Written in the Stars

by Rachael Eliker

  Slamming it behind me, I changed the subject. “Where did you find this rusty hunk of metal way out here in Colorado?”

  Warren cringed melodramatically and ran his hand over the hood of the old Chevy like I’d just insulted his favorite old mutt. “I’ll have you know this rusty hunk of metal is a classic. A buddy of mine from high school landed here when a girl from the area was visiting Alabama and charmed him enough to leave home and chase after her. Apparently, we Alabama boys have something for you Colorodians.”

  “Coloradans,” I corrected.

  “Right. Since we’re going to be here a couple more nights, I thought it would be nice to have a way to get around.”

  “Harper Music would’ve paid for you to rent a car, you know,” I mentioned as we took the four steps up to the front door.

  Warren scrunched up his face, making me laugh. “I prefer my ride to be reliable and ready for an adventure. I can’t imagine getting to go off road in a sissy sports car.”

  I rolled my eyes playfully at him. “I don’t know how much off roading you’ll get to do. We’re pretty citified here,” I drawled in my best southern accent. “Blacktop roads and stop signals and all.”

  Warren squinted and looked sideways at me. “You making fun of me and my accent?”

  Smiling sweetly at him, I pressed the doorbell. “Maybe a little.”

  We teased each other back and forth for a few minutes, waiting for someone to answer. When nobody came, I rang the bell again before pounding my fist on the door. Warren looked at me with a silly grin on his lips and his brown eyes wide.

  “What?” I asked, nervously running my tongue over my teeth. “Don’t tell me I’ve had something in my teeth this whole time. Or is it my hair? My hair’s messed up, isn’t it?”

  “You’re the picture of perfection.”

  Running my hand through my long hair just to be safe, I pressed, “Well? What is it then?”

  “Remind me never to get into a fistfight with you. I’m surprised you didn’t hammer down the door, and that thing is solid.”

  I elbowed him in the ribs. “Shut up,” I laughed, knocking again. “The house is big, and if the doorbell isn’t working, nobody’s going to hear a gentle rap of my knuckles unless they’re within five feet of the entryway.”

  We waited another minute, and when nobody came to the door, I checked the handle. It opened, and I peeked into the home, feeling oddly hesitant. Yes, it was home, but it’d been months since I’d been back. If I startled my mom while she was pulling an enormous ham out of the oven and it fell to the floor, she’d never let me live it down.

  “Hello?” I called inside. From the kitchen, I could hear the clatter of pots and pans over the strains of symphony music. No one seemed to hear me.

  “Do your parents like surprises?” Warren asked in hushed tones, leaning in so close I could see how closely he’d shaved. His breath was warm on my ear, and it sent a delicious tingle down through my neck that made the fine hairs on my neck stand at attention.

  “No,” I whispered back over my shoulder, catching his glance for a moment. “Not even a little. Hence my hesitation.”

  “Maybe it would be fun if it was from you. They know you’re coming. I bet your mom would squeal like a stuck pig the second you walked in the kitchen.”

  “Thanks for the imagery.” I chuckled softly. “Though I can’t even think of the last time my mom squealed. About anything.”

  I pushed the door open and stepped over the threshold since no one was obviously going to hear us over the blaring recording of Vivaldi’s Four Seasons. Taking Warren’s hand, I wove my fingers between his, enjoying how his touch made my heart pitter-patter in my chest. Towing him inside, I hung my purse on the coat rack and headed for the kitchen until I was jerked to a stop by Warren.

  “Are those of you?” he asked, looking at a wall of photos in the sitting room right off the main entryway.

  “Yeah, my sister, Stella and me. We have an uncanny resemblance, being sisters and all.”

  He walked into the room, looking at the photos like he was standing in front of the Mona Lisa herself. I followed and took a moment to regard the photos, too, smiling at some of the good memories my little sister and I had growing up. I missed seeing her most of all, even though we talked on the phone frequently. It wasn’t the same as being with her.

  “You had a perm in what, middle school?” Warren asked, pointing to a photograph I wish I could burn from existence.

  “I was a high school freshman, if you must know.”

  Warren cupped a hand over his mouth, trying to keep in a sputtering laugh but failing miserably.

  “What?” I asked heatedly. “You’ve never seen a girl with a perm before?”

  Warren straightened himself and tried to answer evenly, though his tone wavered with a giggle. “I have but it’s that you look like…” He sniggered for a moment before composing himself. “You look like an adorable, freckled poodle.”

  My mouth fell open, and when I regained my wits, I shouted, “I can’t believe you just said that!”

  Warren tried to apologize, but he was too busy laughing so hard that tears were streaming down his cheeks. I wanted to both strangle him and laugh along with him, knowing he was entirely right—the look was horrible on me. I growled and shoved him hard onto the brown leather loveseat that had been sitting in the same place along the wall since my parents had bought it. He plunked onto the cushions, still laughing uncontrollably while I intended to storm off, only to snag my heel on the tasseled edge of the Persian rug that spread over most of the hardwood flooring in the room. I tried to catch myself but ended up falling helplessly onto Warren’s lap, stomach-side down right as my mother walked in, closely followed by Stella.

  Mom took one look at Warren and me, positioned very precariously, and she yelped, the look on her face going from confused to homicidally angry in a split second. Looking back over my shoulder, I could see one of Warren’s hands was raised high in the air in an attempt to avoid touching my rear end, which was draped primarily over his knees. To my mom and sister, it undoubtedly looked like they’d walked in on Warren ready to give me a good swat on the butt.

  My cheeks couldn’t have been hotter if I’d stuck my face in an open oven. Pushing myself off of him—and being careful I didn’t jam my hand into his crotch accidentally in the process—I ended up rolling off onto the ground as Warren unexpectedly stood up, also realizing what an awful first impression he’d just made. Grabbing me under my arms, he yanked me to my feet, taking a sidestep to distance himself as a clear message that what my mom thought was going on wasn’t really the case. If anything, that probably just made us look guiltier than we already did.

  “What is going on here?” my mom asked, folding her arms tightly across her chest while my sister stared at me with her blue eyes wide with delight and her lips pulled into her mouth as she refused to let even a snort escape.

  “Hello, Mrs. Stauch. I’m Warren Jackson,” he said, brushing his hand across his jeans, and taking a few steps towards Mom, extending it to her.

  She returned his good manners with a wicked glare, not that I could blame her. Any boy that truly had the nerve to be kinky and spank her daughter in her own house would have surely been vaporized by her scowl if she tried much harder. I didn’t suppose any attempt at explaining at this point would make much of a difference to her.

  “Mom,” I interjected. “This is one of the other singers I’m touring with. Warren, remember?”

  Mom’s blue eyes left Warren’s face and turned coldly to me, sending a shot of ice straight to my guts. “When you said you were bringing friends, I assumed it was going to be another woman. I didn’t know you were bringing your boyfriend.”

  My eyes flicked over to Warren, and I cringed at my mother’s bluntness. Warren’s hand was still extended, though he faltered when my mom didn’t return it. Instead, he dropped it, brushing it against his jeans again before tucking it in his pockets.

  “Wa
rren’s not my boyfriend, and I was going to bring my friend, Vanessa, too but her father’s in town for a work trip, so the two of them are spending time together.”

  “What’s all the racket coming from in here?” my father said as he came to join the horrifying situation. He chuckled jovially and asked Stella, “Did your mother see a spider?”

  “Not exactly,” Stella answered with a grin.

  I noticed another figure flanking my father, and I looked twice as I realized who was standing in back.

  “Robby Jenkins?” I asked, my mouth once again aghast. “What are you doing here?”

  I was staring at the grown-up version of my high school boyfriend. He was taller, and he still wore glasses, and though a lot of the babiness of his face had matured, it was definitely him. There was some squishiness around his midsection he’d added since I’d seen him last that wasn’t hidden by the polo shirt he had tucked into his khakis, making him look like he was born a department store stock model.

  “I was borrowing your father’s air compressor since I had a low tire when I arrived,” he said, pushing his wireframe glasses back onto the bridge of his nose. I noticed his eyes leave mine momentarily to dart over to Warren.

  “You were just in the neighborhood and needed to use my dad’s air compressor?” I asked.

  “No, dear,” my mom said through tight lips. “I invited him over for dinner. I thought you’d enjoy seeing him since you were in town again.”

  It clicked—my mom was trying to set me back up with Robby, who was the one and only boyfriend that she’d really liked. Instead of giving me a heads up, she must have decided it would be better to spring it on me when I wasn’t in a position to escape. My head felt like it was stuck in a vice, and each heartbeat made the pressure increase.

  “And who is this young gentleman?” my dad asked, stepping around my mother and offering his hand.

  Gratefully, Warren took it and smiled kindly at my father. Stella answered, “It’s Warren Jackson, Eloise’s non-boyfriend tour buddy.”

  Robby stepped forward, offering his hand, too. “Robby Jenkins.”

  “Nice to meet you,” Warren said. “You knew Eloise growing up?”

  “We dated for about three years,” Robby answered. “Lots of good times together.”

  Warren raised his eyebrows, making the whole awkward situation all the more horrifying. Yes, I’d dated Robby, and he was a nice guy who’d always been kind to me, but in the end, what had killed our relationship was that there wasn’t a drop of passion between us. We had been together as long as we had because we’d settled into the predictability of our relationship that ran like the cogs of a clock. Eventually, my hormonal, teenage-self who longed for the kind of epic romance shown in movies made me realize I wasn’t meant for Robby. Warren, on the other hand, had been the complete opposite—all fire and desire and hardly any room to take a breath. Both extremes were the kind of relationships that left me unsatisfied and ultimately, lonely.

  “It’s a pleasure to have you here, Warren,” my dad said politely, firmly patting him on the shoulder. “The missus and I were beginning to wonder exactly who our darling Eloise has been running around with. Happy to see it’s someone with manners.”

  Mom scoffed and shot Dad a deadly look which piqued his curiosity, though he didn’t question what her reaction was all about. No doubt she’d give him an earful about Warren’s perceived behavior once the guests were gone. Mom wouldn’t be caught dead scolding someone like Warren in her house, even if she was convinced she’d caught us in the middle of some sort of inappropriate flirtation on her loveseat.

  “Why don’t we have dinner?” Mom asked, recovering from the shock of finding me draped over Warren.

  “That would be lovely,” my dad said, linking arms with Mom and walking her to the dining area. “It smells absolutely scrumptious. Say, did you happen to make roasted parsnips? You know how I love them with your ham.”

  Relieved that at least for now, the strangling awkwardness of the situation was put on the backburner, I trailed a step behind everyone else until Warren hooked my elbow and held me back.

  Leaning over my shoulder, he whispered into my ear, “And you said your mom never squealed.”

  I turned my head slightly, aware of how close our mouths were, and looked up into Warren’s gorgeous eyes, snorting at his comment.

  Continuing, Warren asked, “Think it would’ve been better if we told your mom we are dating? You know, so what she thinks she caught us doing wouldn’t be so…taboo?”

  “Ha,” I said. “Nice try, Romeo, but if she knew we were dating and thought that’s what we were doing, I’m fairly certain she’d force me into a convent. That or disown me so she didn’t die of shame.”

  I kept a careful distance from Warren to appease my mom and keep the glares at Warren to a minimum, but I didn’t think for a second Stella was fooled by me. When we entered the dining room, the entire table had been immaculately decorated like we were enjoying Easter supper rather than what was supposed to be an uneventful Sunday dinner with family.

  “Robby, why don’t you take the seat next to Eloise?” Mom directed.

  I would’ve preferred to sit by my sister to appear remaining neutral but didn’t want to be rude. Robby obliged and walked around the table to push in my chair, while Warren took the last empty seat by Stella. Plates of delectable food started circulating the table, and it wasn’t long before I ran out of room. I wasn’t lying to my mom when I said it’d been a while since my last home cooked meal, even if it centered around ham.

  “Is this your first time to Colorado?” Dad asked Warren as he cut his food into bite-sized pieces.

  “Yes, sir,” Warren answered. “Mighty fine mountains you have out this way. Sort of puts the Appalachians to shame.”

  “The Rockies are something to behold, especially the first time,” my dad chuckled in agreement.

  Warren and my father seemed to hit it off, though that dynamic would certainly change once Mom had Dad to herself so she could divulge what the horrors she’d seen in the front foyer. Until then, I enjoyed listening to the two of them exchange stories, happy to pretend nothing had gone awry.

  Warren shoveled in a hearty mouthful of mashed potatoes, swallowed, then slid a stack of ham pieces off his fork with his teeth. When he swallowed and wiped his lips with his linen napkin, he leaned over so he could see Mom around Stella.

  “This has to be the most delicious ham I’ve ever clamped my jaws on, Mrs. Stauch,” he declared.

  “Happy to hear it,” Mom said, her words still clipped.

  I looked across the table to Stella with a look that begged her to change the direction of the conversation. Dabbing her napkin along her mouth, she cleared her throat.

  “Mom? Dad? Did you hear Robby and I were asked to attend a conference on behalf of our accounting firm?” Stella announced proudly.

  “Congratulations, darling,” my mother said, wrapping her arm around Stella’s shoulders and pulling her in close. “I’m happy to see you and Robby are finally being recognized for all your hard work.”

  “Everybody at work loves Stella,” Robby said, setting his fork down. “She must have numbers running through her veins.”

  “Where is your conference going to take place?” Mom asked. “Something local, I hope? I always worry about you girls running off to bigger cities on a whim. You can live a satisfying, fulfilled life without having to uproot yourself.”

  Mom gave me a pointed look, and I squirmed in my seat. I might as well have been sitting on hot coals.

  Stella wasn’t bothered in the least by Mom’s direct disapproval of change—even if temporary—and answered, “In L.A., actually.”

  Mom’s smile faltered, but before she could try and talk Stella out of going, Warren jumped in. “You hear that, Eloise? We’re headed to L.A., too.” Turning to Stella, he asked, “Figure you’ll be there at the same time we wrap up our concert tour?”

  “Late next week?” Stella aske
d, sitting straighter in her seat. “It’d be so fun to go explore the city with you.”

  “Well, I suppose it doesn’t make any difference what I say,” Mom said sourly. She fussed with her food between her fork and knife, but if she cut it into any smaller pieces, my cat would’ve figured it was canned cat food. “First Eloise, now Stella.”

  I wanted to sink under the table and die. This wasn’t how I had envisioned my Sunday evening going, working my mother into a tizzy with everything I said and did in her presence. I was supposed to stay with my parents for the next day for a little rest and relaxation before we moved on to Salt Lake City for the next show. Being scrutinized and manipulated by my mother sounded like anything but a tranquil day at home.

  Stella again sensed my discomfort. “So, Warren, tell us about yourself. Have you known our Eloise for very long?”

  Warren smiled at her, but his glance darted sideways to mine. I saw that familiar twinkle in his eyes, and I swallowed hard, unsure of how he was going to answer her simple question.

  “Just a few months,” Warren said simply, “but they’ve been the happiest of my entire life.”

  “Oh, that’s so sweet! Are you sure you two aren’t dating?” Stella nudged him.

  “Actually, we did. Briefly,” Warren said, his expression slipping from content to genuinely pitiful. “It was fast and furious but ultimately, Eloise decided I wasn’t good enough for her and left me with a broken heart. You know, the kind people sing about.”

  I nearly choked on my roll and hacked in a very unbecoming way to get it unstuck from my windpipe while Robby patted me on the back. Why Warren felt the need to divulge our entire dating history was beyond me.

  “Fast and furious? What does that mean?” Mom asked in alarm.

  When I regained some of my composure, I ignored my mom and instead, refuted Warren’s claims. “Um, if I remember right, you were the one to break up with me.”

  Warren’s expression became hard and unreadable. Coldly, he answered, “That’s not how I remember it.”