“Excuse me.” Darya leaves a guest and makes her way over to me.
I’m moving dishes around on the table so her aunt, who’s standing behind me, has space to put down two more.
“You don’t have to do that,” Darya says.
“I know. But I want to help.” I take the platters from her aunt and she blushes.
I’ve always been a fixer, but this situation has left me feeling useless. There’s no protecting someone from what death does to them. Helping with the hosting at least makes me feel like I’m contributing, no matter how small the gesture is. I’m too much of a control freak to do nothing.
“Khoobee, azizam?” her aunt asks Darya.
“Nah. Delam barayeh mamanam tang shodeh.”
“I miss her, too,” she answers. She pulls Darya into her arms and kisses her cheek. “I’m here.” She cups Darya’s face. “And this one is definitely a sweetie pie,” she adds, slanting a smirk my way.
Now I’m the one blushing.
“Leave it to you to make women swoon even at a funeral.” Darya gives me the first smile of the day and my heart skips.
For the next two hours, I work side by side with the family, clearing plates and offering up tea and coffee. And when they finally kick me out of the kitchen, I hang back, leaning against the wall, trying to be moral support.
I’m listening to Darya speak in Farsi to one of the guests, so I don’t notice an older gentleman and a woman walk in. That is, until the entire room goes silent and everyone turns to look at them. Darya stands, her back rigid, when they make their way over to her.
“Salom dokhtram,” the man says.
“Hi…Dad.”
“Tasleeat meegam.” When he leans forward to kiss her cheeks, she stiffens.
The woman standing beside him is trying to seem sympathetic but it looks forced. Even from where I’m standing, I’m not buying it.
“What are you doing here?” Niloo’s voice cuts through the crowd. One look at her and I know this is about to get ugly. Mike makes it to her side before I have a chance to.
“Come on, Niloo. Let’s go to the other room.” He’s speaking in a low voice, but it’s too quiet and we all hear him anyway.
She pushes his arm off her and steps away. She spins on Darya, who is staring at her in silent pleading. “What is he doing here?” She points at him.
Darya’s mouth opens and closes but no explanation comes out. Niloo doesn’t wait for her to find the words, laying into her father. “Why did you come? You didn’t care about Maman when she was alive, so you shouldn’t care about her now.” Niloo’s voice is rising with her anger.
“Dokhtaram,” he says. Niloo takes a step forward until she’s beside her sister.
“Don’t call me your daughter! You’re not my father. My father was Bababozorg—you’re just a sperm donor!” She’s screaming now.
“Niloo, please.” Darya grabs her arm and pulls her sister behind her.
“No, Darya. He doesn’t get to come into Maman’s house and pretend he gives a shit.” She lifts up on her toes so he can see her fury from behind Darya’s shoulder. “How did you even find out about the funeral?”
The guests are all shifting uncomfortably in their seats, glancing back and forth at one another. Darya looks like she may die of embarrassment or disappointment or both. I want to help, but have no idea what to do. This is yet another reminder about how incapable I am of protecting Darya. Even if it’s from her sister’s uncontrollable emotions.
“I told him.” Darya’s aunt steps out of the kitchen. The girls gawk at her, and Darya seems even more shocked than she did when her dad walked in. Niloo’s turning ten shades of red, and I almost expect steam to come out of her ears.
“Why would you do that, Khaleh?” Darya asks.
“Because your mother would have wanted me to.”
“No she wouldn’t,” Niloo protests. “She hated him.” She throws her dad and the woman I’m assuming is his new wife a dirty look.
“We have rules in our culture,” Darya’s aunt says. “It was his right to know she had passed. No matter what happened between them, he was her husband at one time.”
The woman with Darya’s dad steps forward, but Darya holds up her hand. “Please, Mina. Let’s not pretend we’re a family.” Mina’s expression falls, but she gives Darya a tight nod and steps back. “I appreciate you both coming, but I think it’s best if you leave.” Her father opens his mouth but Darya shakes her head like she can’t believe this is all happening. Honestly, I can’t either. “Please, Dad, just go.”
He stalls for a moment and it looks like he may try to convince her to let them stay, but then he grabs his wife’s hand and the two of them leave. My chest fills with anger. How could he walk away that easily? His daughters just lost their mother. He should have stayed and tried to make amends. I clench my fists as I watch through the window as the two of them get into their car.
“Good riddance,” Niloo says. “He’s an ass—”
“Niloo, that’s enough.” Darya pins her with a glare. Niloo quiets and Mike steps in, guiding her out of the room. Darya throws her aunt a look of betrayal and heads to the backyard.
Her aunt begins speaking to the guests. I don’t have to understand what she’s saying to know she’s doing damage control.
I find Darya sitting on the back steps.
“Never a dull moment,” she says as I sit down beside her.
“Oh, I don’t know. Feels pretty familiar to me.”
“So you’re telling me that you have ghosts from the past who show up after funerals to shake everything up, too?” She raises a brow.
“Eh, close enough.” I shrug.
She stares off into the distance. “You know, I thought the hardest part was going to be watching Maman die, but I’ve realized that the hard part starts now. Trying to deal with losing her while being there for Niloo and her nonstop breakdowns. I don’t know what breaks my heart more—losing Maman or watching it kill my sister.”
“I’m sorry. I wish there was something I could do to help.”
“I know. Just being here is helping.”
“There’s nowhere else I’d be.” This gets me a smile.
“You know, I meant to call you. Before everything with Maman got so bad. I actually tried a few times but…couldn’t.” She looks embarrassed.
“Well, if it makes you feel any better, I came by the hospital to see you.”
“You did?” Her eyes brighten. “When?”
“About a month ago. We were in L.A. for a few days.”
“But—”
“I chickened out,” I confess. “I wasn’t sure if you’d even want to see me so I left without talking to you.”
Her tired brown eyes rest on my face, and I miss the way she used to look at me. “Bummer,” she says. “I would have loved to see you.”
Before either of us can say anything else we’re interrupted by a tap on the sliding glass door. Darya’s aunt has her hands on her hip giving us a hurry-up-and-get-back-in-here look before stomping off. Darya sighs.
“I need a break. I know this is what we’re supposed to do, but I really would rather no one was here.”
“Do you want me to go back inside?”
She stares at me for a few beats before she says, “No, I always want you around.”
…
The last of the guests are trickling out and Darya is standing with her aunt at the door. Niloo left a little while ago with Mike. She was so worked up over her dad that he told Darya he’d take her for a drive to calm her down. Darya seemed relieved to not have to deal with her sister for a little while.
I’m in the kitchen tackling the gigantic mound of dishes. Something about soaping up a plate then running it under the warm water has always soothed my nerves. Even as a kid, it was one of the chores I never hate
d doing. I found it easy to daydream and escape my home life. Now, I’m swaying slowly from side to side, working my way through the pile, as I sing under my breath.
I can’t see past the rain
I can’t make this go away
It takes over every part of me
I can hardly even breathe
I don’t have the strength
I don’t know what’s left to say
I get further lost inside this sea
As the sadness washes over me
I just wait, for the day, I will see you again
I’m so deep in my meditative state that I don’t notice Darya leaning against the doorframe.
“Did you just make that up?” She startles me, and a soapy dish slips back into the sink. A bunch of suds land on my shirt. “Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you.”
“Just a little soap. No biggie. And no. I’ve been working on it for a little while now. Do you like it?”
“Yes. It’s melancholy and beautiful.”
“I’ve had an amazing muse.” I glance at her and grin, grabbing another platter.
She takes a step closer, slowly working her way across the kitchen. Her body feels like a magnet, tugging at me as I struggle to ignore my desire. But the way her hips sway and the sexy look in her eyes is making it damn near impossible to keep it together.
She steps up next to me, so close I can feel her breasts brush against my chest. When she reaches out and grabs my wrist, easing the dish I’m holding back into the sink, I freeze. Her familiar scent makes me light-headed.
I want to reach out to her and pull her in to me so I can feel her body up against mine. I want to lift her in my arms and take her to bed, kissing every inch of her until pleasure replaces all her pain. I want to be with her more than I can even admit to myself.
But her mother just died. I can’t ask anything of her right now. And I’m not prepared to have my heart crushed as she gets lost in her feelings for me tonight, only to wake up regretting it in the morning. I won’t make it through that.
“Is there anything else you need me to help you with?” I disconnect from her body, turning back to the sink and busying myself with the last few dishes.
“Anthony. Look at me.”
I unwillingly meet her gaze. “Darya, it’s been a really long day. You should get some rest.”
“But we need to talk.”
“Not now. Your mom’s funeral was today. There’s plenty of time to talk later.”
She drops her gaze to the floor in defeat, and my heart crumbles around her. She has no idea how much I want to be with her right now, how it’s the only thing I want. She has no clue that I still love her with every inch of me, and these past few months have done nothing to change that.
I’d give anything to go back in time to how we used to be. But sadly, I can’t find a damn time machine.
Chapter Forty-Seven
Darya
Anthony dances across the stage, moving his body in time to the music in a seductive conversation with each note. My heart pitter-patters in my chest, remembering a time when his body tangoed with mine to a different tune, behind closed doors.
Niloo stands beside me, clapping her hands, as she alternates between swaying her hips and jumping up and down with excitement. Ternura headed out on another mini-tour a few weeks after Maman passed, before they start in Europe. As soon as the schedule went live, Anthony called me with VIP backstage tickets to their next Los Angeles show. He knew how desperate I was to cheer up Niloo.
The past three weeks of waiting to see Anthony again have dragged on, with only sprinkles of communication between us. Now, as I watch him up onstage, it’s abundantly clear he’s doing exactly what he was meant to.
And he’s sexier than I remembered.
He glances in our direction, causing the breath to get trapped between my lungs and throat. Longing burns through my limbs, and a sheen of sweat appears across my forehead.
“You’ve got it so bad,” Niloo teases.
“Shut up.”
Life has been a dreary array of sifting through Maman’s things and making piles to give away and piles to keep. It’s more than just clothing and objects—it’s letting go of pieces of her. The struggle was real as I held onto her pajama shirt the other night and sobbed in my closet, knowing it needed to go but wanting to breathe in her scent as long as the fabric held it. I’ve been pushing forward, hiding my feelings from Niloo. All she sees is the strong, put-together sister she needs to keep going. But the facade is breaking me down, and in moments of weakness, I steal private corners to let it all out. The drive to and from work has become my salvation. So, as the energy of the crowd vibrates off the walls, I let it take over, hanging on to this feeling of freedom and craving because it’s a welcome change to the depression I’ve been experiencing.
Ternura completes the last set and gives their farewells to the crowd, who scream and cry over each member who stands on the edge of the stage, waving. They jog toward us, energized with the cheers of their thousands of fans and smiling wide. It must be surreal to be loved by so many when they really don’t know who you are. Would the women still go wild if they knew Carlos is gay? When the dream of him falling hopelessly in love with them is no longer possible? Would the crowd be disappointed if they discovered that beneath Anthony’s badass, brooding exterior, lies a kind, gentle soul?
“Hey,” Anthony greets us.
Before I have a chance to say anything, Carlos wedges himself between us, pulling me into a huge hug, squeezing me so hard that I can hardly breathe. He lifts me off the floor, refusing to let me go, despite my giggled protest. When he finally sets me down, I find Niloo’s awestruck surprise adorable.
“Carlos,” I say. “This is my little sister, Niloo.”
“Hi,” she manages, extending her hand to him.
“Hey!” He pulls her into his embrace, catching Niloo off guard as her eyes turn into giant saucers of pleasure. “Darya’s family is my family,” he explains. “And family doesn’t shake hands.” His bubbliness overflows as it always does, and I realize just how much I’ve missed him.
“Excuse me, could you please step back behind the line for a moment? The doctor needs to examine Carlos before we start packing up the machines.” Travis steps in front of Niloo, who is still hovering in Carlos’s personal space, blocking Steve and the portable EKG machine behind him. She doesn’t attempt to hide her disappointment at Travis’s request, puckering her lips and wrinkling her nose in return.
He glances over her shoulder and gives me an apologetic nod that says, “I’m just doing my job.”
“Niloo, come stand by me.”
She glares at Travis but stomps over to my side. Travis tries to pretend he doesn’t notice.
“Give the poor guy a break. He’s just keeping things moving.” I rub her arm, trying to calm the tides. Since Maman’s death, Niloo’s emotions are unpredictable. It doesn’t take much to set her off these days.
“But I was talking to Carlos.”
“I know you’re excited to meet him, but like Travis said, the doctor needs to examine him first.”
“Fine,” she pouts.
“Don’t worry, hermanita,” Carlos says, “We have plenty of time to hang out. The night is young.”
Niloo smiles at him, and I can see the tension in her posture loosen. Despite her attitude, she needs this night out. She needs to focus on something other than Maman’s death. I mouth “thank you,” over her head and Carlos smiles with understanding.
I notice Anthony is gone, and I glance around the stage for him. I find him in the far corner, hovering over the base speaker with Hugo, discussing something as they fiddle with knobs and cords. A wave of disappointment crashes into me. I was hoping to talk to him, but he looks busy now.
I turn my attention back to Carlos as I watch Steve attach hi
m to the machine. “How are you feeling?”
“I’m okay. Kind of getting the hang of this arrhythmia thing. You know, partying less, getting more rest. Just like the pretty doctor lady told me.”
“His numbers have been steady,” Steve adds.
“That’s great.” I’m relieved knowing that my leaving the tour didn’t have a negative effect on Carlos’s health. “I’m really happy you took my advice.”
“Okay, you’re all good,” Steve says a few minutes later. He pulls the patches off Carlos’s chest and Carlos springs out of the chair like he has rockets attached to his feet. “Travis,” Steve says, “can the guys help me get this all back on the bus?”
Travis nods and two of his men make their way over. He joins in on wrapping up cords and hauling machines, keeping a wide berth from Niloo, who’s all but forgotten that he annoyed her in the first place. She’s too busy being distracted by band life and being backstage.
Carlos sidles up to me and my sister. “How are you?” he asks, his voice quiet.
“We’re okay.”
“Okay?”
“I mean, as good as can be expected, I guess.” I purse my lips and think of my moments shut away in the corner of my closet and Niloo’s erratic mood swings. “We’ve had our moments.” Too many of them.
My sister’s expression begins to crumble. The scowl she wears is one I’ve grown accustomed to since Maman passed, and tonight was meant to be a break from the sorrow.
I quickly change the subject, trying to move the conversation away from the elephant in the room. “But enough about that—how are you? What new and exciting stuff is going on? Tell me everything!”
Carlos’s expression brightens at the opportunity to share his successes with me. He throws his arm around my and Niloo’s shoulders and guides us toward the vans, which are waiting to take everyone back to the hotel for the after party.
I catch a glimpse of Anthony’s grin as his brother steals me away.
Chapter Forty-Eight
Anthony
The rum and Coke I’ve been nursing for an hour tastes more bitter than usual. I have to swallow hard against my throat to get it down. Which is odd, since it’s one of my favorites. But with Darya in the same room as me, a lot of things feel off and shitty. Even though I’d love to drown my nerves in the bottom of my glass, I need to stay focused. Sober. I keep having to fight the urge to take her to my room and tear her clothes off. I can’t afford the effects of liquid stupidity.
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