“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?
Tears are streaming down his face now. Watching him cry hurts more than I ever thought it could. Still, there’s one more thing I have to say.
“You don’t get to regret us.”
He makes a sound, and now I know what a lifetime of pain sounds like.
People make mistakes all the time. Small ones, like you get in the wrong checkout line. The one with the lady with a hundred coupons and a checkbook.
Sometimes you make medium-sized ones. You go to medical school instead of pursuing your passion.
Sometimes you make big ones.
You give up.
I sit down on my sofa bed. I’m more tired than I realize, and not as angry as I thought. “When we get to Jamaica, you have to at least try. Go on auditions. And be better to Mom. She’s done everything, and she’s tired, and you owe it to us. You don’t get to live in your head anymore.”
My mom’s crying now. Peter walks into her arms for a hug. My father goes to them both, and my mom accepts him. As one, they turn to look at me and gesture for me to join them. I turn to Daniel first. He hugs me so tightly, it’s like we’re saying goodbye already.
THE DRIVER LOADS NATASHA’S SUITCASE into the trunk. Peter and her parents have already gone ahead to the airport via a separate cab.
Inside, Natasha lays her head on Daniel’s shoulder. Her hair tickles his nose. It’s a feeling he wishes he’d have more time to get used to.
“Do you think we would’ve worked out in the end?” she asks him.
“Yes.” He says it without hesitation. “Do you?”
“Yes.”
“You finally came around.” A smile is in his voice.
“How hard would it have been for your parents?” she asks.
“It would take them a long time. Longer for my dad. I don’t think they’d have come to our wedding.” A picture of that future day floats up in Natasha’s mind. She sees an ocean. Daniel handsome in his tuxedo. Her hand on his face wiping away the sadness at his parents’ absence. The joy on his face when she finally says I do.
“How many kids do you want?” she asks, after the pain of that vision recedes.
“Two. What about you?”
She lifts her head from his shoulder, hesitant, but then confesses: “I’m not sure if I want any at all. Would you’ve been okay with that?”
He didn’t expect that answer, and it takes him a moment to accept it. “I think so. I don’t know. Maybe you’d change your mind. Maybe I would.”
“I have something to tell you,” she says, laying her head back down.
“What?”
“You shouldn’t be a doctor.”
He turns his head, smiles into her hair. “What about doing the practical thing?”
“Practicality is overrated,” she says.
“Are you still going to be a data scientist?”
“I don’t know. Maybe not. It’d be nice to be passionate about something.”
“What a difference a day makes,” he says.
Neither of them speaks, because what is there to say? It’s been a long day.
Natasha breaks their glum silence. “So, how many more questions do we have left?”
He takes out his phone. “Two more from section three. And we still have to stare into each other’s eyes for four minutes.”
“We could do that or make out right here.”
From the front seat their driver, Miguel, interrupts. “You guys know I can hear you, right?” He looks at them in the rearview mirror. “I can see you too.” Then he laughs a big meaty laugh. “Some people get in the cab and like to pretend I’m deaf and blind, but I ain’t. Just so you know.”
He laughs his meaty laugh again, and Natasha and Daniel can’t help but join him.