“Okay, okay. But you know what I mean,” I offered. I reached out for my milk shake. I gripped the sides of the cold glass and spun it around.
“Yeah,” he said. “Something doesn’t add up. But sometimes I wonder if I think something is off because I want it to be. Instead of the cold hard truth—that she just didn’t want me anymore. That she was done waiting for me to turn into a person who didn’t disappoint her.”
I leaned forward in the booth. There was something I wanted to say but was afraid to. “For what it’s worth,” I said slowly, “you haven’t been a disappointment to me.”
Julian’s face slowly broke into a smile. A small one. But a smile nonetheless. “Really?”
“Yeah. Really.”
“That’s something, Tal. That’s really something.” The vulnerability and rawness of his voice reminded me of the way he sang some of S.I.T.A.’s most popular songs. It also made me want to cry. Julian’s hand instinctively went to his eyes. I could tell he was a little embarrassed that he was getting so emotional. He put his sunglasses back on and crossed his arms, slouching back down in the booth.
I chewed on my lower lip. “I’m sorry.”
He jerked to look at me. “Sorry? What for?”
I shrugged and sank into the booth. “For being difficult. For being sort of distant. It’s just hard for me … it’s always just been me and Mom, you know? I’m trying to figure out how this—you, this other piece—fits.”
“I get that.” He gave me a sad smile. “Is that why you don’t want to talk to me about your own music?”
I stared down at the booth’s tabletop. “Not exactly.”
“Taliah, what is it?”
“It’s just,” I said, squirming in my seat, “I feel dumb. You’re like a rock star. And I’m this wannabe. I don’t want to be some second-rate carbon copy of you.”
“Look,” he said, and he reached across the table. “You never have to worry about being some second-rate carbon copy of me.”
I blushed. “You don’t know that. You’ve only heard one of my songs. The rest of them could all be like the musical equivalent of bad fan fiction of your albums.”
He laughed. “I doubt that.” And then paused. “Wait. Are they?”
“No,” I said, shaking my head and laughing a little. “Maybe someday I’ll play the rest of them for you.”
His whole face broke into a grin. “I’d love that.”
“Not yet, though,” I said quickly.
“I know,” he said. “I’m willing to wait. We have time.”
Something washed over his face. Sadness maybe. Longing.
“Are you thinking about your dad?” I asked softly.
He nodded. “I think the thing that hurts the most right now is I’m grieving all the moments I lost. All the times I didn’t call home or visit. All the times I didn’t just sit him down and force him to talk about our issues with me.” He sighed. “I wish I was spending more time feeling nostalgic for the memories I do have, and less time feeling greedy and bitter about the memories I don’t.”
Before I could say anything in response, his phone started to ring. “Hello?” he answered.
His face fell. He nodded to himself and tersely said, “Okay. We’ll be there.”
Once he’d hung up, he turned to me. “We need to go to the hospital.”
IV.
Debra and Sarah were already at the hospital when we arrived. And so were Carter and Brady. Everyone was huddled right outside Tom’s room.
On the car ride over, Julian had explained that the doctors had told Debra that Tom’s vitals were dropping. The time had come.
Debra embraced both of us, and Sarah pulled me into a tight hug. When she hugged me, I could feel how tense her body was; her grief was palpable.
“The boys and I have already been inside to see him. You should go,” Sarah said.
I looked at Julian. I understood if he wanted to have this moment to himself, but he grabbed my hand and we entered Tom’s hospital room. The room didn’t look any different than yesterday, but it felt different. Maybe because we’d been told that this was the end, or maybe somehow the room knew it too.
Julian and I both walked up to the side of Tom’s bed. Julian bowed his head and grabbed for his dad’s hand.
“Are you sure you don’t want a moment alone?” I asked.
Julian’s jaw trembled. I could tell he was doing his best to choke back his emotion. “Maybe you could say your good-bye, and then I’ll take a few moments?” he said.
I nodded. I stared at Tom. His eyes were closed and his body was still. If it weren’t for the beeping monitor, I wouldn’t have known he was still alive. I shivered slightly and wrapped my arms around myself.
It didn’t feel right that I was there. As I looked down at his motionless face, I became overwhelmed with questions. But I knew they were the wrong ones. I wanted to know if he’d seen this moment coming. If he was prepared for it. And if he was scared. I wanted to know if he would’ve done things differently.
This was the closest I’d ever been to someone who was about to die, and I couldn’t stop wondering what was going on inside his mind.
Julian squeezed Tom’s hand and let out a slow exhale. I knew he was waiting for me to say something. Anything.
So I awkwardly said, “I’m really glad I got the opportunity to meet you. And that you think I have my mother’s nose.” Then I winced, unsure if I’d crossed some line, but Julian made a sound of amusement and smiled a little. “Debra yesterday told me you were a secret fan of S.I.T.A. I wish we’d gotten a chance to talk about records. I would’ve loved to know what your favorite album is.” I felt a pressure building in my throat.
I suddenly felt mortified, like I had said the wrong thing. But then Julian walked over to me and hugged me.
Really hugged me. In a way he hadn’t ever before. He rested his chin against the top of my head and whispered, “Thank you.”
When he released me from the hug, I could see that his eyes were filling with tears. He self-consciously patted at his eyes. “I’ll meet up with you outside. Okay, kid?”
I gave him a slight nod, and on my way out, I caught sight of him kneeling beside Tom’s bed. There was something about his posture that told me he was learning how to say good-bye. How to let go.
V.
We left Debra alone at the hospital. That had been her request. It was implicitly understood that Tom would pass within the next few hours. Julian and I rode in silence for the first part of the drive back to the Oliver farmhouse.
There was something different about him. I couldn’t quite put my finger on it. Sure, he was grieving. But he also seemed more comfortable. Less antsy. His leg wasn’t constantly bouncing, he wasn’t tapping his fingers against the steering wheel.
“He said something to me,” Julian said.
I turned my head to look at him. “What?”
“Yeah,” Julian said, almost as though he couldn’t believe it himself. “It was faint, but I swear I heard it.”
He was staring straight ahead and he looked almost lost in the memory. “He said, Fireproof.”