“The title of your third album?”
Julian nodded. He still looked deep in thought. “My most unpopular album.” He let out a sound that sort of resembled a laugh. “But I think my dad was trying to tell me it was his favorite album.” He glanced over at me quickly. His face was full of unbridled surprise. “I think my dad was trying to tell me he liked my music.”
We came to a red light and Julian rested his weight against the steering wheel of the car. “Holy shit, right?”
“Yeah,” I said weakly because I didn’t know what else to say.
“And it’s all thanks to you, Tal.”
“Huh?”
“You’re the one who brought it up. You asked him what his favorite album was. I think he was answering you.”
I shook my head. “No. I don’t think so … I …”
“Taliah,” he said firmly. “I know so. And thank you.”
I stared down at my sneakers, feeling very unworthy of the compliment. “You should thank your mom. She’s the one who told me Tom liked your music.”
Julian whistled lightly. “I know it seems like such a small thing, but that brought me so much closure. I think my dad maybe respected what I’ve dedicated my life to. Maybe he didn’t always understand it, but I think he was letting me know that he respected it. That means everything, you know?”
“Yeah,” I said. “He accepted that version of yourself.”
“Exactly,” Julian said. “You know, a couple of hours ago I thought that once my dad died, my relationship with him would be over. And I thought it was so fucked up that the universe was going to let him die when I still hadn’t worked things out with him. But I’m starting to think that’s not the case. I still have the chance to work through things. My dad and I still have a relationship. It’s just changed.”
I was silent as I thought about that for a moment. I wondered if he was right. If relationships really have a life of their own, if they live on. I hoped he was.
He steered the car into the Olivers’ long, gravelly driveway. “I don’t think we’re going to have a proper funeral for Dad.”
“Oh?”
“No. Sarah’s going to host a memorial. Mom says he wanted to be cremated. She’s going to keep his ashes and eventually sprinkle them out here.” He gestured toward the acres of farmland that spread out on either side of the driveway.
All of a sudden, Julian slammed on the brakes. I looked over at him and his eyes were glued on something up ahead in the distance. I followed his gaze and then I saw her.
My mother.
VI.
“Get in the car, Taliah” was the first thing Mom said to me when she saw me. Julian tried to reason with her, but she refused to even look in his direction.
“Mom,” I pleaded. “Please. At least let me get my stuff from inside the house.” This had been a white lie, since of course I hadn’t packed anything, but it did the trick. Mom reluctantly followed me inside to the guest room.
“I’m not leaving,” I said as I closed the door.
Mom paced around the bedroom, looking as polished as ever. She was dressed in black linen pants and a pale rose-colored blouse. Her hair was swept up in a bun. The only physical traces of unease I could detect were bags under her eyes. I wondered briefly if she had taken extra care with her appearance since she knew she would be seeing Julian.
“I can’t believe you,” I said again. It was a phrase I’d been repeating since I stepped out of Julian’s car.
“Taliah, HB,” she said calmly. “I understand why you’re upset, but you have to understand.”
I shook my head and sat down on the bed. “You don’t get to tell me that I have to understand. You kept my father a secret, and me a secret from him. You lied to me about who he was, and even when I gave you a chance a few years ago to revise your story, you dug your heels into your lie.”
“Tal,” she said, and this time her voice was sharper. “Considering you ran away from home—”
“I didn’t run away from home! I left with my own father. To come visit my dying grandfather.”
She gave me a stern look. “Without my permission. When I was on the other side of the Atlantic Ocean and assumed you were at home. Do you understand how frightened I was when I heard your voicemail? I booked the first flight to Indianapolis I could and raced here. I was so worried about you, Taliah. So, so worried.”
I grabbed a pillow and pressed it against my chest. “Are you kidding me? You really want to lecture me about my poor choices when you’re the one who lied to me my entire life? My entire freaking life, Mom.” I hugged the pillow tightly. “You’re the reason I never had the chance to meet Tom before his stroke. The reason my dad is—”
“I know,” Mom said, cutting me off. She walked over to sit down beside me. “It’s complicated, Taliah. Looking back, it felt like the right choice at the time. I know now that maybe it wasn’t, but you have to understand that I was only trying to do what was best.”
I looked down and saw Mom’s hands were trembling. Threads of both anger and sadness pulsed through me. “But I don’t understand. Help me understand?”
Mom squeezed her hands together in an attempt to steady them. “It’s complicated.”
“You keep saying that,” I insisted. “But from what Julian told me—”
She shook her head sharply. “He shouldn’t have told you anything.”
My anger swallowed my sadness. “Why not? Don’t you think I have the right to know?”
“Of course. But … I would’ve liked the opportunity to be the one to tell you.”
“You had sixteen years.”
“I know,” she said softly. She didn’t meet my gaze.
“Sixteen years,” I repeated.
She finally looked up at me. She reached over and brushed a strand of hair away from my face. “I know, HB. I know. But I made a mistake. Can’t you understand that?”
A mistake. It felt like more than a mistake. And I wanted to tell her that. It felt like a betrayal. But she looked so sad, and even though a large part of me wanted to cut into her some more, I held back. After everything that had happened today, I was tired of seeing people I cared about hurt.
“Maybe,” I said. “But I think you owe me an explanation.”
“I do,” she agreed.
“So?”
She shook her head again. “Not now. Right now, we should focus on your grandfather.”
I couldn’t believe that after sixteen years, she still wanted to wait. But I knew my mother well enough to know that even if I pushed it, she wasn’t going to crack. At least not right now. So I pushed for something else. “So we can stay?”
She touched my cheek. “Until the memorial.”
DAY FOUR
(In Which I Learn to Understand That Some Histories Have Not Yet Happened)
I.