"What do you think?"

I push my glasses further up on my nose and smile. "Beautiful. It looks perfect."

When I return home after lunch, I find Rami video chatting with his sister Rana in the kitchen. They're  going over what to include in the next care package she's getting ready to send us, but as soon as she sees me, she exclaimes she wants to show us a new kaftan she ordered online for a wedding she's going to in a few weeks.

She's a vision of pure starlight draped in a flowy royal blue fabric embroidered with silver beading that catches the light beaming in through her window. Spinning like a ballerina, she gives us the chance to admire the way the color compliments her skin.

"You sure it's not too much?" she asks.

Rami laughs while I roll my eyes. "You're going to a beach wedding in Hawaii. And you're wearing blue. You'll blend right in."

"Okay, okay," she laughs. Rana takes a seat on her bed and angles the screen up. "Thank you for the vote of confidence. How have you been?"

"Riding so fucking high," I let escape without a second thought. "The L debuted at number one."

"Are any of us surprised?" Rana jokes.

"We picked out the next single, too," Rami admits. A smile spreads across his sister's face, but he shuts it down. "Unfortunately, you'll have to wait to find out with everyone else."

"Rami, that's not fair. I'm your sister. I'm supposed to get special privileges."

"Do you want to explain to Marty why I've spilled the secret?" When she doesn't respond, that familiar fear on her face that everyone gets when faced with the realization that standing on opposing sides to Marty is futile, he laughs at her. "Exactly."

Rana crosses her arms. "You could've just kept it a secret then."

"But where's the fun in that?"

"Stevie would tell me."

"Stevie would tell the person checking her out at the grocery store."

"It's true," I agree.

Someone knocks at the door.

Assuming it's either one of the band members who's forgotten their keys, Marty, or Jenny, I bounce over to the front door to let them in.

"What are you doing here?"

My mom stares back at me with all of her dark circles, wildly curly hair, and a beaten-up suitcase she's probably used all of three times in her life since she tends to pack lightly and move quickly, and suddenly I feel the walls caving in.

I can never just enjoy a good thing. There's always some impeding storm waiting for me on the horizon, and hurricane mother has rolled straight into town.

"Surprise!"

Even without looking behind me, I picture the frenzied look on Rami's face, soon to be accompanied by an oh shit. If it were possible to wave my magic wand and make the person in front of me disappear like executives in Hollywood are all so capable of doing, there are few things I wouldn't give up to take it.

"I had vacation days that were going to expire so I thought I'd come out here for a few days." My mother shifts her purse and peeks inside the house. "Where's Uncle?"

"At home. Where you should be."

Coming from a culture that emphasizes the respect one should always have for their elders means the words sputtering out of me burn like fire against my tongue, but it's hard to reconcile an upbringing with the present and how those don't elicit the same reactions.

As much as I know I should just let her in the house, I can't step back or brush aside the pain I've endured, victim of her carelessness, abandonment, and lack of love.

Unluckily for me, despite the years spent apart, some along the entire spectrum but most together only in distance, my mother reads the turmoil weaved between the constellations of my weary face, and propels herself forward before I can react quickly enough to stop her.

It's the first time she's ever come here, so her presence is jarring. My body itches to place her back in Hawaii like she's a book thrown open on a coffee table, or the empty space on the shelf that's an eyesore.

        "Rami," she announces. "Long time no see!"

        He's more polite than I am so he quickly informs his sister he'll call her right back and slams the laptop shut, rising from his seat to hug my mother. Before letting go, he mouths a silent question to me, to which I don't have it in me to respond. I'm still wrapping my brain around the fact that she's even here.

        "Hi, Aunty." Rami pulls back with a smile, holding her at arm's length. "No offense but you look tired. Rough flight?"

        "Oh, you know I hate flying. Thought I could take a nap once I got here."

        I open my mouth to stop her, tell her she needs to find someplace else to stay because it sure as hell won't be here, but Rami blocks me from going any further.

        "Take a breath," he instructs, holding my arms by my side. "Just let her crash on the couch and you can figure out what to do next."

        "But—"

        Rami stops me with a look. It's all he requires. One look and I follow his lead.

        He turns around and claps his hands, jogging to catch up to my mom. "The couch is basically a cloud. I'll grab you a blanket and close the blinds, okay?"

        "You're so sweet, Rami." She taps the side of his face before dropping crawling onto the sofa.

        Before I know it, Rami pulls me upstairs and locks the door behind us. Since we're the only people in this house who aren't sleeping, it's steadily quiet. A reminder from those years spent together that when she's in a safe space, my mother can fall asleep at the drop of a hat.

        "I definitely did not have her showing up on my bingo card."

        "Am I dreaming?" I ask, pacing across my room. "I feel like I'm dreaming. Literally, why would she come here?"

         Rami is as perplexed as I feel. Shrugging, he steps further into the room, but not even his proximity can calm me down.

         "She didn't call? Maybe left a message."

        "My phone has been glued to me all day," I inform him, but, for good measure, I check for missed calls or voicemails. A clean state shines back. "Only she would show up here after that last phone call we had."

        "When was the last time you talked?"

        "January. The last time before that was probably a year and a half before that."

        He groans.

        "It's so funny," I laugh, the sound void of any humor; it's painful and sad and everything opposite of what a laugh should be. "She couldn't show up to my graduation but she's here when I don't want her to be."

"Wasn't she sick?"

        "No," I confess. "I just told everyone that because it was embarrassing to admit my mother flew to Miami with her friends for the week. And when I confronted her about it, she said she didn't care about something so silly."

        "Stevie."

        I continue to pace while Rami sits down at my desk. After sitting in silence, I drop down onto the bed and stare back at him, hoping to make sense of these highwire feelings.

        "You think I'm overreacting."

        "I never said that," he rebukes. "You don't talk about her often but I know it's not right of her to show here unannounced."

        "Then why not let me kick her out," I beg.

        "Because I know you. And I know if you did that you'd spend the day worrying about her and it would drive you crazy."

        He's right. As much as I don't want her here, and it isn't my responsibility to bend over backward and make sure she gets somewhere else, I'm not heartless enough to kick her out on the streets.

        "Sometimes I wish you didn't make sense."

       Rami makes a good suggestion of taking her to a hotel for the night while I sort things out back home and I agree with him. After sending a quick text to Jenny, to which she responds right away, I fall back onto the bed and run my fingers through my hair, cursing when they get caught on the knots.

        "I hate my hair."

        "No, you don't."

        "No, I don't."

        "Would this be a bad time to tell you I used the last of your deep conditioner last night?"

        "Rami." In spite of everything, I choke out a laugh. Brendon is right; Rami knows exactly what he's doing at all times.

...

I take my time going back downstairs.

Not because I think my mother deserves it. More for myself. Maybe slowing down and processing all of this at a normal pace will help. Even if it doesn't, I can't say I didn't try.

        Her current state is one of the only times she ever looks peaceful. All of the screaming matches, accusations, and misunderstandings fade away.

        Her chest rises and falls in a slow, steady rhythm, lips parted to allow the tiniest breaths to release in the same cadence. A ghost of my father's lips press against her cheek, startling her in her sleep until she rolls onto her side, still deep in slumber, still dreaming of what might have been. That's what I like to think she's imagining. Perhaps if she can remember the good before the bad, she'll come back to me as she once was.

        Breaking myself out of the trance, I shake her awake. It's been a few hours, all spent upstairs wondering how this conversation is about to unfold.

        My mother's eyes creek open as she takes in her surroundings. I can see in her eyes she's not quite sure where she is at first, but once her focus shifts back to me, so does the realization.

        "I'm going to take you to a hotel," I tell her. Without waiting for her to sit up, I gather her things from the floor and roll them toward the front door.

        "What?" She stands up quickly, still disoriented from the sleep. "I just got here."

        "You got here this morning. It's now afternoon and I'm going to check you into a hotel for the night." I wait for her by the door, crossing my arms over the suitcase handle. It takes her a second, but I make a point to not speak until she does. "Don't act surprised. You can't show up here unannounced and expect to stay. I live with roommates."

        "Those roommates are your friends."

        "They're still entitled to their space, and I'm not going to give you the okay to stay until they've had the chance to think it over."

It's not false; the rest of the band does need to approve of someone staying over for who knows how long she plans to be in the city.

        "Can we go now, please?"

        My mother steps outside and puts her shoes back on. I don't take my time following her lead. Once we get to my car, I open the passenger door for her while I load all of her things into the trunk. It's lighter than I thought it would, which gives me hope she's not staying for long.

        It surprises me how quiet during the drive. My mother isn't subtle, and I expect her to grill me with question after question the entire time but she doesn't. Whatever the reason is, I don't push for an explanation or give her the chance to change her mind.

        We've spent so long building up a silence worth breaking that when we're given the chance to, nothing comes out.

        Jenny works her magic while we drive to the hotel, and by the time we arrive, the room is booked and paid for. I do my daughterly duty of carrying her bags to the eighth floor, placing them next to the single king-sized bed dressed with the most hideous bedspread I've seen in my life. Judging by the look on her face, she agrees but keeps her opinion to herself.

        "I'll call you tomorrow. If you need help with food, just eat at the restaurant downstairs and charge it to the room. It's been taken care of."

        "Thank you," is all she says. I don't know what to make of this sudden change in attitude. As if she's the frail unsuspecting woman and I'm the one leading the charge.

        I take the long route back home. A long route spent stopping at random gas stations to grab snacks I don't want to eat or at a park filled with families who are much happier and pulled together than mine. What should be forty minutes turns into five hours, and by the time I arrive at the house, the sun is low in the sky. So low that if I reach my hand out, I might be able to pluck it down and keep it safe in my pocket. Bring it back out for a rainy day.

        "Where have you been?"

         Jun doesn't give me time to respond after I step through the front door, crushing me to his chest until I have to push him away so I can breathe again.

        "I needed some fresh air. Clear my head."

        "She's at the hotel?"

        "Yup."

        He forces me to look at him with questions swirling in his eyes. Unfortunately for both of us, I'm the last person that has answers.

        I look at the living room but it's empty. The faintest sounds of a bass pound through the walls, so Rami is working on something, probably the finishing touches on the album.

        "Where's Lauren and Seira?"

        "Seira's still out. Lauren went to Maver's house."

"Isn't he gone on a work trip?"

        Instead of answering, Jun pulls me back into the living room so we can sit. It's then I notice a weekender bag on the coffee table. I recognize it from the last trip we took together.

        "Going somewhere?" I point at it.

        He spares it a glance. "Lauren asked Maver if we could use his house while he's gone."

        Sensing where this is heading, I hold up a hand. "We're not giving my mom the keys to Maver's house."

        "No," Jun laughs. "Lauren cleaned up and said your mom could use her room while she goes to Maver's. I was going to go keep her company."

        "You two are going to spend the week at Maver's house and my mom is supposed to stay with the rest of us?" That prospect is a conundrum if I've ever heard one.

          He returns a perplexed stare. "Isn't that what you wanted?"

        "This is the first time we're talking about her," I laugh. "I've just spent the last five hours thinking about her and no, I'd rather not have her here. I didn't think all of you would jump through hoops to make sure she does, either."

         Jun shrugs. "It's not jumping through hoops. Lauren just had to call Ma—"

        I hold up a hand. "Please stop saying his name."

        "Alright."

        A sudden headache hits like a freight train and I press my fingers to my temples to help smooth out the unsteady beat.

        "It was the first thing she thought of," Jun explains after a few beats.

        "I know," I sigh. "It's nice of her. I wouldn't have thought of it."

        "I imagine you avoid thinking about anything to do with Maver," he laughs.

        "That would be correct." I curl my legs under and bite on my thumb absentmindedly. A bad habit that does a stellar job at distracting me. "I don't know how I'm supposed to feel right now. Except that I don't want to think about it at all."

        "Isn't this what you wanted?" he asks, leaning down to catch my eye. "Even if it's not when you wanted it to happen, this could be your chance to hash things out with her."

         I scoff, "Too little too late for that."

         "I don't think it is." Jun places a finger under my chin and tilts my head up like I'm the sunflower reaching for his rays of sunlight. "I get that it's scary, I do. But you left Hawaii not knowing where you stood with her and this might be the only chance you get to have a meaningful conversation with her. It doesn't mean you have to accept anything she says, but maybe you'll get the closure you need. Who knows."

        "This is going to be the most tiring few days."

        "Probably." He presses a kiss against my forehead. "But you'll get through it. And I'm just a phone call away."

         At some point, fighting against it will prove ineffective, so I'm better off just dealing with it. If I don't have it in me to work through it, she'll be gone in a few days.

        "Are you sure you'll be fine?" I ask.

        "What do you mean?"

        "You know what I mean."

        "Do I?"

        Two can play at that game. "You. And Lauren. By yourselves. At Maver's house. Isn't that a little..." I can't find the word for it.

        He avoids my gaze. "We're friends, Stevie."

        "You love her," I whisper. "And she loves you. I don't want you to get into a situation where you'll feel stuck in a corner. And I'll be damned if that place is Maver Vincent's house of all places."

        "That would never happen."

        I'm not sure that's the truth, but either way, Jun doesn't look ready to hear it, and I'm in no position to pass judgment.