“Plus, we’re all grown, Dad. We know Santa doesn’t exist,” Sarah continued.
“You don’t say?” he’d said, and reached over to muss up the top of Sarah’s head.
“I think,” Lena said once to Julian, “your father would understand if you just came out and told him. You need to stop making excuses about why you’re still screwing around at the diner instead of apprenticing at his store. If you just were honest, I really think he’d understand.”
Julian brushed this off. And whenever she would bring it up again, he would deflect.
“He can’t handle the truth just yet,” he’d say. Or: “I’m going to tell him next Christmas. Just give me some time.”
When Lena had first met Julian, she’d thought that he was as solid as concrete. But the more time she spent with him, the more she discovered that, like her miniature figurines, he had hidden holes.
The first time it snowed that year, Julian drove Lena to the foot of the highest hill in Oak Falls. Together they hiked to the top and sat on a blanket Julian spread out on the frozen ground.
“It’s so cold,” Lena said, her teeth chattering. She was fascinated by the ghostly presence of her breath. She breathed rings into the air.
“I can’t believe you’ve never seen snow before,” Julian said. Flakes fell lightly around them, dusting their jackets, sticking to the tops of their boots.
“Once in a while it snows in Jordan. I just didn’t stay long enough to witness that miracle.”
Julian gave her a toothy smile. “I can be your miracle.”
She snuggled even deeper into him. She still found his unbridled confidence charming.
In the distance, they watched a plane take off from the snowy tarmac. Oak Falls’ airport was small and only private planes flew in and out.
“Who do you think is on that plane?” Lena asked him.
“Our future selves,” he answered, grinning.
He tilted his head to the sky. “It’s cool to see the planes, but I’m sad the sky’s too cloudy to see any stars.”
“That’s okay,” she said softly, and rested her head on his shoulder. “I’ll wish on you.”
The winter of her senior year, the acceptance letters began to arrive. It didn’t take her long to settle on NYU. The plan had always been to go to New York. It was Julian, after all, who had first sold her on the idea.
“That’s where everyone who wants to be someone moves,” he’d told her, squeezing her hand. That squeeze an unspoken commitment. A promise.
At the time of Lena’s acceptance, Julian had recently switched from working at the diner to working at Mickey’s, the scene of their first date. Mikey, Julian’s best friend from childhood, was the son of the owner of Mickey’s. Mikey and Julian had gone to the same elementary school, been members of the same Boy Scout troop, and built and flown model airplanes together. Julian seemed pleased with his job change, and even more pleased that this change had helped to rekindle his friendship with Mikey.
Lena, though, was not pleased.
“When are you going to focus more on your music?” she would ask him. “When are you going to level with your father?”
“And when are you going to tell your mom that you aren’t actually planning to become a doctor?” he’d fire back.
And maybe he was right. Maybe her anxiety about his lack of progress in his music career was amplified by her feelings of guilt about what her mother would think of her life in America. She still hadn’t leveled with her mother about not wanting—and perhaps, more important, not studying—to become a doctor.
One night, when she was lying on the floppy twin mattress that served as a bed in Julian’s apartment, she imagined what her mother would think if she knew how Lena was living in America. She knew she needed to tell her mother the truth, but she just couldn’t bring herself to do it.
She talked to her mother twice a month for exactly fifteen minutes every time. This was before Skype and other means of communication that made long distance more bearable. Every conversation, her mother would ask, “Lena, habibti, are you being a good girl?”
And every time, Lena would answer dutifully, “Yes, Mama.” And each time it was more and more of a lie. The guilt felt like a swamp in her chest—impossible to escape and constantly growing.
“And your studies?” her mother would inquire.
“Wonderful, Mama,” she’d answer. She failed to mention that she was set to graduate in the spring, but not with a biology degree. And she definitely didn’t tell her mother about her acceptance to NYU’s MFA program.
She told herself she would tell the truth if her mother pushed harder. But her mother was always stoic on the phone.
She never even spoke of missing Lena. After she’d made Lena profess that she was a) being a good girl and b) studying hard, her mother used the rest of the fifteen minutes to fill Lena in on all the family gossip she was missing out on—which cousin had just given birth to a baby boy, which cousin had just gotten engaged, which uncle had just purchased a new German car.
Lena, who when she’d lived in Jordan had found that gossip inane, now lived for it. She’d cradle the phone as close as she could to her ear, as if willing her mother’s voice to reach out through the phone and embrace her. Her mother would often end the call by saying something that loosely translated to “Enjoy your life in the rain.” Lena knew she meant it goodheartedly—it was her mother’s way of expressing just how different America seemed.
Lena once told Julian about this and he’d lit up. “That’s so harsh,” he’d said. “And so beautiful.” A handful of years later, Julian would steal this phrase and use it for his hit song “Your Life in the Rain.”
For months, Julian had actually seemed to be making progress with his band. He’d assembled a ragtag group—Lena had actually introduced him to the keyboard player, Marty St. Clair. Marty had been her lab partner sophomore year and she knew he was itching to join a band. She’d put him and Julian in touch.
The band had been practicing several nights a week and managed, thanks to their bass player, Chris, to book a gig at a local dive bar. It wasn’t much. But they would be opening for a more popular campus-based band and hopefully inherit some of their fans.
Lena arrived with Julian’s family. His sister, Sarah, intertwined her arm with Lena’s and whispered, “Isn’t this so exciting? Can you believe it?” Debra seemed equally excited, but Mr. Oliver, in typical fashion, hung in the back, quietly observing everything.
It felt like they waited forever for Julian’s band to come on, standing around in a small room with a low popcorn ceiling; the room smelled aggressively of cheap beer and pot. But finally, Julian appeared on the stage. His eyes found Lena’s, and he smiled.