Page 35 of Fallen Stars

When I release her from the hug, she holds me at arm’s length and studies my eyes. Not that I’ve ever lied to my parents, but when Mama sees me out of sorts and I tell her I’m okay, she looks at me like this. A little longer. An inquisitive look in her eye. It isn’t out of mistrust. More from a place of concern. She wants her only child happy and loved. So I don’t shrink away or wave off her examination. It’s just another way she says I love you.

She rests a hand over my heart. “After the festival.”

“Promise, Mama.”

Washing my hands, I join my parents at the counter and help with breakfast.

On Sundays, we cook traditional foods throughout the day. Breakfast or brunch features Mama’s favorite recipes from her childhood with the occasional twist of her own. Bosnian recipes handed down from her mother and grandmother and so on. Though she doesn’t need them, she has each recipe written down in her neat handwriting and stowed in a hand-carved box her grandfather made when she was a girl,Eminaetched in the grain.

She saves those recipe cards for me. So she can pass them on one day. Not that I need them either. Decades in the kitchen withmy parents without a single written recipe has taught me all I need to know.

Late in the afternoon, Papa will come in the kitchen and blanket several surfaces in flour as he makes fresh pasta. Soon thereafter, the house will smell of capers, basil, garlic and oregano, followed by the salty aroma of cheese. Fresh red sauce gets made once a month and canned. On those Sundays, the house smells incredible all day. Papa tends to rotate through a menu in his head, but we usually have fish, chicken, or vegetables during Sunday dinner.

Unless I’m with Levi, I help Papa with dinner too.

Being in the kitchen with my parents is a balm for my soul. Not only are they sharing family history and traditions, they’re also teaching me a way of life. Reminding me that we exist beyond computers and phones and trends. That we aren’t robots in a maze. And food is as much a love language as what you say or do.

This time with them reminds me I am human and loved and capable. It hits the refresh button on what’s important in life—spending uninterrupted time with people you care about. I wouldn’t exchange it for anything.

We carry platters of food to the dining room table, sit in the same seats we have since I was a kid, and dive into the fruits of our labor.

Mama mentions an uptick in business at Zen Den—the town’s most popular massage studio—and how she’s needing to do extra self-care before and after each client she works on. Papa shares recent chats with the townsfolk in the post office. Since the Stone Bay post office is the main hub for packages, snail mail, and additional professional services, Papa sees most of the town’s residents weekly.

They ask how Trip and Hailey are, and about the band’s show lineup. Although it isn’t part of our usual routine to practice onSundays, my parents are excited for us to play at tomorrow’s festival.

With natural ease, the conversation shifts and Mama asks about Levi.

“It’s been ages since he’s joined us for dinner. Would be nice to share a meal with him again.” Mama lifts her mug to her lips and sips her coffee. “Ask him for me the next time you talk?”

I swirl the tines of my fork through the last bit of cimbur on my plate, my eyes following the action. With a stilted nod, I mutter, “Yeah. Of course, Mama.”

Near my twelfth birthday, I told my parents I had a crush on a boy in my class. At the time, I didn’t think much of it. I’d never thought my attraction to boys was different or weird. I hadn’t seen many gay or lesbian couples in Stone Bay, but it never occurred to me that love had limits or boundaries regardingwhoyou loved. My parents didn’t raise me with closed-off ideals.

My parents have always been accepting of who I am without hesitation. They have always gifted me the space to grow and flourish so long as I was safe. Over the years, I’ve dated several guys. Some incredible, and others I’d rather forget. Neither of my parents laid judgment on me for my choices. All they asked was that I be careful and only give my heart to someone deserving.

I didn’t miss the way Mama watched me and Levi during family dinner. Nor did I miss the small smiles she sent in our direction when we spoke on passionate topics.

Mama is not oblivious to my feelings for my best friend, but she keeps them under lock and key.

After I help wash dishes, I head out to the garage and get in the mindset for practice. Trip and Hailey come in through the side door moments later. We go through our individual warmup routines and then go over our setlist for tomorrow.

Thethump, thump, thumpof my drums bounce off the garage walls, the wail of Hailey’s guitar vibrates the air, and the low and sultry tone of Trip’s bass pulses beneath our feet. Song by song, we go through each without hurry. Not wanting to exhaust ourselves before tomorrow, we take several breaks and hype each other up for our first major show.

Near the end of our second to last song, the side door of the garage swings open. Still playing, the three of us glance toward the door as Levi walks in with a large brown bag. We continue to play as though nothing happened. No greetings or gestures are exchanged. It’s like any other band practice when Levi shows up.

As we go through the final song, I keep my head down and try to focus. But I can’t help but peek at Levi every chance I get.

When the final song ends, Hailey bounds over to the couches, her eyes on the spread of take-out boxes. Trip sidles up to her a beat before they open boxes and get lost in the Thai buffet. As for me, I remain glued to my stool behind my drums.

The minutes pass with stuttered breaths and congested thoughts. It irks me that I feel so out of my element now. That I don’t know how to act around Levi.

But I can’t just fucking sit here.

Inhaling deeply, I rise from my stool and cross the room to join everyone on the couches. As I have hundreds of times in the past, I sit next to Levi and lift my chin in greeting.

“Hey.” A corner of my mouth twitches. “How’d you know Hails and T were here?”

Levi is quiet as I scan the boxes filled with noodle or rice dishes, fried spring rolls, and satay skewers. When he doesn’t answer after a moment, I shift my attention to him. What I’m met with steals the breath from my lungs.

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