The Sun Is Also a Star(66)

Her mom’s now-pursed lips could not get any pursier (yes, pursier).

“Tasha—” Even I can hear the Mom is about to get pissed off warning in her tone, but Natasha just ignores it.

“Because if it is about Daniel, we can just do it right here. He’s my boyfriend.” She sneaks a quick questioning glance at me, and I nod.

Her dad walks through the doorway across from us at just that second.

Due to Anomaly in the Space-Time Continuum, Area Dads Have Perfect Timing All Day

“Boyfriend?” he says. “Since when you have boyfriend?”

I turn and study him. Now I’ve got the answer to my question of who Natasha looks like. She’s basically her dad, except in beautiful girl form.

And without the scowl. I’ve never seen a deeper scowl than the scowl that exists on his face right now.

His Jamaican accent is thick, and I process the words a little after he says them. “That what you been doing all day instead of helping you family pack up?” he demands, moving farther into the room.



Aside from the little Natasha has told me, I don’t really know the history of their relationship, but I can see it on her face now. Anger is there, and hurt, and disbelief. Still, the peacekeeper in me doesn’t want to see them fight. I touch my hand to the small of her back.

“I’m okay,” she says to me quietly. I can tell she’s steeling herself for something.

She squares herself to him. “No. What I was doing all day was trying to fix your mistakes. I was trying to prevent our family from being kicked out of the country.”

“It don’t look nothing like that to me,” he retorts. He turns to me, scowl deepening. “You know the situation?”

I’m too surprised that he’s talking to me to answer, so I just nod.

“Then you know that now not no time for strangers to be here,” he says.

Natasha’s spine stiffens under my hand. “He’s not a stranger,” she says. “He’s my guest.”

“And this is my house.” He straightens himself as he says it.

“Your house?” Her voice is loud and incredulous now. Whatever restraint she had before is slipping away quickly. She walks to the center of the living room, holds her arms open wide and turns a circle.

“This apartment that we’ve lived in for nine years, because you think your ship is going to come sailing in any day now, is your house?”



“Baby. Not no point in rehashing all this now,” her mom says from her place in the doorway.

Natasha opens her mouth to say something but closes it again. I can see her deflate. “Okay, Mom,” she says, letting go of whatever she was going to say. I wonder how many times she’s done that for her mother.

I think that’s going to be the end of it, but I’m wrong.

“No, man,” her dad says. “No, man. Me want hear what she have to say to me.” He widens his stance and folds his arms across his chest.

Natasha does the same thing and they square off, mirror images of each other.





I WOULD’VE LET IT GO for my mom. I always do. Just last night she said that the four of us had to be a united front.

“It going be hard at first,” she’d said. We are going to have to live with her mother until we have enough money to rent our own place. “I never think me life would come to this,” she said before she went to bed.

I would’ve let it go if I hadn’t met Daniel. If he hadn’t increased by a very significant one the number of things I’d be losing today. I would’ve let it go if my father weren’t using his thick and forced Jamaican accent again. It’s just another act. To hear him you would think he’d never left Jamaica, that the past nine years never happened. He really does think our lives are make-believe. I’m sick of him pretending.

“I heard what you said to Mom after the play. You said we were your greatest regret.”

He sags and the scowl leaves his face. I can’t name the emotion that replaces it, but it seems genuine. Finally. Something real from him.

He starts to say something but I have more to say. “I’m sorry that life didn’t give you all the things you wanted.” As I’m saying it, I realize that I do mean it. I know what disappointment is now. I can understand how it could last a lifetime.



“Me didn’t mean it, Tasha. It was just talk. All of it was just—”

I hold my hand up to stop his apology. That’s not what I want from him. “I want you to know that you were really amazing in the play. Just incredible. Transcendent.”

He has tears in his eyes now. I’m not sure if it’s because I complimented him or if it’s regret or something else.

“Maybe you were right,” I continue. “You weren’t meant to have us. Maybe you really were cheated.”

He’s shaking his head, denying my words. “Was just talk, Tasha, man. Me really didn’t mean nothing by it.”

But of course he did. He meant it and he didn’t. Both. At the same time.

“It doesn’t matter if you meant it or not. This is the life you’re living. It’s not temporary and it’s not pretend and there’s no do-over.” I sound like Daniel.

The worst part of overhearing that conversation between him and my mom was that it spoiled all the good memories I had of him. Did he regret my existence when we were watching cricket matches together? What about when he was holding me tight at the airport when we were all finally reunited? What about the day I was born?