Darya and I lock eyes across the room. Emmanuel’s been rambling on for the past five minutes about the tour, but I don’t hear what he’s saying—my pulse is pounding like a bass drum in my head. When he gets up to leave, I mumble a response I don’t even understand. He doesn’t notice. It’s like the room fades and Darya’s the only one left in it. The only one who matters.
Mike’s wandered off and she’s sitting alone. I know I shouldn’t go over there, that it’s hard enough to keep my head straight with her ten feet away from me. The desperation to be near her makes it impossible for me to resist. Before I know it, I’m dropping down in the chair next to her. But once I’m there, I have no idea what to say.
“So…” I’m nervous. Why am I nervous? I rub my hands on my thighs. “How are you doing?”
She shrugs. “I have my moments.” Laughter comes from across the room, and now Hugo and Mateo have joined the others. Niloo is surrounded, which looks like it’s keeping a smile on her face. The distraction seems to remind Darya that we’re at a party. “How about you? Carlos says you’ve been busy.”
“Nah.” At least not with anything I actually care about. My head’s been stuck back here, thinking of Darya and Niloo and their mother and even their father.
She looks at me like I’m nuts. “Are you kidding me? You guys just won a Grammy. I’ve been seeing you on interviews left and right. And don’t get me started on how you’re plastered all over the internet.”
I lean forward. “Dr. Zameeni…are you saying you’ve been stalking me?” I raise a brow.
Her cheeks turn rosy. “I don’t know if I’d say stalking. More like keeping up with current affairs.”
“Mmm. Sounds to me like you’re keeping tabs.”
A sexy smirk tugs at her lips, and she tilts her head. “And if I were?”
Damn. I don’t know if she realizes she’s flirting, but my body is reading her loud and clear. “I think I’d like that.”
She leans in close until we’re almost nose to nose, like she’s going to share a secret. I’m hoping it comes in the form of her mouth pressed against mine. But just before I can close the distance, her lips part and she grins.
“I knew you would.”
For a second, I forget we’ve broken up. The familiar way she’s looking at me, her need written clearly on her face, her breath whispering across my lips, sets my body on fire. All I can think about is kissing her. To hell with whoever else is in the room.
“Hey Darya,” Niloo calls. “The guys are inviting us to meet up with them in Spain. Would that be something we could do?”
It’s the reminder of the international tour neither of us needs. Darya straightens in her seat, and the moment is lost. The letdown feels like I’ve been punched in the dick.
“Yeah maybe,” she says, sending her sister a halfhearted thumbs-up. Niloo doesn’t even look like she’s sure she wants to go. “So,” she says, turning back to me. “The tour schedule has been set, then?”
“Not completely. We’re still trying to figure out the timing. There’re a bunch of countries to get through.” I want to change the subject and put us back on track, returning to the hot, seductive vibe of a few moments ago. But she keeps going.
“How long will you be gone?”
“Around five months.” I predict her reaction even before she cringes. This time it’s a jab to the gut.
“That sounds fantastic. I’m happy for you, Anthony. You guys are a really big deal now.” And just like that, I’ve lost her again. It’s like she suddenly steps into doctor mode, dealing with me in the same way she does her patients. Composed and put together.
“It’s all smoke and mirrors,” I say.
“Maybe. But it looks like you may be the only one who knows it.” She nods toward the guys.
Hugo and Mateo are spinning random women around the room to the music, Carlos is signing autographs for a group of teenagers who had special backstage passes, and Emmanuel is flirting with two older ladies leaning against the wall beside him. Everyone seems happy with where Ternura has taken us. All except me.
As I sit beside the woman I love, knowing that the life I’ve chosen is the reason keeping us apart, I want out even more.
Maybe she’s right. Maybe I am the only one who knows it.
Chapter Forty-Nine
Darya
“Where is the damn ultrasound machine? I ordered it an hour ago.” I grit my teeth and give the nurse a death glare, knowing full well that she has nothing to do with the delay upstairs. But right now, motivated by all kinds of rage and irrational emotions, I don’t really care.
“Beth, why don’t you go and change the dressings on the patient in room four.” Lindsey steps up, taking the manila folder from a very frightened Beth’s hands, allowing the young girl to scurry away from me as fast as her size six feet will take her. Then she looks at me. “You doing okay?”
“I’m fine.” My tone is clipped and tight.
“Are you sure?” She raises a brow. “I mean, you don’t usually bite the staffs’ heads off for something they really have no control over.”
I know she’s right. Beth didn’t deserve my wrath. But the past week has felt heavy and insufferable, like I’m running against a current and getting nowhere. I work long hours to keep myself distracted, partly to keep from getting lost in my head and partly because I’m trying to avoid Niloo.
My sister has gone from just being moody to being moody and depressed. She’s taken a leave of absence from school, and I can hardly get her out of bed most days. If I do manage to nag her into doing something other than wallowing, she’s pissed the whole time. I can’t talk to her without her snapping at me, and if she isn’t storming off in a fit, she’s crying on my shoulder over how much she misses Maman. Watching her fall apart is terrible and exhausting. I love her, but I’m barely hanging on myself.
“I’m sorry. You’re right. I’m being such a bitch.”
Before Lindsey has a chance to tell me I’m really not a horrible person, Trina comes sashaying down the hall. She has the uncanny ability to make a pair of faded, light blue scrubs, look like a designer gown as it forms to the perfect curves of her tall figure.
“Hey,” Trina says. She’s wearing a lavender lipstick today. It’s shimmery and light, the perfect shade for her personality. It’s the kind of color you wear when life feels good and you’re happy. And it just annoys me further.
“What’s going on?” she asks, when neither of us greets her back.
“Darya’s just having a tough day,” Lindsey explains.
I fidget beneath both of their worried gazes. “Lindsey is being modest,” I reply. “It’s more like I’m having a mental breakdown and I’m taking it out on the newbies.”
“Oh honey.” Trina understands me in the way only a best friend can. She doesn’t need an explanation about why I’m being mean to random people because she already knows the reason. “It’s going to get better.”
“How?” I blurt out. Anger begins to involuntarily boil through my limbs, flushing my skin. How is anything going to get better?
“Time,” Trina answers.
Time. That’s what I’m most afraid of. It has a funny way of blurring the edges so the memories aren’t as crisp and clear as they once were. It has the ability to make me forget and move on. But I don’t want to forget Maman. And I don’t want to move on from Anthony.
A lump of emotion claims my throat, and the fury of a few moments ago is replaced by sadness. The kind of sadness that digs deep down to the core of me, nestled unyielding in my bones.
“Sure,” Lindsey randomly announces as a few nurses come to the station to input notes on the charts. Trina and I look at her wondering who the hell she’s talking to. “I’ll cover the bay while you and Dr. Zameeni get some coffee. I’ll come get you if you’re needed.” She smiles at us as she provides the cover w
e need so I can gather myself, then slips into full-blown work mode like she always does when other coworkers are around.
Trina places her hand on the small of my back and leads me down the hall toward the break room. Once inside, she slips the lock in place and takes a seat next to me on the couch. The one I just plopped down on in a very unladylike manner.
“Talk to me.”
I swipe a stray tear from the corner of my eye. “I’m fine.”
“Come on, Darya. Tell me what’s going on in that pretty head of yours.”
“I don’t want to talk,” I protest. “Being mean Darya is so much easier than weepy, sad Darya.” I huff with frustration, annoyed that I can’t keep it together. Maman didn’t raise me to be this way. I don’t let my emotions get the best of me. Zameeni women are strong.
“You’re human, honey. You’re allowed a minute to fall apart.”
“Ugh,” I moan. “What good does it do?”
“It feels like a release sometimes, even if it doesn’t change anything.” She scoots closer to me and takes my hand. She doesn’t say anything else, just gives me the space I need to work through my thoughts.
“I feel like a horrible person.”
“Why?” When sympathy pulls her lips into a thin line, my stomach sinks.
“My mother just died and my sister is falling apart. But all I can think about is how sad I am about Anthony. I know our lives are on different paths, but I keep thinking about how badly I wish we were still together.” The guilt rolls through me in waves. “But Maman’s dying wish was that I take care of Niloo. If I even consider trying to fix things between us, it feels like I’m going back on my promise.” Hearing myself say it out loud makes me sound like an asshole. “I’m such a horrible person.”
“That doesn’t make you a bad person, Darya. That just makes you human. One who’s in love.”
“How can I even think about a relationship when Maman just died? She’s never coming back.” I look at her, pain twisting my heart. “Shouldn’t I be too depressed about Maman to care about Anthony?”
Trina just smiles, that warm, stable, protective smile that has made the darkest of nights and the scariest of days less traumatic.
“Emotions don’t have a guidebook. There aren’t any rules. Your mom was sick for a while, Darya. Your mind had time to adapt to the idea of her being gone, no matter how badly you wished that wouldn’t be the outcome. Somewhere inside, you always knew that was a real possibility,” she explains. “Maybe you were just a little more prepared for losing her than you were for giving up Anthony.” She squeezes my hand tight. “And Niloo is a grown woman. I know you don’t look at her that way, but it’s the truth. Being there for her and helping her through this doesn’t mean you have to stop your own life. You’re mourning, too. And you’ve lost the only man you’ve ever loved. Those two things are huge.”
I give myself only a moment to let it unravel, to feel the heavy weight of my sadness for all the things going wrong in my life. But we’re on the clock, and there are patients to see, and if nothing else, my work ethic still means something. Trina and I grab some coffee to confirm our ruse and head back onto the floor.
Despite Trina’s pep talk, I still feel guilty. I don’t know how to put my own needs before Niloo’s, especially now that Maman’s gone. I wasn’t able to save her, and part of me blames myself for the struggle that my sister is now facing.
But no matter how hard I try to forget Anthony, I can’t get him out of my mind. Or push him out of my heart.
…
“I’m home,” I yell as I walk through the door. It’s about seven and the house is dark. All but the light in the kitchen where I can hear music. With a stack full of bills and my curiosity, I head in the direction of the noise.
Niloo has Maman’s Persian radio station playing. There’s a singer I’m not familiar with, belting out a fast-paced song. My sister is alternating between stirring the sauce, sipping her wine, and dancing across the kitchen floor. It’s so out of character in comparison to what I’ve been used to that I have to blink hard. I must be stuck in an alternate universe.
“Hey,” she says when she sees me. She grabs an empty wineglass and pours me some, handing it over as she double taps all the way back to the stove. “Take a load off.”
“Who are you and what did you do with my sister?” I ask as I plop down into one of the chairs. She laughs, her giggle bubbly and beautiful. The tightness around my lungs releases at the sound.
“I had another great therapy session today.” She grins. “And I know how hard you’ve been working and what a pain I’ve been lately. I wanted to make us dinner as a thank-you for being such an awesome sister. And also, so you didn’t have to.” She raises her wooden spoon, showing off her pasta sauce then makes me taste it.
“That’s actually not half bad.”
“Yes!” she says, fist-bumping the air.
“I’m glad you had a good session.”
Concern suddenly takes over her expression. She turns everything down on the stove and comes to sit across from me, the bottle of wine between us.
“I actually wanted to talk to you about something.”
I shift uncomfortably in my seat, suppressing a groan. I’m so over emotions. Feeling them, acknowledging them, talking about them. But I don’t stop her, even though I’d rather do anything other than have a serious conversation.
“What’s up?” I take a long sip of my wine, preparing myself for some sort of breakdown. I knew this peppy version of Niloo was too good to be true.
“I wanted to talk to you about Anthony.”
Not expecting her to mention my ex-boyfriend, I choke on the wine. It burns my throat as I cough, trying to catch my breath.
“What about him?” I finally manage.
“Look, Darya, I know you miss him. And I know that part of why you aren’t trying to fix things with him is me.”
“That’s not it.”
“Yes it is. I’d actually bet that it’s most of the reason why you aren’t trying to work things out.”
“No,” I say, straightening in my seat. “He’s a big-time rock star and I’m an ER doctor. There’s not a universe in which that works out.”
She reaches out and places her hand on mine, ignoring my attempts at convincing her that she has nothing to do with my current broken heart.
“You love him and he loves you. Anything is possible. You just have to be open to it.” She smiles, and the gentility in her features reminds me so much of Maman that my heart hurts. “I know you’ve been worried about me. And I don’t blame you. I’ve been a mess. But I’m starting to get myself together. I’m not saying that I don’t miss Maman and it still doesn’t kill me when I think of her, but I’m working on trying to find a new normal.”
“That’s good, Niloo. You deserve to be happy.”
“So do you,” she says. “You don’t have to stop your life for me any longer, Darya. I know you worry about me, and I love you for that. But I love you enough to want you to be happy, too. You and Anthony are meant to be together.”
“It wouldn’t work,” I insist again. “We have such different lives. I can’t leave everything I worked for to follow him around. And I can’t expect him to leave it all behind for me, either.”
“Who said you guys have to choose? You can be together and still have your careers. So you don’t work six days a week and you meet him on tour every other weekend. It’s not like he couldn’t afford to fly you out when you wanted to. You’d still be a doctor. No one said you have to work yourself to the bone to be one.” She squeezes my hand. “Remember what Maman said. She wants us to live. So live, Darya.”
I swirl the wine in my glass and allow myself to toy with the idea of reaching out to Anthony. Seeing if he also felt the same sense of happiness and heat and home that I did when we talked at the after party. I spent fa
r too long obsessing over that moment after Niloo finally went to bed that night. What would have happened if she hadn’t broken the spell? He’d wanted to kiss me, I know it. Would he have tried to hold back out of respect for my wishes, or would he have dragged me out of there and pinned me to the wall somewhere out of sight?
And if he’d done neither of those things, would I have been brave enough to take matters into my own hands?
My face flushes at the thought of Anthony…in my hands, under my hands.
But it’s more than just physical with him. He makes me feel seen, loved. Accepted. He doesn’t want me to be anyone other than who I already am, and I love him for it. Just like I love him for his devotion to his brother, his bandmates, and his family. For how he loved me when I needed him most.
I want him to feel that same love from me.
As my sister goes back to her sauce on the stove, I pull away the tangled webs of valid reasons and excuses. Could we make this work between us? That is, if it’s not already too late. And if I’m strong enough to go after what I want.
Before I can talk myself out of it, I set down my glass of wine and march over to the drawer beside the fridge where I keep a notepad and pencil for the grocery list.
“What are you doing?”
Supplies in hand, I head back to the table and slide my phone out of my pocket. Niloo wanders over and plops down in the chair beside me, sending the pencil rolling across the table. I slap a hand over it to stop its progress, then bring up Carlos’s number on my phone. She scoots closer so she can see over my shoulder. “Why are you calling Carlos?”
“Well…if I’m going to get Anthony back, Carlos feels like the best place to start.”
Set to Music Page 27