If- Nina G. Jones Page 0,47
just like everyone else out here. Of all people, I thought they would see past it. And I know they don’t want me to get hurt . . . but I needed their support. I needed them to tell me that it was okay to follow my dreams, but they told me I would fail. They told me what I believed about myself was wrong. They made me love dance and then they wanted me to forget it. So I left it all behind. And now it’s not just a dream, it’s proving them wrong. They cut me off, and I feel betrayed and they feel betrayed and I won’t go back until I have something to show for all of this. They want an apology, they want me to run back to them and tell them I need them and that I’ll go back and be the lawyer or the doctor or whatever.”
“You think you’ll reconcile?”
“They’ve tried, I guess. But it always comes with a condition. ‘Come back home, we’ll pay for you to go to school.’ Never once have they just called to say they were sorry and they respect my decisions. I’m not accepting that. It’s so hard out here. So hard. Soul-sucking, pride-swallowing, physically exhausting. I don’t have space for anything but hope. I’m not asking for their money. I just want their support.”
A peaceful silence descended on us. It was nice to just sit wrapped in Ash’s arms, his warmth contrasting with the cool night air. In a city full of so many people, at this moment, in this spot, we were the only two people. I understood why he liked late-night picnics on the roof.
“You’re gonna make it, Bird.”
“I know.”
“No, you’re gonna be successful beyond your wildest dreams.” He said it like it was a fact.
I looked up at him and smiled wistfully.
“I should mention, my sister has always backed me through it all. She worries about me being alone here, kind of like your brother does with you. What about you? Did your family support your talents?”
“Yeah. More than I could have ever asked for. And I was different. My dad was military, just like his father. Lots of type-A’s in my family. And here he had a son who was seeing rainbows in sound and who loved art and music. It was probably interesting for them to say the least, but my parents encouraged me.”
“That’s nice. Do they still?”
“It’s not relevant.”
“Why?”
“I changed. I don’t see my parents these days, either.”
“Why not?”
“Things aren’t the same with my family anymore. We’re broken up.”
“Divorce?”
“No, my sister died.”
“Oh my god.”
“And we just aren’t the same. Nothing is.”
“How old was she?”
“Fifteen. I was in college, studying art, and Miller was already finishing up law school. She was the youngest.”
“What was her name?”
He paused. I felt his breath catch in his throat.
“Sarah.”
He said her name like it physically hurt to utter it. I could tell he was done talking about her. A silence lingered after he said it, an emptiness that reflected her absence.
I thought about asking how his sister died, but he didn’t offer the information. Ash was smart. It was a deliberate omission. It didn’t feel right to ask yet. There would be more nights on the roof or in my apartment for those sad details.
“Your brother, I assume he’s older?”
“Yeah, seven years. He’s married, a lawyer. Used to work at the DA’s office, but now he’s in entertainment because the money is so much better.”
I laughed.
“What’s so funny?”
“Oh, my sister is a lawyer, too. She doesn’t practice. She pretty much married and had kids right away.”
“I assume your parents are happy about that.”
“Very.”
“Does she dance?”
“She’s a terrible dancer. I mean it’s excruciating. I am convinced it could be used as a form of mental warfare . . . maybe an interrogation tactic.”
Ash threw his head back in laughter. I realized that for the first few weeks of our friendship, he didn’t laugh, I mean really laugh, at all.
“I guess it doesn’t run in the family.”
“I wouldn’t know as far as genetics. I’m adopted.”
“Well, your parents are lucky to have you.”
“Sometimes I wonder if they think they made a mistake.”
“Don’t do that. They’re caring in the only way they know how. Even if it’s the shitty way. We’re all just trying to make it, right?”
I sighed.
“It’s funny,” Ash said. “When I was a little kid, I imagined being twenty-something and having all the answers. Like it was the peak of adulthood. Here I am, and I