She scowled. Tilly was a kaleidoscope of emotions, spinning and transforming constantly.

“God gives people children without confirming their credentials first. I wasn’t good at doing all the things she needed me to do. I wasn’t there to help her or the person she loved most in the world. I’ve flown around the world to be with her now, but that doesn’t change what I was then.”

Tilly raised her arms, maybe to see if she could take flight again. Then she let them flop to her sides and sighed.

“It’s a messy business, having children. Parents are supposed to be wise and worthy and selfless, and really, it’s the other way around. Most of the time you can get away with the masquerade and it feels great. But then you walk off the stage and into the daylight, and suddenly the whole world can see it was all bad makeup and props,” Tilly said, tears sliding down her cheeks, wetting the pain she’d drawn on her face.

By some dark magic, I watched Tilly shrink with sorrow and grow with love. She grew distant even as she drew me in, and my own cheeks became slick with tears as I thought of how much love I’d lost.

Chapter 18

The night of the musical, I listened to Antonia address last-minute urgent calls for black paint, a wooden bucket, and a ten-gallon hat and reassure a nervous cast member who was deeply afraid she would forget all her lines at curtain call.

I watched Tilly dab cream onto her face, dust powder onto her nose and cheeks, and draw a brown pencil along her lower eyelid. She pulled her skin taut at her temples and cursed at the wrinkles that reappeared when she let go. She applied the same red lipstick she’d used to teach me about empathy and blew a kiss at the mirror. She was as heavily painted as an Afghan bride on her wedding day.

“Stage lights make it look like you’re not wearing any makeup at all,” she explained. “If it’s not bold, it’s a waste of time.”

I wondered if I could attend the show without being noticed. Besides my father, most men wouldn’t deign to lower their gaze to meet mine. So many adults treated me as if I were a canary in a cage, expecting me to chirp and flutter when they tapped on the bars and wanting me to be still and silent when they turned their backs.

Tilly, fully made up and with her costume draped over her arm, stood by the door. Antonia went through the apartment drawing the curtains. She reminded me to stay away from the windows and declared the rooftop off-limits as well.

“Okay, okay. I will not go to the baam,” I promised. Tilly looked alarmed.