Like a Love Story(96)

“Go easy on Saadi,” she says gently. “He had a hard time with his mother.”

“What do you mean?” I ask.

“I’m not—” She stops herself, then says. “Please don’t repeat this, but she fell in love with someone else and left abruptly,” my mom explains. “She didn’t want custody. Why do you think he barely ever sees her? Just imagine how hard it is for a kid to have a parent who doesn’t want them.”

“Um, I don’t have to imagine that hard,” I say bitterly.

She gives me a sad look. “Oh, my boy.”

“Why didn’t you tell me this before?” I ask.

“Abbas doesn’t like to talk about it. Neither does Saadi. It’s hard for them.” She shrugs. “Maybe our culture is different. We have the same problems as everyone else; we just pretend we don’t.”

“We definitely have the same problems,” I say. “And by the way, if you’re going to ask me to go easy on Saadi, I’d say the same goes for you and Tara.”

She nods, taking this in. She almost says something but stops herself. Then she looks up at me and says, “All I wanted for so long was an easier life. It was always so hard. I wanted an easier life for myself, but also for you and Tara. And now I have one. But Tara doesn’t. And you don’t.”

“But you love Abbas, don’t you?” I ask.

“Of course,” she says. She leans into me. “I would never have married him if I didn’t love him. Never.”

“And I can’t be with someone I don’t love either,” I say. “And neither can Tara.”

Her eyes well as she hears this, like she’s understanding in a new way. She holds my hand and kisses it. “Okay,” she says.

We don’t say anything else. It’s enough for now.

The memorial is being held in one of Stephen’s favorite nightclubs. The owner was a friend of his, and a member of ACT UP. He has allowed the space to be transformed for this celebration. When we walk in, the stereo is blasting the Communards’ “Don’t Leave Me This Way,” and a few people are dancing. Jimmy is one of them, but he looks more like Diana Ross in a red dress, high heels, and a sky-high wig. He looks like a star. Art’s photographs line the walls. Photos of protests and actions. Photos of Stephen and José. Photos of Judy. Photos of Jimmy and other activists posed like glamorous movie stars. And photos of me. I freeze in front of the photo of me outside that stock exchange protest. I almost don’t recognize myself. I was so much younger then, and yet I almost feel younger now. So much freer. Art’s arms wrap around me. “I love you,” he whispers in my ear.

I turn around to face him. I want to kiss him so badly, but I know my mother’s eyes are probably on me, and she couldn’t handle seeing that. “Did your parents come?” I ask.

He shakes his head. “I didn’t think they would,” he says. “Or maybe I did. I don’t know. I guess I hoped that maybe death would make them see things differently. Death is supposed to bring people together, right?”

“I’m sorry,” I say. I know how it feels to have a parent who can’t love you. I also know how it feels to have a parent who can.

“It’s okay,” he says. “Look at all these people Stephen brought together. Who needs two more?”

Judy catches my eye. She’s at the buffet table, next to her parents and Annabel de la Roche, serving herself a plate of arroz con pollo. She whispers something to Annabel and then walks over to us. We hug her. “Uncle Stephen didn’t cook the food,” she says. “So it’s really good.”

“It’s kind of weird to have food in a nightclub,” Art says.

“He left very specific instructions,” Judy says wistfully. “The menu. The art. The soundtrack.” As she says this, the song changes to Sylvester’s “Be with You,” and even more people join the dance floor. I recognize so many of them from the protests and meetings. Men on the verge of death finding a moment of joy through music. Women with conviction singing the words to the song with all the force of their love and commitment. I want to be with you forever. I want to share this love in heaven.

When the dancing stops, and when people have eaten and hugged and said hello, the memorial itself begins. The owner of the club gives the first speech. He says that Stephen used to be a regular at this club, even before he met José. And then Stephen and José were regulars together. And then it was just Stephen again. And now it’s us. He describes Stephen as someone “who knew how to live, even when he was dying,” and I love that. A Judy Garland impersonator sings “Over the Rainbow.” A man with a guitar sings a slow, mournful version of Marilyn’s “I Wanna Be Loved by You.” My sister clutches Massimo, tears in their eyes. My mother’s and Abbas’s eyes are misty. Even Saadi seems moved, his baseball hat pulled a little lower, perhaps to hide the emotion in his eyes. And am I imagining it, or does Saadi keep glancing over at Judy? Jimmy gets up onstage and explains that Stephen’s favorite cinematic funeral scene was from Imitation of Life, “the Lana Turner and Juanita Moore version, obviously.” He then lip-synchs the song from that scene, Mahalia Jackson’s “Trouble of the World,” imbuing every movement of his lips with so much passion that it sometimes feels like it really is his voice we are hearing.