Set to Music

by Negeen Papehn

  “Look, Anthony,” I say, pulling my hand away from his. “This isn’t going to work and it’s better we go our separate ways now. You have this tour to finish and the next one in Europe, and I have responsibilities back home. My mom’s sick, and I need to focus on her wishes right now.”

  “Her wishes? You’re going to throw us away because your mom doesn’t think I’m right for you?” His tone is hard and unyielding.

  I’m losing him right before my eyes, and the fear and loyalty to my family paralyzes me, making it impossible to stop this conversation I’ve set in motion.

  “Partly. She’s dying, Anthony. It’s already hard enough for her. I have to make sure that the little time she has left is peaceful.” The scowl he wears momentarily softens. “More than that, Niloo needs me. She’s a mess and Maman hasn’t even died yet. When she does…” I pause, clearing my throat past the knot permanently stuck there, “my sister is going to be wrecked. I need to be there for her. Surely you can understand that.”

  “I understand your need to take care of Niloo. I would never expect anything different. But what I don’t get is why that means we can’t be together.”

  For one brief moment, I allow the hope he’s expressing to wash over me, to rid me of this nagging ache. But I know it’s so much more complicated than what we want.

  “I really can’t see a way we’d make this happen. I won’t leave my job and follow you around on tour. Getting this time off was hard enough. I’m lucky they took pity on my mom’s situation and didn’t fire me. But with all this press, they aren’t going to be patient much longer. I need to get back to work before they decide they don’t need me to come back at all.” His beautiful smile is nowhere to be found, hidden behind a deep frown. “Are you willing to give up your career for me?” I ask. “The one you worked so hard for? What about Carlos?”

  When he doesn’t answer, I shake my head. “See? Neither of us has the luxury to walk away from our lives. We might as well be done with it now. It’ll get only harder to leave each other the longer we let this go on.”

  He stands abruptly and the breath catches in my throat, knowing the end is near.

  “Well, it feels pretty hard to me already.” He doesn’t look back at me as he heads to the door, walking through it without hesitation. As it slams behind him I gasp, the pain so intense it feels like my lungs may burst. I want to bolt into the hallway and stop him, throw my arms around his neck, kiss him hard and tell him I love him. But I can’t do that. I have Maman to get back to, and a life that has no room for him.

  This thing between Anthony and me isn’t real. It’s a dream, one I was lucky enough to live for a few moments in this life. But reality is a bitch, and I can no longer ignore her. And despite how amazing loving him has felt, it’s time to move on. At least that’s what I keep repeating to myself as the tears blur my vision.

  Two hours later, I’m ready to go. I’ve said my goodbyes, cried my tears, and now it’s time to get myself together and move on. I’m surprised when I step out of my room to find Tom in the hallway.

  “Oh, hi.” I almost stumble into him. He doesn’t seem to notice, giving me a nod as he takes my bags. Why do I need a bodyguard?

  My question is answered as soon as we reach the hotel doors. A mob of paparazzi awaits us on the other side. My heart begins to race as I look around, expecting to see Anthony somewhere in the vicinity. But he’s nowhere to be found. Confused, I look up at Tom. “Are they here for me?”

  He gives me a sympathetic shrug.

  The black SUV pulls up to the entrance and he throws his arm around my shoulders as he leads me to the car. Lights flash in my face, and photographers invade my personal space. I shield my eyes and try to hide beneath Tom’s big body, hoping to be unrecognizable in the pictures I know will be showing up on the internet shortly. I don’t let myself think about what they’ll make of my puffy, red face. The thought of the lies they’ll spin makes my stomach roil. I may love Anthony, but I hate this part of his famous life.

  …

  I’m relieved when I walked through LAX without anyone to document my arrival. I almost expected more photographers to be waiting for me after they stalked me through JFK. I’ve spent the last six hours questioning all my decisions and exhausting myself with worry; there’s no way I would make it through another mob of paparazzi. Even now, all I want to do is find a corner and have a good cry. But I push myself forward, grabbing an Uber and heading to the hospital. There’s no room for breakdowns tonight.

  By the time I get there, I’ve managed to piece myself together again. I’m pretty confident that I’ve hidden any traces of my recent heartbreak, but Niloo frowns the moment I walk into Maman’s room.

  “You don’t look good,” she says.

  “Jeez, well it’s nice to see you, too,” I reply. “How’s Maman?”

  “She’s been asleep since they gave her the last round of antibiotics. Trina said they want to keep her overnight so they’re going to move her to a private room upstairs.” Niloo appears as haggard as I feel. “Why don’t you go home and take a shower? Maybe even a nap.”

  “No, I don’t want to.” She’s staring at me like she’s about start a round of questioning. I’m in no mood for her interrogation, or ready to tell her about Anthony. “But I do need some coffee and to stretch my legs after that flight. Want some?”

  “Sure,” she answers. I get the hell out of there before she has a chance to say anything else.

  Images of Anthony flood my thoughts as I head to the cafeteria. I can see his face clearly as he stood back while I cried in Mike’s arms, and when Carlos held me close, kissing my forehead. His expression was filled with an undeniable sadness as Hugo and Mateo joked with me one last time. And when I passed him on my way back to my room to grab my stuff, he pulled me in to his chest and whispered, “Take care of yourself, Darya.” He held me for only a few seconds, letting go and walking away as if my touch were too painful. The sound of his voice and the familiarity of his scent still haunt me, all these hours later.

  I step into the cafeteria, completely lost in my thoughts. I don’t notice Trina until she’s blocking my way. As soon as she sees my face, she takes my hand and leads me over to a table.

  “What happened?”

  “I can’t talk about it. I don’t want to cry.”

  “That bad?”

  “Worse,” I admit. “We broke up.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry honey.” She squeezes my hand.

  Panic rises as bile in my throat. “What if I made a horrible mistake?”

  “Do you think you’ve made a mistake?”

  “I don’t know,” I groan. “But I’d hate me if I were him.”

  “I doubt he hates you.” She shakes her head like there’s no way he could.

  “Well, he should,” I insist. “You didn’t see his face. I completely shattered him.”

  “Give it some time, love. There’s so much going on and Anthony can see that. He’s a good guy, I’m sure he understands.”

  I nod my head, the knot lodged in my throat making it tough to speak. “How am I supposed to walk away like this?”

  “I don’t know,” she admits. “But you have to focus on one thing at a time or you’ll break. Right now, your mom needs you. Be there for your family. And then later, if you still feel the same about him, we can figure out what to do.”

  “It’ll be too late.” This time a tear escapes, rolling down my cheek.

  “If it is, then it wasn’t meant to be.” Her expression softens with empathy, feeling every inch of my heartbreak. That’s what makes her my best friend, her uncanny ability to be right in the moment with me.

  I wipe my face and exhale, putting on a smile. “Enough of that. I have to get back to Maman’s room with some coffee for my sister. Walk with me so you can give me an update?”

  I grab two large cups of coffee and s
lowly make my way back to the ER with Trina beside me.

  “A room upstairs should be ready for her in the next half hour,” she says. “She seems to be responding to the meds so she’ll most likely be released in the morning.”

  “Good.”

  “She’s really stopping treatment?” Trina’s forehead is wrinkled with deep grooves.

  “Yeah. I can’t force her to do anything. You know how stubborn she is.” Trina gives me a sad chuckle. “Honestly, if I put my doctor hat on, the chemo isn’t working. The cancer is getting worse. And no matter how badly I don’t want to admit it, she isn’t getting any better.”

  “How’s Niloo doing? She doesn’t look so great.”

  “She’s falling apart.” I shrug, not having the words to explain how Niloo’s feelings are killing me.

  “I’m here,” she says as we stop in front of Maman’s room.

  “Thanks.” I hug her and head in. Niloo is gone, but Maman’s awake and sitting up. “Hi, Maman. How are you feeling?”

  “I’m okay, dokhtaram. How are you?”

  “I’m tired, but I’m okay.” I make it no farther than two feet before she’s alerted to my distress.

  “What’s wrong?” She misses nothing, even when she’s loopy on medication.

  I think about lying but know she’ll see right through me. “I broke things off with Anthony.”

  I brace myself for her reaction, knowing from previous experience it won’t be what I want to hear. But before she has a chance to respond, a commotion comes from the hallway.

  “What the hell?” I mumble. “I’ll be right back, Maman.”

  “I’m going to ask you to leave one last time before I call security.” Trina’s speaking in her “I’m the boss” tone. Niloo’s with her and she’s wedged between my sister and a man I don’t recognize. One with a camera strapped to his neck.

  “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.” I head straight for them. “What the hell is going on?” When the man sees me, his eyes light up with recognition.

  “Dr. Zameeni, I was wondering if I could get a statement about your relationship with the lead singer of Ternura.”

  My ears burn with irritation and my face flushes with embarrassment. The entire ER is staring at me. People I work with every day are watching this guy invade my life without any apology. I take a step forward, not entirely sure what I plan on doing, but knowing I’d love to smack him across the face. Trina’s hand shoots out and stops me beside her.

  “Don’t answer him,” she demands. Two of our security guards are already heading toward us. “You need to leave,” she says to the man.

  The reporter, or paparazzo, I have no idea anymore who does what at this point, throws his hands up in the air in an act of surrender. “No need to get your panties in a bunch. I’m going.” He nods at the security guards as he heads to the exit. I can’t see far enough to figure out if there are more waiting outside.

  “I don’t know how he got in here,” Trina says.

  “They’re cockroaches, that’s how.”

  “Holy shit. You’re famous.” Niloo has a smile stretched across her face.

  “Are you serious right now? This is exciting to you?”

  “It’s not to you?”

  “No! I barely left New York and they already know that we broke up. This is anything but exciting.”

  “You broke up?” Niloo’s face tightens and I roll my eyes. I’m too tired to deal with her disappointment over my failed love life. But she brushes it off and grabs her phone, searching my name.

  To my horror, articles are already popping up with speculation of our breakup. They actually have information about what happened a few hours ago at the hotel, and I’m baffled as to how they got their hands on it so quickly.

  “Go back inside and be with your mom,” Trina insists. “I’ll make sure no one else gets in.”

  Niloo heads in but I’m stopped short when Wendy approaches me. She looks anything but happy, and Trina and I exchange worried glances before Trina makes her way to the nurse’s station to continue her evening shift. Wendy looks over my shoulder in the direction the photographer just escaped. I brace myself, readying for the inevitable outcome. But instead of telling me I’m fired, she glances into Maman’s room.

  “How’s she doing?”

  “Not great,” I answer. “She’s decided she doesn’t want any more treatment.”

  Wendy’s eyes lose their irritation and soften. “I remember when my dad decided the same thing. It isn’t easy for anyone.”

  I open and close my mouth, but the words don’t come. I had no clue she’d walked in my shoes, but suddenly, her support and willingness to compromise with me makes more sense.

  She reaches out and squeezes my arm. “I understand why you had to go on the tour, but this thing”—she nods toward the double doors—“it can’t happen in the hospital.”

  “I know. I’m so sorry, Wendy. I don’t even know what to say.” I rub my hands down my face, overwhelmed with everything. Then I take a deep breath and gather myself together. “I won’t be going back on tour. I’ve decided being home with my family is more important. I just need a few days to get my mom settled, and if it’s still okay, I’d like to start getting scheduled in.”

  She stares at me, speechless.

  “I just…I can’t be home waiting.” My voice is hoarse with unwanted emotions.

  “Okay.” She nods, giving me a grim smile. Then she heads down the hall to her office.

  Maman is still sitting up in her bed when I enter. “Is Trina okay? What happened?”

  I have no idea how much she’s heard, but I’m going to hope she has no clue that there was a reporter here or that my boss just showed up. I feed her a story about an unauthorized visitor trying to make it to one of the rooms and she seems to buy it. Then Niloo grabs the coffee I brought her and plops into one of the chairs with newfound energy.

  “Mmmm, I needed this.”

  I take the empty seat beside her and lean back as my sister launches into her normal antics, talking our ears off as she shares every single thought that crosses her mind. She fills the silence with her interests, and I’m thankful yet again for my sister’s ability to take over a room. She doesn’t mention what just happened, knowing it will rile Maman.

  I gladly disappear into the background, having zero energy to deal with any more surprises tonight, and equally as little energy to hear Maman’s opinion on my breakup with Anthony. Not tonight, anyway.

  …

  “So how many are outside?”

  “I’d say there’s a good fifteen of them waiting at the main entrance.”

  “Okay, so let’s take her through the ER,” I suggest.

  “There’s another ten of them waiting there.” Trina frowns as I huff with frustration. “What do you want to do?”

  “What can I do?” I ask. “There’s no other way to get to the car.”

  “Maman is ready. We finished signing the last of the release papers.” Niloo comes up beside us. “She’s getting antsy. She wants to go home.”

  “Ugh,” I groan. “This is going to be a nightmare.”

  “It’ll be okay.” Niloo puts her arm around my shoulders as we both stare at the crowd formed outside, waiting for me.

  “I still can’t believe they’re following me around. There’s got to be a better story. Where is the reality star gone wild when you need one?”

  “Pretty sure no reality TV star is going to trump the girl who dumped the most eligible, sought-after bachelor in the country.” Niloo grins.

  “You’re not helping,” I say. When she giggles, I add, “And you’re definitely enjoying this entirely too much.”

  “The price you pay, sister, for loving the rich and famous.”

  I glare at her.

  “Oh, lighten up. It’s going to be
fine. I’ll go get the car and pull up to the front. Trina will help you get Maman in as fast as possible.”

  The thought of Maman swarmed by photographers makes me sick to my stomach. “I’m never going to hear the end of this.”

  “Probably not. But it’ll be okay, I promise.” Niloo kisses my cheek and heads out the door. The paparazzi don’t notice her as a group of five leaves at the same time. She manages to hide behind them. I breathe a sigh of relief. One photo op averted.

  “Thanks for being here on your day off,” I say, staring at the mob awaiting us.

  “Nowhere else I’d be,” Trina answers.

  Ten minutes later, Trina and Maman are discussing the best place to get a pedicure when Niloo sends me a text saying she’s waiting at the exit.

  “Niloo’s downstairs,” I announce.

  Trina and I exchange glances and I help Maman into the wheelchair. Thank goodness Trina is there to distract her, because I can barely remind myself to breathe on the elevator ride downstairs.

  Maman doesn’t notice the crowd at first, but once we get closer, her face twists in confusion.

  “What’s going on? Key eenjast?”

  I almost answer with “I’m the one who’s here. They’re here for me.” But instead, I hang on to the hope that maybe it really won’t be that bad. Is it possible they don’t recognize me? Or maybe there really is another famous person here? Fat chance, but a girl can pray.

  The sliding doors glide open and the flashes blind us immediately. It takes a minute for Maman to realize they’re actually after her eldest.

  “Darya, when did you and Anthony break up?” one yells.

  “Did he cheat on you?” another calls.

  “Will you give us an exclusive? Beat him to the punch?” a third asks.

  I push Maman to the car as fast as I can. She doesn’t say a word, but the way she’s staring at everyone around me, I almost think she might chuck one of her shoes at them in good, scary, Iranian-mother fashion.

  “Leave her alone!” she yells in her heavy accented English. “My daughter is a doctor, not a star.”

  “Ignore them, Maman,” I plead as I ease her into the front seat. I may be new to fame, but I know enough to realize anything we say will somehow be altered to fit their purpose.