Set to Music

by Negeen Papehn

  She’s shooing them away in a protective manner, despite how futile it is. I buckle her in and slide into the backseat as Trina uses her body to block the two paparazzi trying to stick their cameras into Niloo’s car. My sister is speeding away before I’ve even shut my door.

  Once we’re a few blocks down, I lean my head back and exhale. But the moment of peace is interrupted by Maman’s harsh tone.

  “Deedee beht ghoftam? He isn’t right for you. You have people stalking you now.” She shakes her head in disappointment, making the already heavy boulder in the pit of my stomach drop further. I really don’t want to hear her say she told me so, but I should have known she couldn’t resist. She may be sick, but some things never change.

  “I know, Maman. I told you already. We broke up.”

  She thinks she understands what my relationship is all about but she really has no clue. I don’t bother arguing with her, having learned a long time ago that I’d never win. Maman isn’t one to admit she’s wrong, so better to not get into it with her at all.

  “It’s for the best, azizam. You don’t need that kind of chaos in your life.” She softens her tone when I don’t put up a fight.

  Is it for the best? To my mother, the chaos of photographers and the press watching my every move is enough to prove that this relationship isn’t worth it. But she doesn’t know Anthony like I do. And despite how much I hate the invasion, I’m not so sure she’s right. To me, he feels worth more than the sacrifice.

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Anthony

  “Why don’t you just call her?” Carlos asks.

  “What would be the point? She’s made it clear we’re over.”

  “Bro, her mom is dying. That’s some serious shit to deal with.” Mateo looks at me like I’ve completely missed the point. “Right now she doesn’t know what she wants.”

  He’s not wrong. Darya’s an emotional mess. With good reason. But I’m too busy trying to figure out how to deal with my own pain. I have no idea how to help her with hers.

  I’m twirling the scotch slowly between my fingers, looking at the amber color splash across the glass. I’ve been nursing it for the past hour, not even in the mood to drink myself into oblivion. Don’t know why—anything is better than sitting here getting lectured by my brother and Mateo on relationships. Taking advice from either of them is just sad.

  I can’t even remember the last time Mateo was with the same girl for more than two nights. And Carlos…well, I guess he’s in a relationship. One he’s keeping a secret.

  “You guys are meant to be together,” Carlos tries again.

  I snort. “If that were true, wouldn’t we actually be together?”

  “Nothing comes easily.”

  “You sound like Mom.”

  “Well, that woman is very wise,” he teases.

  “Just call her,” Mateo insists. “What can it hurt?”

  “I don’t know if I can listen to her say this is over again. It may just kill me.”

  “I’m sorry man. That—” He cuts off, looking over my shoulder.

  I look up to find the reason for his distraction. A group of five women sitting near us are staring in our direction. Mateo morphs into the player that he is, his worry replaced by his impeccable game. I roll my eyes. So much for staying incognito.

  “You know what they say, the best way to get over someone is to get under another.” He smirks.

  “Thanks, but I’m good,” I answer.

  “Carlos?”

  “Nah, man, I’m cool. Going to hang out with my brother tonight.”

  “Fine. More for me.” He pats me on the back and takes off toward their table.

  “He’s such a dog.” I take a sip of my scotch.

  “That he is.” Carlos is watching Mateo and it doesn’t take much to imagine the scene behind me.

  “Talk to her,” Carlos urges again.

  “Maybe,” I answer. I shift in my seat until Carlos and I are face-to-face. “I’ve been meaning to talk to you about something.”

  “What’s up?” Carlos motions to the bartender that he needs another beer.

  “I’m not sure how to do this, exactly.”

  “Do what?” His back becomes stiff. “Is something wrong with Mom?”

  “Cálmate, hermanito. Everything is fine.” The last thing I need is for him to pass out. I literally can’t deal with that right now.

  “Crap, you scared the shit out of me.” He grins, taking a sip of his drink. I watch him, wondering when he went from telling me everything to thinking he couldn’t.

  “Carlos, do you trust me?”

  “Of course I do.”

  “And you know you could tell me anything, right?”

  He nods, clearing his throat. “What’s going on, Anthony?”

  I take a deep breath. I’m not sure if I’m going to do this right or if I’m going to fuck it all up. But I need him to know that I only want him to be happy.

  “A few weeks ago, I saw Mike leaving your room.”

  Carlos goes rigid, his lips pressing into a hard line.

  “I was heading down to get some stuff from the café,” I continue. “It was really early in the morning. I didn’t mean to eavesdrop, but I heard you guys arguing.”

  “Anthony, I—” He stops without finishing his sentence. I can see he’s unsure, and my heart clenches.

  “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “I don’t know,” he answers. His gaze drops to the floor.

  “Did you think I wouldn’t be supportive?”

  “No,” he answers. He exhales loudly and leans back on his stool. His fingers are clasped so tightly around his drink, I can see the whites of his knuckles. “I mean, I hoped you’d be supportive, but I really didn’t know what you’d think.” He pauses, his face pulling tight as if he were in pain. “I’ve just spent so long being one person that I didn’t know how to tell everyone I was someone else.”

  “You could have told me.”

  “I know I should have, but…” The unspoken words hang in the air between us.

  “You could have.” I look him in the eyes and repeat myself, making sure he understands that I love him, always.

  His face shifts. “I know that—now. Besides, I didn’t want to hurt the band.”

  “Screw the band,” I say. “That shouldn’t be a reason you have to live a lie.”

  He gives me a weary smile, but the playfulness I’m so used to seeing in his eyes is snuffed out.

  “I want you to be able to talk to me about anything.”

  “I know I can,” he insists. “Promise.”

  He seems shy, unsure of himself, or worse, unsure of me. “I don’t think I’m ready to tell anyone yet, to be honest. I feel ashamed that I want to hide it, but it’s a big deal. I feel like I’m waiting for the right time to make it public. I’m just not certain when that is.”

  “What about Mike?”

  “He’s sick of waiting for me. I don’t blame him. He’s been patient for almost a year.”

  I try not to react to the fact that my brother has been in a relationship for a year and hasn’t told me about it. It feels like a punch to the gut.

  “Do you love him?”

  “Yes,” he whispers. Pain streaks his face, and I realize how similar we are. Both nursing broken hearts but doing nothing about it.

  “Then don’t lose him.”

  The smug, playful expression I know so well returns to his face. “Shouldn’t you be taking your own advice?”

  I open my mouth, not sure how to respond when Emmanuel shows up in the doorway.

  “Look what the cat dragged in. Decided to extend your bedtime?” Carlos jokes.

  Emmanuel wears a familiar expression, one that tells me something’s going on. “What’s wrong?”

  “I thin
k you need to see this, compadre.” He pushes an iPad into my hands. In the middle of the screen is a picture of Darya and her mother exiting the hospital.

  “Son of a bitch! Why won’t they leave her the fuck alone?”

  “What do you want to do?” he asks.

  “Get ahead of it. Issue a statement saying she’s no longer working for the band, that her contract for the tour is up. Talk to PR. Figure out the best way to move the attention off her. She doesn’t need to be dealing with this shit right now.”

  Staying away from her suddenly seems even more important. Dealing with my bullshit stardom and all the crap that comes with it isn’t what she needs. I couldn’t save her from the paparazzi when we took her mom to the hospital. Knowing that they’re still after her now, even though it’s over between us—I love her too much to make this any more difficult for her. If that means losing her forever, then it’s a price I’ll pay to keep her safe.

  Chapter Forty

  Darya

  “Want more soup, Maman?”

  “No, dokhtaram. Merci.”

  Niloo comes barreling in, distracting me from the task at hand. I miss my chance to force-feed Maman a few more bites. Her appetite has dwindled to near nonexistent, and she’s scarily thin these days.

  “The American Music Awards are starting in two minutes,” she announces and I flinch. I should have been there, backstage, watching. But no. I’m here instead.

  It’s been three weeks and the pain of leaving Anthony hasn’t eased in the slightest.

  Niloo grabs the remote off the coffee table and finds the channel, dropping a bowl of popcorn into her lap as she takes a seat on the end of the couch beside Maman’s outstretched legs. I busy myself with Maman’s throw blanket, tucking her into the cushions as if she were a child. She grabs my hand and squeezes it, smiling at me, grateful. She goes to move into a sitting position, creating a space for me in between them.

  “I’m good, Maman. Don’t move. I’ll sit over there.” I point to the love seat.

  I take her dish into the kitchen and almost drop it in the sink, my palms clammy and sweaty. I run the cold water over my fingers, hoping the iciness not only cools the unwanted moisture, but freezes my uncooperative heart at the thought of seeing Ternura. Even if it’s only on television, it’s still something. I try my best to brush the cloud of apprehension aside as I head back to the den and take my seat.

  What I really want to do is make an excuse and hide in my room. Watching Anthony dance across the screen feels like torture. The thoughts invading my head on a daily basis are enough self-punishment. But I know that if I try to leave, it would only prompt questions I don’t have the energy to answer.

  I need Maman to believe that I’m over Anthony. I need her to think that three weeks has been a sufficient time to get over the love of my life. Because if she doesn’t, then I’d be creating exactly what I’ve been trying to avoid, something for her to be troubled over on her last days. She feels responsible for our breakup, despite not admitting it. I can see it in the sorrow-filled gaze that settles on my shoulders and the downward turn of her lips. It’s in the way she runs her hand across my head as if she’s comforting me in a time of need. I can’t let her know that my heart feels as if it may explode from missing him and that every day I question my decision to leave him.

  The show begins and the host makes his way out onto the stage. I know he’s some famous network star, but I can’t remember his name. It doesn’t really matter; I’m watching for only one thing. But Niloo oohs and aahs over him like a lovesick puppy.

  I curl my legs beneath me and wrap my arms around a pillow, trying to hide my shaking limbs from Maman’s very observant eyes. I catch her sending me sideways glances every few minutes. The worry lines etched across her forehead make my stomach turn. I do my best to pretend I’m okay, that I’m not both terrified and excited to see Anthony onstage. I muster my best believable smile and throw it her way. But as the show continues, one painstaking minute after the next, my resolve falters. I don’t think I’ve taken a full breath in the last half hour.

  “Stay tuned,” the host announces. “We’ll be right back with this year’s highly anticipated Latin band, Ternura.”

  I think I’m going to puke.

  “Anyone want chayee?” I jump to my feet with too much pep in my step. Niloo and Maman stare at me like I’ve suddenly burst into flames, but I pay them little attention as I head straight to the kitchen. I desperately need to put distance between myself and the television.

  I lean against the counter, waiting for the kettle to boil. The level of anxiety currently consuming me is ridiculous. It’s just a performance, Darya. He’ll be onstage for less than three minutes. And I’ll be the last person he’ll be thinking of.

  “Stop being so dramatic,” I chide myself.

  “I came in to see if you were okay,” Niloo says behind me, making me yelp. “But judging from the conversation you’re having with the empty room, I’d say it’s official. You’re a mess.” But behind her steady smile, I can see the concern lines fanning across her forehead.

  “No I’m not,” I brush her off. “Besides, why would I be?”

  “Because you’re about to see Anthony.”

  “Not really. He’s on TV. I’ve seen him onstage a bunch of times. This isn’t any different.”

  I grab the tray with the cups on it and head to the den, Niloo on my heels. She doesn’t continue the conversation once we’re seated next to Maman. She knows I have no tolerance in discussing anything Anthony-related with our mother.

  There’s a part of me that resents Maman for my breakup with Anthony. And I’m filled with guilt as it tears me up inside. The thoughts of infidelity and doom were not mine, they were hers, yet she managed to somehow make me question the kind of man he is. To top it off, she played the cancer card, solidifying the Iranian-mother guilt into a cinder block around my heart. That wasn’t fair. Now, the pain of missing Anthony is ever present, gnawing and chiseling at my willpower until each breath feels as if I’m inhaling shards of glass.

  I’ve been trying so hard to not hold it against her, because time is not something we have in abundance. As she sits on the couch, doing her best to pretend she feels all right, I can see her fidget in her seat, trying desperately to get comfortable. I notice the slight wince each time she inhales, and how she keeps attempting to hold in her coughs so the sounds are muffled and less dramatic. The dark circles beneath her eyes and the pale, dull pallor of her skin shout the fact that her health is diminishing daily.

  “Ternura!” the host announces, pulling me from my thoughts. I whip my head in the direction of the television, feeling dizzy and nauseous. Thank God I’m sitting because I’m pretty sure if I wasn’t, I’d pass out.

  The stage is dark and mysterious. Suddenly, his voice pours through the speakers, slow and steady. As each note builds and groans, hope and conviction find the intonation of his baritone, fluttering at the ends of his words with heartbreaking precision. The beat picks up, the lights flash on, and there, standing in the middle of the stage, is Anthony. He’s clad in his customary black from head to toe. His T-shirt is tight across his biceps, each muscle of his arms flexing and stretching beneath the fabric as he dances across the stage.

  The camera goes in for a close-up, and the rose tattoo on the base of his neck peeks out at me. I inhale, taking in the sharp, defined features of his jaw, the outline of the lips I’ve missed so much, and the fathomless, vast, midnight ocean that lies in the depth of his eyes. He takes my breath away, and I have to keep myself from sighing. I’m fixed to the screen, paralyzed by my desire to take in every inch of him. He’s lost in his music, and I envy his escape.

  The song ends and the crowd starts screaming. I watch as the guys bow and Anthony raises his hand and waves. Carlos points at someone in the seats and winks, making me laugh. And when the smile stretches across Anthony’s f
ace, broad and true, I can’t help but feel giddy for him.

  The show goes on and Ternura takes the Band of The Year award. The crowd can’t contain itself when Carlos gives the acceptance speech. Anthony stands a few feet behind him, allowing his brother to soak up the magnitude of the moment. He smiles and leans in to thank his mamá and God before they’re ushered off the stage.

  He did it. They won. I’ve been so glued to the screen since their performance started that I don’t notice the way Maman is watching me. As her gaze finally catches mine, I soften my features and attempt to seem lighthearted.

  “What?” I ask. “Why are you staring at me like that?”

  “No reason.” Concern sends wrinkles across her face, making her appear older than she is. “You know I love you, right?”

  “Of course I do.”

  “Good.” She looks like she may say more, but instead decides to let it go. She holds onto the arm of the couch and stands. She’s wobbly on her feet. Niloo steps up beside her, and Maman leans in, putting her weight on my sister. As she passes me, she cups the side of my cheek with her hand. “I’m blessed to have the two of you as daughters.”

  I watch her thin, bony back as Niloo helps her down the hall to her bedroom. The despair I’ve become familiar with nestles back into my chest, reminding me that I don’t get to forget my reality. Maman is getting sicker by the day, and I need to focus on her. Anthony is out of my reach. That part of my story is done.

  I hadn’t realized it was possible to feel my heart break so many times in one lifetime.

  Chapter Forty-One

  Anthony

  I’m questioning my decision even before I set foot in the hospital, but something about being in L.A. and not seeing Darya feels wrong. So as I step out of the car, pulling my hoodie up over my baseball cap, I pray this doesn’t end up a stupid mistake.

  “You okay?” Travis asks. “You’re looking a bit green.”

  “I’m fine.”