Our Year of Maybe

“Out like a light,” he says after shutting the door to their bedroom.

“You’re not tired after a night of debauchery with Ben and Holly?”

“A little, but I was planning to wind down with a podcast.”

“What is it?”

At this his entire face lights up. “One of those true crime podcasts. This one’s about a body that disappeared on a cruise ship.”

“Creepy.”

“You want to listen with me? I can pull up episode one.”

I shrug. “Sure. Why not?”

He retrieves a headphone splitter and another pair of noise-canceling headphones. There’s no shortage of audio equipment in our house. As we listen, my dad watches my reactions and as a result totally gives away what’s about to happen next.

“You never wanted to do anything like this?” I ask when the episode ends with ominous music. I’m totally hooked now. Curse you, true crime podcasts, you got me. “Make your own podcast?”

He shakes his head. “I’m much better suited to work behind the scenes. You, on the other hand . . . You’ve always been onstage.”

“Doesn’t mean I’m not scared to death every time I’m about to go on.” People think performers are all alike. That anyone who goes onstage must be a naturally outgoing, extroverted person. But that’s not true. When we perform, it takes all my brainpower to focus. It took me the longest time to be able to forget about the audience, to focus solely on the art.

“There’s something I’ve been wanting to talk to you about.” I tell him about the choreography workshop in San Francisco, the one with the rapidly approaching application deadline. “Do you think I should apply?”

What I really want to ask is something along the lines of this: What will Peter do without me here? Will he grow even closer to his bandmates?

Will he be glad to see me when I come back?

“When I went to Israel,” Dad starts, which is not at all where I thought this conversation was going, “I was terrified. I hated flying, hated not having control over plans. I threw up on the plane and was convinced it would be a horrible trip.”

“But then you met Mom, and it turned out to be the best decision of your life?”

“Actually, that wasn’t what I was going to say. I mean yes, of course, I met your mother, and that was, as you know, quite life-changing. But before that, what I loved was the independence. It was the first time I’d been away from my family, from my home, for any extended period of time. I had close friends, and I didn’t know how I’d live without them. But . . . I did it. And by the end I was proud of myself.” He laughs. “Until your mom and I got lost. But that clearly turned out all right too.”

“So what you’re saying is that I should try it.”

He steeples his fingertips. “Eight weeks is a long time.”

“Two months.”

“You’re worried about Peter.”

Slowly I nod.

“Peter’s going to be okay without you,” my dad says.

What I don’t tell him is that sometimes I’m not sure I want him to be.

CHAPTER 20

PETER

EVERY TIME I’VE BEEN IN a waiting room, it felt like we were only waiting for bad news. Bracing ourselves for it with white-knuckled grips on uncomfortable chairs.

These days my parents are considerably more relaxed. My mom taps at her phone with glossy lavender talons, and my dad squints at a crossword puzzle in the back of an ancient parenting magazine.

I brought a book, a memoir by Patti Smith, but I leave it closed on my lap. I take this opportunity—my parents at ease—to mention something I’m not sure they’re going to love.