As Julian and I walked toward the front entrance to the hospital, he asked, “Is everything okay?”
“Yeah,” I said, staring down at the cement sidewalk. “I mean, I don’t know. I guess?”
He laughed a little and slung his arm around my shoulder. His touch startled me. It was still weird. One part of my mind understood this was my father. But the other part still had difficulty separating that from the fact that this was a man who had been on the cover of Rolling Stone. “I know what you mean.”
I wasn’t sure that he did, but maybe. It felt like thousands of question marks were floating in the air, and instead of grabbing them out of the air and shaking them for answers, we were simply accepting the mystery of the moment.
The automated front doors slid open and a rush of cool air greeted us. Julian steered us toward the elevator bank. As we waited to go up, he said, “I don’t want it to be like this for us.”
Something inside me turned. I felt a swell of emotion—it reminded me of how I felt the first time I listened to one of Julian’s songs—an overwhelming feeling of sadness and uncertainty, but somehow there was also a trace of hope. I untucked myself from under his arm so I could look up at his face.
When I didn’t say anything, he continued, “I don’t want to wait until I’m dying to make things right between us.”
The elevator doors dinged open and we stepped inside. It was only us in the small box headed up to the fourth floor.
“I regret that a lot, you know?” he said. His face was solemn, but his eyes were hazy. “That I waited this long to see my dad. And now I won’t ever have the chance to make amends with him.”
We stepped out of the elevator. I started to walk down the hallway, but he put his hand on my shoulder and stopped me.
“Taliah,” he said, looking me straight in the eye. “When someone’s dying, we make it all about the firsts and the lasts. We recount things from the beginning and from the end, but we hardly ever talk about the middle. But it’s the middle that matters, you know?”
I nodded, even though I wasn’t quite sure. “I know I missed your beginning, but what I’m trying to say is, I don’t want to miss the middle. I want to be there for the meat of your life. I don’t want to just show up at the end in a hurried attempt to put a bow on all my mistakes.”
I broke away from his gaze. “I get that,” I said slowly.
“You do?” he pressed.
“I do. But I also think that this moment isn’t really about you and me. It’s about you and your dad.” I shuffled my feet.
“It’s about us, too,” he urged. He looked like he was about to say something else, but then I followed his gaze to Debra and another woman who were standing outside the doorway of one of the hospital rooms.
“There’s Mom,” Julian said. “And my sister, Sarah.”
Sarah looked like a younger version of Debra. She had the same squat build, but her hair hadn’t whitened. It was a cornmeal blond, only slightly darker than Julian’s. And she, like all the Olivers I’d met so far, had the same glacier eyes. My eyes.
They walked toward us. Sarah and Debra were even dressed alike. In flowing, loose-fitting, flower-patterned smock dresses. Sarah, though, had a few more “granola” touches to her ensemble—Birkenstocks and a bag made of recycled materials that advertised a clean water charity. I’d later learn that Sarah worked as a third-grade teacher at the local elementary school.
“Julian,” Sarah said. It wasn’t exactly warm. But it wasn’t cold either. “You’re here.”
“Of course I’m here, Sarah.”
Sarah’s eyes fell on me. “And you must be Taliah.”
I gave a little wave. “Nice to meet you.”
“I loved your mother,” she said. Her voice cracked a bit, and she raised her hand to her mouth as if she wanted to swallow her sadness back. “I’m sorry,” she said quickly, not looking at Julian or me in particular. “It’s just a hard day.”
“You don’t have to apologize,” I said gently. I loved your mother. That sentence didn’t have to be past tense. Mom was still alive. Mom was in Paris. Clueless about all of this.
She looked at me again. “Can I hug you?”
Before I had a chance to respond, she had enveloped me in a warm and sweaty hug. I had thought her hug was going to make me feel uncomfortable, but there was something comforting about it. Something unexpectedly familiar. When she finally pulled away, she dabbed at her eyes.
“This is all . . . it’s all, just, a lot, you know?” she said to Julian.
He nodded in agreement. “I know it is. Where are the bear cubs?”
I slowly caught on that the bear cubs to whom he was referring were Sarah’s two boys, Brady and Carter—my two cousins who had apparently already been gossiping about me to Toby. It felt weird to know I’d been the subject of speculation. And even weirder to know that all of that speculation was driven by the fact that I was linked to Julian.
Sarah explained to Julian that the boys were at home with their father, Todd. “You know, JP,” she said, “they aren’t really bear cubs anymore. They’re twelve.” She glanced at me and offered, “Twins.”
I shuffled my feet uncomfortably.
“And you’re . . . ?” Sarah asked.
“Sixteen,” I answered.
“So a little bit older. I’ve been trying to figure out how to handle this with them. You know, whenever situations like this come up with one of my students, I always advise parents to handle things head-on. And the boys are obviously much older than my students now. But I’ve still been shielding them from this.” She shook her head and stared at the ground. “I just don’t know.”
“I’m sure you’ll figure it out, Sar,” Julian said generously. “You’re a fantastic mother.”
“How would you know?” Sarah said, and the sharpness in her voice startled me. It was such a change from the melancholy wistfulness of before. “You haven’t been around at all to see how I am as a mother. My boys wouldn’t know who you are if it weren’t for MTV.”
“MTV.” Julian shook his head. “There’s no music on MTV anymore. I’m definitely not on MTV frequently. At least I don’t think I am.” He turned to me, a jokey glint in his eye. “Am I on MTV?”
I shrugged. I wasn’t about to get in the middle of whatever was brewing between them.
“That’s not the point,” Sarah snapped. “You know what I mean.”
“Yeah, I know,” Julian said.
Sarah tugged on her tote bag’s strap. “Do you, though? Do you, JP?”
“I’m here now,” Julian said firmly.
“And what? You want a trophy for that?”
“Sarah,” Debra finally interjected. She clasped her hands together. “Now is not the time to fight.”
“So what? We’re just supposed to pretend like everything’s okay?”
Debra’s lips moved like she was about to say something, but Julian cut her off. “Look, I know I’ve made a lot of mistakes. And I haven’t been home as much as I should’ve been, but railing into me isn’t going to make Dad better.”
Sarah hung her head.
“How is he?” Julian asked, and I watched him glance at the door to his father’s hospital room.
“Still unconscious,” Debra said. “The doctors . . .”
Debra sniffled and Sarah put her hand on her shoulder. She continued for Debra, “The doctors say the stroke was severe. His heart is giving out and his brain activity is slowing.” Her voice cracked. “We’re losing him, Julian. This is it.”
Julian’s face went blank. Stoic. He shoved his hands into the pockets of his skinny jeans. He let out an audible breath. “I’m gonna go see him, okay?” he said, half asking.
Sarah and Debra nodded.
“I want you to meet him,” Julian said to me. He looked desperate and frantic. He kept tapping his left foot. “But I’ve got to say a few things to him first, all right?”
As Julian walked into the hospital room, Debra steered me and Sar
ah toward a bench in the hallway. Once we were all sitting down, Debra folded her hands and placed them on her lap. She sighed heavily.
“The doctors say it’s going to be up to us to decide. But how do you decide something like that?” Debra pulled a Kleenex out of her bag and dabbed her eyes.
Sarah put her hands on top of her mother’s. “Mom. Don’t you worry about that right now.”
“Sarah, sweet pea,” Debra said, her voice soothing like a lullaby. “That’s the only thing I can worry about right now. We’re gonna have to make that choice, you know? Us. There’s no one else to do it.”
“I know,” Sarah said, resigned.
A few tears trickled down Debra’s cheeks. They pooled into her wrinkles. “How, though? How will we know when it’s time?”
My throat ached. I wanted to cry, but I wasn’t able to. And I wasn’t sure why. Probably because it didn’t feel like this grief—their grief—was mine. That I deserved to share in it.
I was sad. But I was sad for all the wrong reasons.
Sad that I’d never get to meet my grandfather. At least not when he was conscious and present.
Sad that all of them, including my own father, were strangers to me.
“Do you guys want some privacy?” I asked. I stared at the room Julian had entered, wishing he’d come out, but also nervous for him to do so because then I’d have to go in.
Sarah and Debra shook their heads. “No. You’re a part of this family too.”
“I know, but—”
Debra cut me off by squeezing my shoulder. “No buts about it, my dear.”
“I’m just sorry for you that this is the moment we’re all meeting,” Sarah said. When I looked up at her, I saw that her eyes were glossy.
I was grateful for their kindness and how welcoming they’d been to me, but I felt like it would be inappropriate to smile. So I tried to smile with my eyes. “Well, you didn’t choose it.”
“I know,” she agreed. “But it’s so awful. I want to ask you all the normal aunt stuff like your favorite subject in school and what you like to eat for lunch, but . . .”
“I get it,” I said in a way that I hoped was encouraging.
“I have to ask, though,” she said. “How’s your mom?”
“Good, I think,” I said.
“You think?”
I paused awkwardly. My mind scrambled for a lie, but I was too overwhelmed by the moment to come up with anything good. I managed to weakly say, “Yeah.”
Sarah narrowed her eyes and made a suspicious face. I assumed it was an expression she frequently used on her students. “Taliah, does your mother know you’re here?”
I didn’t say anything.
“Does she?” Sarah pressed.
“Not exactly,” I admitted, staring down at my hands.
Debra moved her hands away from Sarah and reached for mine. “Oh dear.”
I nodded. “I know. It’s bad. But she’d be mad, and I feel like we’ve got a lot going on as it is.”
“Isn’t that the truth?” Sarah muttered. And then focused her attention back on me. “But you need to tell her, okay?”
I was about to assure them that I did intend to tell Mom where I was at some point, really sooner rather than later, but before I could, Julian appeared in the hall and motioned for me to follow him.
“Go on,” Debra encouraged me.
“Hey, kid,” Julian said when I reached the doorway. His voice was gravelly and tired, and I know it’s weird to say, but he didn’t really look like a rock star to me anymore. His face was vulnerable. His eyes misty and ringed with red. He looked like a son about to lose his father. “Come on in.”
An anxious feeling tightened in my chest as I stepped into the room. It was smaller than I’d expected. In the middle of the room, there was a bed with plain white sheets. Tom was lying in the bed, still and unmoving. There were several cords attached to him, and a monitor near the bed beeped occasionally in a steady and rhythmic way.
I froze near the doorway. I’d never seen someone so close to death. The drained pallor of his skin unnerved me. And his skin looked dry and was deeply wrinkled. His hands were balled in tight fists.
“‘Years of survival can look awful scary,’” I said aloud without thinking. I covered my mouth. “Shit. I’m sorry.”
Julian grinned sadly. “Drive-By Truckers. Fantastic band. And that song in particular is pretty great.”
Something inside me eased. It was as if Julian felt it because he said, “Music, kiddo. You can’t go wrong with music.”
I smiled with my eyes again, and then glanced back at the bed.
“It’s weird, right?” he said.
“Weird” seemed like such a flimsy way to describe it. It was weird, yes. But also so much bigger than weird.
“He drifts in and out of consciousness.” Julian walked across the room and sat down on the small couch by the room’s window. “When I first came in, he opened his eyes. And I think he saw me, but he didn’t say anything. And then he closed his eyes again and I held his hand for a while. And the whole time, I couldn’t stop wondering if he could feel it. Somehow, somewhere, you know? I just wanted that. That one simple thing. The knowledge that he could sense my presence, my flesh against his.”
He patted the space next to him, and I sat.
“You don’t have to be so quiet, kid. Especially since I don’t think he can hear us right now. The pain medication seems to make him pretty out of it.”
“Don’t say that,” I said.
“What?”
“Don’t say that. You want this moment to count. And it should count. So don’t discount it right off the bat.”
Julian drew his eyebrows together. “Fair enough.” He fidgeted. I could tell he’d been comforted by the idea that Tom couldn’t hear him. Or wouldn’t. It would break his heart later, but it had temporarily taken the pressure off him. I was starting to figure out that Julian was an emotional procrastinator.
We sat in silence for a couple of moments and then I asked, “Did you tell him about me?”
Julian nodded. “Right before I called you in here.”
Tom rustled in his bed. We heard a moan and both of us startled. We leaned forward, watching him expectantly. His eyes fluttered open and a nervousness gripped my stomach. He looked right at me, and there was an awareness in his eyes that caught me off guard.
“Lena,” he said, his voice a low groan.
Julian jumped to his feet. He rushed to the side of Tom’s bed. “No, Dad. This is Taliah. Remember I told you about her earlier? She’s Lena’s daughter.”
“Lena,” Tom repeated weakly.
I was about to clarify that I was also Julian’s daughter, a detail that seemed crucial, when Tom said, “Lena’s nose.” He let out a scratchy-sounding cough and then added, “Thank God.”
Julian and I were silent for a moment. I looked to him because I wasn’t sure how to react. It felt impossibly weird to be noticed by Tom. I didn’t know if I should say something quippy back or if that would be inappropriate.
But then Julian started to laugh. He squeezed his father’s hand and laughed harder, tears pooling at the corners of his eyes. “Yeah, Dad. She did get Lena’s nose instead of mine. Thank God for that.”
IV.
After Julian and I left Tom’s room, Julian had me accompany him to the hospital cafeteria. We sat at a small round table by a large floor-to-ceiling window while Julian nursed a cup of coffee.
He wrinkled his nose as he took a sip.
“Not good?” I asked.
“Pretty stale,” he said. And then, “That was something else, wasn’t it?”
“Yeah,” I agreed. “It was.” The memory of Tom’s attention hadn’t left me. It was such a strange sensation to have been recognized and acknowledged by someone who up until a few days ago I had no idea existed.
“He really liked your mother,” Julian offered, turning the coffee cup between his hands. Julian seemed mellower than he had been before t
he visit. Contemplative, even. “He thought she was a good influence on me.”
I leaned forward in my chair, resting my elbows on the table. “Really?”
“Yeah. He could tell she was motivated, whereas he thought I was aimless.” Julian laughed as though he were remembering something. “And he was right, I guess.”
“That you were aimless?”
Julian looked straight at me. “I wasn’t brave enough to admit to myself or anyone else what I wanted. Your mother changed that for me.”
I stared down at the table. “But I thought you wanting to be a rock star was what upset your dad. And if Mom is the one who convinced you to really go for it, why did he like her?”
Julian ran a hand through his messy hair and gave me a little smile. “Look, Dad and I were really close when I was a kid. I was the firstborn and the son.” He paused and then added, “The only son. That means something to men like my dad, you know?”
I gave him a noncommittal shrug.
“When I was younger, we used to build all sorts of cool shit in his workshop. Toy trains, airplanes. You name it. And I loved it, and he loved that I loved it. But around ten or eleven, I grew into my own person.” He met my eyes again. “Does that make sense?
“Like up until that point, I feel like I was just imitating my dad. I was interested in the things he was interested in because I wanted to be just like him. And then all of a sudden, I discovered interests of my own,” Julian continued. “And my dad, he didn’t handle it that well.”
I nodded because I wanted him to go on.
“I think he was hurt that I wasn’t interested in messing around in his workshop anymore. I actually realized I found woodworking to be super boring.” Julian laughed again and shook his head. “I bought a cheap used guitar and started spending hours in my room playing covers of old punk rock songs and fooling around trying to write my own melodies. My dad hated the noise, and even more he hated that he thought I was wasting my time fooling around, doing aimless things. So we started to argue all the time.” His eyes went hazy like he was reliving a memory. “We would snap at each other about the stupidest stuff. And we started saying worse and worse things. Before we knew it, we were locked in this cycle of resentment and silence.” He shook his head again. “And I just wish I had worked to make things right before . . .”
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