When Stars Collide

by Sara Furlong-Burr

  “And how does the bride feel about it?”

  “I think she should marry that dress, because it’s perfect for her.”

  “That settles it, we have our first dress.” Agnes clapped her hands together as I slipped out of the small chiffon number and threw my clothes back on.

  “Wait, does that mean I won the Great Bridesmaid Dress Showdown of 2019?” I asked, walking back to the couch to join Elle.

  “Winner, winner,” Elle agreed, handing me a glass of champagne.

  “If you would have followed that up with ‘chicken dinner,’ I would have had no choice but to revoke my friendship.”

  “And I wouldn’t have blamed you one bit.”

  For the rest of the afternoon, I was able to do what I did best—sit back and contribute commentary, both where appropriate and where inappropriate, while Elle inspected and ultimately approved of each of the dresses that would be greeting her at the end of the aisle. Kirsten would be donning a tangerine halter dress, so as not to showcase breasts I would be all too willing to give up my first born to have, while Orchid selected a floor-length orange gown, just as elegant and sophisticated as the image she projected. But for as much grief as I’d given Elle, and everyone else I encountered for that matter, the fact was that I needed this day. I needed the peace, craved it with everything I had. And it was a good thing I was fortunate enough to have been able to bask in it, if only for a few hours. Because unbeknownst to me, those few hours were the calm before the storm.

  *****

  Elle dropped me off at Peter’s apartment shortly before midnight. As expected, he was already in bed. Trying to stay as quiet as possible, I shrugged off my jacket and hung it on the back of a chair, startled by the sight of Jackson standing right behind me when I turned back around.

  “Oh, hey, little Peter.”

  Note to self: Little Peter is not a good nickname.

  “Hi,” he answered quietly.

  “What are you still doing awake? Can’t sleep?”

  He shook his head. “No, I was, but then I woke up thirsty and came in here to get a glass of water.”

  “You know what? How about I get it for you.”

  He smiled, nodding his head.

  I took a few short steps into the kitchen and began searching for the drinking glasses. “Now, if I were a glass,” I began, opening the silverware drawer, “where would I be?” I followed that up by cracking open the stove, much to Jackson’s amusement.

  “On the shelf,” he giggled.

  “Oh, that’s right.” I threw my hands up into the air. “This shelf?” I asked, opening the pantry door.

  “No,” he laughed, pointing to the shelf next to the sink, “that one.”

  Following his instruction, I opened the door, revealing Peter’s drinking glass inventory. “Would you look at that? This is certainly an odd place to keep glasses.” With a shake of my head, I plucked two plastic cups from the bottom shelf and filled them each with water from the refrigerator’s water supply.

  “You’re funny,” Jackson observed, taking the cup from me.

  “You’re all right yourself.”

  “I know.” He plopped down on the couch in the living room with his glass of water.

  Nope, certainly not Peter’s kid at all.

  “Do you mind if I join you?”

  He shook his head, patting the seat next to him. “Did you find your wedding dress?”

  The water in my throat began to make its way back up, but then abruptly became fixated in my esophagus, creating a choking sound that blossomed into quite the coughing fit. Jackson stared at me, horrified.

  “Are you dying?”

  I cleared my throat, nodding my head. “Just about. Did you think I was looking for a wedding dress for myself?”

  “Sure, you’re going to be in a wedding, aren’t you?”

  “Ah, I see your logic. Yes, you’re absolutely right, I am going to be in a wedding. Elle and Luke’s wedding.”

  “Yeah, duh, that’s what I meant.”

  “Just wanted to make sure.”

  “You looked really scared.”

  “That’s because I was.”

  “I get scared sometimes, too, but I deal with it.”

  “Oh?” I asked, setting my glass on a coaster on Peter’s coffee table. “What do you do to help you not feel so scared?”

  “I find some place to hide where I can be by myself. My nana has a tree house in her backyard. I go there. It’s up high and no one ever thinks to look there.”

  “And what makes you scared?”

  “I don’t know—clowns, heights.”

  “You’re afraid of heights, so you climb a tree?”

  He shrugged. “I’m a complicated kid.”

  “That you are.”

  Jackson downed the rest of his water and handed the glass to me. “I’m done. Goodnight, Mena.” He hopped off the couch and began making his way down the hall.

  “Goodnight, Jack. Is it okay if I call you Jack?”

  “No.”

  “Fair enough.”

  *****

  I awoke early the next morning beside a still sleeping Peter. My fingertips lightly caressed his bare back, tracing the outline of the cross tattoo he’d had done after his grandfather passed away a couple of years ago. At first, the maneuverings of my finger across his skin drew nothing more from him than a slight hitch in his breathing. But moments later, he began to stir.

  “Mmm,” he moaned, rolling over to face me.

  “Did you miss me?”

  “I would have if you hadn’t woken me up before seven on a Sunday.”

  “I could always let you go back to sleep,” I said, biting my lower lip while my hand made its way up his thigh.

  “No, I’m up now.”

  “I’ll say you are.”

  He exhaled sharply, leaning his forehead against mine, just as my hand found its way between his legs.

  “Mena, what are you doing to me?”

  “You don’t know?”

  “I meant that metaphorically, not literally.”

  “I know.”

  His lips found mine, hungry and eager. I shifted my body, rolling on top of him. Peter’s hands worked to remove my camisole, and the touch of his fingertips against my bare breasts instantaneously formed goosebumps down my arms. Still straddling him, I slid his basketball shorts down below his knees as he worked his legs up and down to slide them off the rest of the way. His muscular arms wound their way around me, pushing me down against his body. My cheek brushed the stubble on his chin as I began lightly kissing his neck.

  Peter moaned, his hands gliding softly down the length of my body, stopping when they reached the waistband of my panties, where he lost all sense of decorum. His fingers gripped the lacy material and he hurriedly yanked my bikini briefs down to my mid-thigh.

  I feigned a yawn. “Gee, I’m feeling awfully tired. You’re right, it’s early. Maybe we should go back to sleep.”

  “No, I was wrong. So very, very wrong.”

  “I could get used to hearing that.” I slid my body down the length of Peter’s torso, closing in on his waist, when the bedroom door burst open and Jackson bounded inside.

  “Shit.” Peter threw the comforter over us as I managed to hike my panties back up, stealing a peek out from underneath the covers.

  “What were you two doing?” Jackson asked, very much befuddled. “And why were you naked? That’s gross.”

  “Oh, well,” Peter began, uncharacteristically flustered, “Mena just misplaced her clothes and was crawling over the bed to look for them.”

  “I found them,” I proclaimed, holding up the camisole.

  “See, all good now.”

  “Your shorts are on the floor, Dad.” Jackson reached down, coming back up with Peter’s basketball shorts.”

  “Thanks, bud.” He reached out his arm to take the shorts from Jackson. “Hey, why don’t you go to the kitchen? I’ll be right there to make you breakfast.”

&nb
sp; “If by make breakfast, you mean cereal, I can just do that myself.”

  “I was going to add in some toast, too.”

  “How about waffles? Can we make some waffles?”

  “You drive a hard bargain, but I think we can manage that.”

  “Yes!” Excited, Jackson turned back around to leave the room.

  “Close the door on the way out,” Peter called after him.

  Already in the hall, Jackson did an about-face, grabbed the handle, and slammed the door shut behind him.

  “There’s no way I was going to deny the kid waffles after the years of therapy he just saw.”

  “I always knew I’d be the reason for someone’s therapy visits someday.”

  “Did you forget that I asked you to make sure the door was locked before you came to bed?” he asked, rubbing his temple.

  “Are you seriously putting this all on me? I’m sorry that it slipped my mind. Unlike you, I’m not used to having a fun-sized version of me busting into my room like the Kool-Aid man every morning.”

  “First, if anyone’s fun-sized here, it’s not Jackson.” He smiled slyly at me. “Secondly, I’m now going to have yet another incident to explain to Amanda, and based upon how the first one went down, my night is going to be total hell.”

  “Things happen. Why does everything have to be blown out of proportion with her?”

  “She’s Jackson’s mother, and I respect her wishes when it comes to the way Jackson should be raised and what he should and shouldn’t be exposed to.”

  “What about your wishes, does she respect those? Do you even get a say?”

  “Of course, I do. It’s just—”

  “Easier to let her have her way.”

  He sighed. Peter speak for ‘drop it’. “We both just want what’s best for Jackson. Arguing with each other is the exact opposite of that.”

  “And what if she decides that me being out of the picture is what’s best for Jackson … you know, since I’m the opposite of maternal, and all?”

  “That’s not going to happen, Mena. Amanda knows her boundaries.”

  “Daaad! The waffles aren’t going to make themselves.”

  “That would be my cue to get my ass up and out of bed.” He kissed me on the forehead, flashing one of his trademark smirks just before rolling out of bed to join Jackson in the kitchen.

  Although he tried to be reassuringly direct in his dismissal of my not-so-subtle insecurities, there was something about the way he said it, something about the look in his eyes, that told me things were changing between us—or maybe they already had changed and I’d just been too distracted to see it. Whether that change was for the better or for the worse, though, remained to be seen.

  CHAPTER SIX

  My cell phone was propped up on my desk, allowing me to work while I FaceTimed with Elle, who was changing into her first wedding dress. Kirsten was with her, holding Elle’s phone.

  “Good lord, Elle, you’re not getting married today. What’s taking so long over there?” I asked.

  “You can’t rush perfection,” she replied, her voice a bit muffled from the distance between herself and the phone.

  “No, but you can kick it in the ass a time or two.”

  “Okay, here’s the first one.”

  “Oh, you look like a princess, Elle,” Kirsten said in awe.

  I turned my head to look at my phone, seeing nothing but a black screen. “Earth to Kirsten. I know you’re probably on your third glass of free champagne right about now, but you have to turn the phone so that I can see what you’re looking at.”

  “Oh, yeah.” After a couple more seconds of complete darkness, Elle’s image appeared on my screen. Her dress, a simple strapless number with beading around the bust, screamed class.

  “Yeah, the free champagne wasn’t offered this time, after we obliterated three bottles the last time.”

  “Cheap bastards.”

  “What do you think about this one?”

  “I think it’s elegant, tasteful …”

  “But?” Elle knew me too well.

  “But when I think about you as a bride—and don’t get all choked up on me for saying this—I envision you in something that will take Luke’s breath away. When you come out and I see you in your dress for the first time, I want to be wowed.”

  Elle stood in silence, contemplating what I’d just said. “You’re right. This isn’t the one.”

  “I mean, if you have your heart set on that one …”

  “No, no, let me put on the other one. I think your assessment is spot on, and this won’t be as hard as I thought it would be.”

  Elle hurried out of view of the phone, once again leaving me alone with Kirsten on the other end. My mind turned over different categories of small talk to make with her while we awaited Elle’s next grand entrance.

  “So, where’s Dandelion today?”

  “Oh, she had to work.”

  “Did you have today off?”

  “No, Elle and I are on our lunch hour.”

  That’s right, she and Elle work together.

  “Long day at the library?” That was when I learned that one question could lead to several minutes of pure regret.

  “My gosh, let me tell you. We had one guy come in today who was upset because we wouldn’t let him check out any more books without paying his fines, and …”

  I sat at my computer, reviewing our latest query submissions as Kirsten spoke passionately about all the inefficiencies present at the Roanoke Public Library.

  “And then our system crashed, and no one but Elle knew how to use the antiquated card catalog we keep around as a back-up, and— Whoa.”

  “What? Whoa, what? Kirsten, turn the phone around.”

  “Oh crap, sorry.”

  I could have turned over a million mental images of Elle in my mind and none of them—

  Not. A. Single. One.—would have held a candle to the Elle standing before me. The dress, a vision only seen in fairy tales, was a long-sleeved, A-line dress with an illusion neckline and beaded embellishments around the bodice. From the waist down, chiffon flowed down to the floor in ripples.

  “Wow.” The response was so organic that it came out involuntarily.

  “I know, right!” Elle beamed, doing a quick turn, which revealed the back of the dress secured by a row of buttons that went down the length of her back.

  “Why didn’t you break this one out first?”

  “I don’t know. I think in the back of my mind, I always knew it was going to be this one. I only tried on the other style just to be sure.”

  “Well, it’s perfect.” I blinked back a tear that was threatening to betray the overwhelming emotion I felt seeing my best friend one step closer to her own happy ending.

  “Mena, are you crying?” Elle asked.

  “Elle, have you seriously ever seen me cry?” As she turned her back to the phone, I quickly grabbed a Kleenex from my desk and dabbed at the corner of my eye.

  “Are you all right?” a voice from my doorway startled me. I’d been too mesmerized by Elle to notice that Phineas had opened my door and was now partially inside of my office.

  I nodded, motioning him in.

  “Wow, I honestly never thought I’d ever see you cry. Not that I wanted to, of course. It’s just … it’s like I stumbled across a unicorn in the subway.”

  “Ha, so you were crying,” Elle announced, triumphantly.

  “To be fair, I am, too,” Kirsten added.

  “You also cried when they told us there would be no complimentary champagne today, Kirsten.”

  Phineas raised his eyebrow, totally and completely confused by what was transpiring. I pointed to my phone and directed him around my desk.

  “It’s my best friend,” I told him. “She’s getting married next year, and she asked me for my input on her wedding dress.”

  “What was that, Mena?” Elle asked, returning her attention back to the phone and the image of me and, now, Phineas staring ba
ck at her. Elle’s jaw dropped, her cheeks reddening.

  “Elle, this is my boss, Phineas Drake; Phineas, this is my best friend, Elle Sloan.”

  “Pleased to meet you, Elle,” Phineas greeted her politely. “I’ve heard quite a bit about you and Luke.”

  “I bet you have,” Elle answered, smoothing out her dress as her focus moved from Phineas to me.

  Phineas chuckled. “All good, I assure you. Your dress looks great. Luke is one lucky man.”

  “Th-Thank you,” she stammered.

  Phineas turned to me. “Do you have that manuscript you wanted me to look at?”

  “Oh, yes.” I stood up and moved a file to uncover the manuscript for a romantic comedy we received from a nearby agency about a week ago and handed it to him.

  “I’ll take a look at this. It was nice to finally meet you, Elle.”

  “Nice to meet you, too,” two voices came over the speaker.

  Confused, I looked at the screen to see both Elle and Kirsten waving at Phineas as he turned to head out of my office.

  “Smooth, you two.”

  “That’s your boss?” Elle asked.

  “Yeah, why?”

  “He’s got to be one of the hottest men I’ve ever seen,” Kirsten chimed in.

  “He’s okay, I guess,” I replied, hoping Phineas hadn’t heard any of our conversation.

  “He’s more than okay,” Elle added. “If I worked for someone who looked like him, Luke would be paying me visits at work on the regular.”

  “Speaking of work, I should probably get back to doing just that.”

  “Oh, before we hang up, I need to talk to you for a second.” Elle grabbed the phone back from Kirsten, making it a point to put some distance between the two of them before she spoke to me again.

  “Are you firing Kirsten from your bridesmaid team? Because if I have any say, it won’t be her.”

  “No, I’m not firing anyone.” Elle looked around, apparently satisfied that the coast was clear. “Look, I know Violet can be a little …”

  “Extra,” I offered, finishing her sentence.

  “Yes, very much. But she means well, and I really think you should start making a concerted effort to address her by her actual name.”

  “Don’t worry, I’m no botanist, and my knowledge of flowers has been taxed to the limit. If I were to continue, I’d have to start searching online for new ones, and ain’t nobody got time for that.”