arms, I realize that she needs me to be her rock. Now more than ever. Despite how badly I wish I hadn’t sent Anthony away, how desperately I want him to hold me close and be my strength, I know that I made the right choice.
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Darya
“Hey, pretty doctor lady,” Carlos approaches me as I’m walking Steve through the medical equipment set up backstage and all the records I have on Carlos so far. He’ll be replacing me for the remainder of the tour.
I can see the New York skyscrapers touch the clouds from a skylight above us and I sigh. I was looking forward to this stop. It would have been amazing to spend a few days exploring the city with Anthony. But now I’ll never get that chance.
“Hi,” I answer, a small, sad smile finding my lips. He tilts his head to the side and meets it with one of his own.
“Don’t worry. It’s all going to be all right.”
I pinch back the tears that have been springing to my eyes the past few days.
“Come here.” Carlos reaches out and pulls me in for a hug.
I have to look up into the bright lights of the amphitheater to keep from falling apart.
At this point, I have no idea what I’d be crying over. My dying mother, leaving Carlos’s health in the hands of a guy I barely know, or the large chasm that’s opened between Anthony and me since he left the hospital a week ago. My feelings twist and turn into a noose around my neck.
“Let me know if you need anything, okay?” He squeezes me tighter. “You have my number. Use it.”
“I will. I’m going to actually miss you,” I admit.
“I knew you’d fall in love with me.”
I can’t help the laugh he startles out of me. “Maybe I have.”
He gives me his best award-winning Carlos smile before he jogs up the steps to start the sound check with the band. Anthony is standing in the middle of the stage, messing with his microphone. Even from this distance, I can see the flare of his nostrils and the flush of irritation claiming his skin. My heart clenches tighter, and I wonder if it’s possible that it may stop beating altogether. I kind of wish it would, and put me out of my misery.
Stuck between the doubt Maman has implanted in my head, my sister’s struggle to deal with everything going on, and the way I feel about Anthony, I’m buried beneath an impossible weight. I know I have to officially end things with him, because how can I think about myself in this already intolerable situation? Maman and Niloo need me. And like Anthony said months ago, family is everything.
Suddenly the music begins. A slow, haunting melody spills out of the speakers, filling the space around us with its melancholy and despair. It vibrates against the walls of the amphitheater, in time with the shuddering of my heart. Anthony’s voice pours over it, adorning each note with his musical precision.
La oscuridad de la noche
Se parece a mi corazón
Está frío y maltratado en la ausencia de tu amor
Necesito el amor que antes tenía la pasión
Que calienta como los rayos del sol
With each painstaking word that leaves his lips, a crushing pain consumes my chest. I understand only a fraction of what he’s saying, but the more Anthony sings, the more I realize I don’t need to. I can sense his sadness in the vibrato of his voice and the sorrowful intonation of his lyrics. I can feel his heartache quavering through the floor, running along every inch of my soul. I come undone, backstage, with Steve staring at me dumbfounded and slightly afraid.
The tears roll down my cheeks as Mike appears out of thin air, wrapping his arm around my shoulders, while we both watch this beautiful man pour his heart into the song leaving his lips. There’s a hush across the crew, everyone mesmerized by the music. And when it’s over, and Anthony locks his gaze on mine, I don’t need to hear him say he loves me, because I already know.
I pull away from Mike and run offstage, trying to escape the apprehension rushing through my veins and the fear pounding in my ears. I don’t stop until I’m nestled safely in my hotel room. The sight of my suitcase laid open on the bed, my belongings neatly folded and packed, arranged like a perfect game of Tetris, causes the air to rush in and out of my lungs at an unnatural pace.
I make my way into the bathroom and splash cold water on my face. As I look at my sunken eyes and purple-tinged skin, I wonder how I got here. How did my life become this jumbled mess of unwanted feelings and unwelcome decisions? How did I end up with a dying mother? And why does that equate to losing the first man I’ve ever loved? Don’t I deserve to be happy?
But images of Maman, with her frail body and almost bald head, come to mind, and the pain stabs me so sharply, I fold over with its force. I know what’s coming. Even if I didn’t end things with Anthony, deciding to put my needs and desires before anyone else’s feels wrong. And what if Maman is right? What if in the end he does hurt me? Could I deal with a broken heart on top of everything else? I don’t think I could. I wouldn’t make it. Not taking the risk is the only way to ensure I may actually survive this horrible nightmare I’m living. I have to protect my heart.
Suddenly there’s a knock at the door. One I was expecting but still lodges the emotions tightly in my throat. I swing it open, dreading the conversation I know is coming. Anthony’s onyx eyes are clouded over with sadness, and it makes me shudder. His brows are wrinkled, and his jaw’s working relentlessly.
When I step aside so he can come in, his movements are slow and cautious, his gaze flitting around the room as if he’s searching for a threat. I realize I’m the danger he’s trying to avoid. He runs a jerky hand through his hair then sits on the corner of the bed, hands clenched in his lap, waiting for the blow.
I can hardly breathe when I make my way over and sit across from him.
“How’s your mom?” His voice is hoarse and strained.
“The pneumonia has gotten worse. Niloo took her back to the hospital this morning. Trina is keeping me updated.”
“Did Emmanuel get everything in order for you?” His face carries his concern.
“Yes. He’s been great.”
He gives me a tight nod.
“Anthony, we need to talk.” I force the words through my lips, knowing I need to get this over with but dreading it all the same.
“I’m here, aren’t I?” He sounds deflated and rejected.
My whole body aches with the words I have to say. “I’m sorry.”
“For what?”
“For everything. This isn’t what I intended.”
“Really? What did you want to happen?”
“I wanted things to work.”
He leans forward in his chair, his clenched fists hanging off his knees. “It still can.”
The glimmer of hope nestled in his expression breaks my heart. I want so badly to believe him, but the more I go over our situation, the more I realize there’s no outcome in which this relationship doesn’t crash and burn for one reason or another. So why not cut our losses now, before it’s too late? The pain we’ll feel will only deepen the longer we allow ourselves to be lost in the fairy tale idea of true love and forever.
“No, it can’t. Our lives are too different. There’s no way to make this work between us.” I avoid meeting his gaze, afraid of what his expression will make me feel.
“We can figure it out.” He reaches out and grabs my hand. The heat of his palm begins to thaw away the worries consuming me, and I wish I could get lost in the idea of us.
Set to Music Page 21