When Stars Collide

by Sara Furlong-Burr

  “Mena, when you have a second, could you— Are you crying … again?” His tone softened, his voice lowering so that no one else could hear him. I looked up at him, allowing the tears to answer his question instead of words. Peering behind him to make certain no one noticed him, Phineas let himself inside, closing the door behind him. “Do you want to tell me what happened?”

  “It would be easier to tell you what hasn’t happened.” I sighed, motioning for him to sit down in a chair in front of my desk. “My life has gone to shit in such a short period of time. You would think maybe life could ease us into all the shittiness—you know, prepare us a little. A little heads-up, maybe. But no, we’re blindsided by it.”

  “You’re worrying me a little, Mena.”

  “That’s good, because I’m worried, too. Misery loves company, you know.” I wiped the tears away from my eyes with the back of my hand. “There’s no easy way to say this, so I’ll just say it. I have cancer.”

  Phineas’s face fell, resembling what mine must have looked like the moment I began to comprehend my diagnosis. “Mena, I’m sorry. Wh-What kind of cancer?”

  “Melanoma. Who would have thought a mole could take a person out.”

  “Melanoma is serious. The wife of a former colleague of mine had it. She fought it for quite a while, until—” He stopped himself abruptly, deciding a little too late to shield me from the obvious.

  “Until she died.” I didn’t need to look at his face for confirmation. I already knew that’s what he had been going to say.

  “I’m sorry. That wasn’t the best thing to tell you right now.”

  “No, it’s exactly what you should be telling me. You know I don’t sugar coat anything. Besides, I’m stage two, and I may stay a stage two. I won’t know for certain until after surgery, of course, but I’m trying to stay optimistic. If anything is going to take me out, it’s going to involve a bottle of wine and a night of poor decisions, preferably involving Chris Hemsworth.”

  “That could be any night.”

  “Way to kick a girl while she’s down.”

  “Am I wrong?”

  “It’s not every night.”

  Phineas chuckled. “Look, Mena, I don’t think I need to tell you that you have my support. If you need to take some extra time, take it. Your health is more important than anything going on here. In fact, I’m sure Peter’s beside himself right now. Why don’t you take a couple days off and arrange for him to come up here?”

  With the mere mention of Peter, Phineas may just as well have punched me in the chest. “That’s not going to be happening.”

  “Then why don’t you go down to Virginia?”

  “No, no,” I sighed. The pain from our recent breakup was still fresh enough to bring about a dull ache that reverberated from my chest down into my stomach. “I won’t be seeing Peter at all. We broke up.”

  “Oh.” I’d seen many facial expressions on Phineas’s face before, but never the one he was projecting now. “Christ, I’m batting a thousand today, aren’t I? When did you two break up?”

  “The day after I spent the night at your place. You know, after getting blitzed on your rooftop.”

  “Why-Why?” He was trying to toe the line between being a concerned friend and a professional in a position of authority, meaning he had to choose his words wisely. “I hope he wasn’t upset about your spending time with me.”

  “No, he cut me off before I could tell him much of anything that happened, actually. I think he already had his mind made up before that night even happened, maybe even earlier. He just didn’t want to tell me beforehand, because he wanted me to enjoy myself and not sulk the entire night.”

  A knock on my office door startled the both of us. Seconds later, Penelope poked her head inside. “I’m sorry to interrupt. Mr. Drake, you have a call from Nicole Casey, the author of that historical romance you reviewed.”

  “Ah, yes, please tell Ms. Casey I’ll be right with her.”

  “Sure thing.”

  Phineas stood up. “If you need anything, don’t be afraid to ask.”

  “What about that tequila cooler I asked you to have installed in the break room months ago?”

  “I’ll get back to you on that.” He paused in the doorway, uncertainty in his eyes. He looked like he was going to say something, but he changed his mind at the last second. Instead, he tapped his hand on the doorframe and walked back to his office.

  *****

  Two months. I had to wait two months for surgery. Two months of uncertainty. Two months of wondering whether my cancer had spread to other parts of my body. Whether I would be a stage two cancer patient with an eighty percent chance of survival, or a stage four cancer patient with a twenty-five percent chance of survival. To say I was going stir crazy would be an understatement; to say I was driving Jo crazy some days with my incessant pacing and stress cleaning was also an understatement.

  “How many times this week are you going to clean out the fridge?” Jo asked, leaning against the counter.

  “Until I’m no longer pulling out things with green fuzz growing on them.”

  “Good luck with that.”

  “What the hell?” I pulled out a ball of something green, orange, and nauseatingly squishy.

  “Oh, my peach. I wondered where that went.”

  I contemplated throwing the fruit at Jo, but then decided against it, knowing she would retaliate.

  “So, when’s your surgery?”

  “In two weeks—January 30th.”

  “Nervous?”

  “Honestly, no. I’m looking forward to finally getting it out of the way and moving on with my life.” I hadn’t told too many people about my diagnosis, and the way Jo was looking at me from across the kitchen perfectly illustrated the reason why. I despised being pitied. It made me feel vulnerable, which was the last thing I wanted to be. “Oh, I’m going to be gone next weekend. Elle’s having the first of a few bridal showers.”

  “That means the wedding must be getting close.”

  “In less than four months.”

  “So, that means I’m going to have the apartment all to myself.” Jo smiled, rubbing her hands together. “Guess I should start deciding what the flavor of the week is going to be this week.”

  Usually I could turn a blind eye to Jo’s sexual exploits, but for some reason—maybe it was the fact that my ass was numb from sitting on the cold tile floor in a thin pair of cotton shorts, or because I was elbow deep in a produce drawer filled with more penicillin than fruit—I felt myself compelled to address the thoughts I normally kept to myself.

  “Aren’t you getting tired of pointless hookups? Maybe it was cute in your twenties, but twenty you are not.”

  Jo furrowed her brow. “You sound like my parents.”

  “Then maybe you should take that as a sign that you should make some major life changes.”

  “Why do you care what I do?”

  “Oh, I don’t know, Jo. Because even though we only met when you responded to an online ad because I needed a roommate to afford rent, I actually do care about you, and I know destructive behavior when I see it.”

  “Don’t sit there and act like you have your life together,” Jo countered. She rarely got mad at me, but this topic of conversation had really struck a nerve with her.

  I reached back into the refrigerator drawer and pulled out a slimy … apple? A lemon? Jimmy Hoffa?

  “I just don’t understand you, Jo. You had a great girl in that Madison broad and you let her get away.”

  Confused, Jo stared at me, while her brain searched for the dusty file with Madison’s name written on it.

  “Hoodie girl.”

  “Oh! Yeah, okay.”

  “She really liked you, and you treated her like a piece of trash, discarding her when you were done with her. All I’m saying is, maybe you may want to start caring about the trail of broken hearts and hurt feelings you’re leaving behind.”

  “As you said, we found each other through an
ad. We’re a business transaction, nothing more. You know nothing about me or my life, so please stay out of it.” Without another word, Jo stormed off to her bedroom.

  “You know, I have cancer, so you’re kind of obligated to be nice to me,” I called out after her, only to be met by the sound of her bedroom door slamming shut.

  *****

  I pulled on a pair of pantyhose, regretting almost immediately that I had done so. Few things existed that I detested more than pantyhose, but today was Elle’s day, and if she wanted classy, she was going to get classy, even if it meant cutting off my circulation in the process. Hanging next to the bed in the spare bedroom at Elle and Luke’s place was the orange dress I’d bought just for the occasion. Elle asked that her bridesmaids attend her shower dressed in her wedding colors. A simple enough request from the bride who’d been anything but difficult, yet I had an inkling that I was going to develop a strong aversion to all things citrus before the wedding was over.

  “Are you almost ready?” Elle asked from outside the door. “Candy is already at the clubhouse setting up. I promised Luke I would get over there before she overdoes it.”

  I slipped the dress over my head. “Yeah, almost. Why don’t you come in and help me zip up my dress? My short arms are doing me a real disservice right now.” Elle came into the room as I struggled with getting my zipper to move more than halfway up my back.

  “Don’t worry, I got your back,” she proclaimed, coming up behind me.

  “If you’re going to be breaking out those types of puns the rest of the day, I’m going to have to put in a request for an open bar at your shower.”

  She laughed. “Believe me, if an open bar would have been an option, I would have taken it. After opening sexy lingerie in front of my future mother-in-law, I’m going to need a drink or two. I’m just thankful Candy is Candy, because if she would have been anyone else, this would be a very mortifying experience.” She caught sight of my gift to her sitting on the bed. “Speaking of mortifying, should I open your gift here?”

  I smirked.

  “Oh God, I should. I definitely should open it now.”

  We both lunged for the box. Elle made a valiant effort, but I made it there first, clutching it to my chest.

  “Mena …”

  “See,” I said, carefully shaking it, “it’s not vibrating.” Elle glared at me, crossing her arms in front of her. “Look, you have my word that there is nothing in here that’s going to cause you emotional distress. I’m saving that shit for the wedding.”

  *****

  “Hi, darling!” Candy greeted Elle with a hug the second we walked through the door of the clubhouse at the Emerald Isle Country Club.

  “We came as soon as Luke told us you were here. What can Mena and I do to …” Elle paused, looking around the clubhouse, fully decorated and more than ready to host a bridal shower. “Candy,” Elle admonished her mother-in-law-to-be, “you know you aren’t supposed to be doing anything too strenuous with your back condition.”

  “Don’t be silly, I’m not disabled. I just have a herniated disc. Besides, I picked up Violet on the way here. She did most of the heavy lifting.” Candy’s gaze drifted to me. “Mena, it’s been a minute since I’ve seen you.” We shared a cordial embrace. Luke’s mother was just as short as I was, and I’d felt a sort of kinship with her the moment we first met. “How is everything? Elle told me about your medical issues.”

  “I’m not going to lie, things could be better. But such is life, right?”

  “Your surgery is next week?”

  I nodded. “On Thursday.”

  “Well, I’ll be thinking about you. I told Elle to keep us posted.”

  “Thank you, Mrs. Hutchins.”

  “It’s Candy, dear.”

  “Thank you, Candy. Where is Violet? Is she still here?”

  “She’s in the kitchen.”

  I nodded. “Excuse me.”

  From the unmistakable sound of water running and pans striking a sink basin, I was given a trail of breadcrumbs to follow to the kitchen. On my way, I passed the room where the shower was being held, walking by tables adorned with white tablecloths and orange and yellow floral centerpieces. The decor was understated, but just enough that even the addition of one more flower arrangement would have made it look over-the-top.

  Violet’s back was turned away from me when I reached the kitchen, where she was working intently on arranging cupcakes onto a platter. I debated announcing myself, but before I could say anything, she turned around.

  “Oh, geez, you startled me.”

  “Hey, Violet,” I said, walking into the kitchen. “Do you need any help?”

  “Everything is ready in here. The only thing left to do is to carry things out to the banquet table.” She stopped what she was doing, puzzled. “Wait a minute, did you just call me Violet?”

  “Yeah, I mean, it’s the least I could do, considering … Listen, I-I’m not good at being sentimental, so …” I don’t know what happened to me in that moment, but it felt like everything I’d been through over the last few months was falling down on me. Every emotion I’d suppressed with the flimsy levee I’d constructed was furiously breaking through. And before I could stop myself I, Mena Straszewski, initiated an actual hug. “Thank you,” I said to a stunned Violet. “If you hadn’t said anything to me and I hadn’t gotten that mole removed when I did, who knows what my future would have looked like—or if I would even have had a future.” While my arms were still around Violet, I caught sight of Elle standing in the doorway, her mouth agape. “Don’t get any ideas,” I called out to her, “you’re not joining this party.” I let Violet go, rubbing away the tears from the corners of my eyes.

  “I’m just glad you got checked. You really have yourself to thank for following up. Oftentimes people will just wave off the concerns of others, thinking they know best.”

  “Well, I wouldn’t have known there was anything to check had it not been for you.” I grabbed one of the trays of cupcakes to take out to the banquet table. “Thank you, Violet, truly.”

  “You know,” she called out to me as I was walking out of the kitchen, “Daffodil was kind of growing on me.”

  “Roger that, Snapdragon.”

  I sat next to Elle, chewing on a gumball from a bottle labeled Blow Jobs that was given to her as a gag gift from, of all people, Candy. In my lap was a steno pad on which I was jotting down an inventory of the gifts she received for her thank you cards. Presently, those gifts consisted of lingerie, lingerie, lingerie, a set of monogrammed towels, massage oil, a gift certificate to a local spa, and more lingerie. The monogrammed towels were a gift from Elle’s lookalike half-sister, Alex, who Elle met in person over Christmas when Mark and his family visited her and Luke. Alex couldn’t be more like the younger version of Elle if she tried. She sat quietly, smiling politely and making commentary when it was expected of her, but you could tell that a room full of people wasn’t where she wanted to be.

  Same, Alex. Same.

  The real gift, though, was Elle’s expression each time she opened a package and was forced to hold up yet another teddy she was probably never going to wear. Her cheeks burned a bright red, matching some of the undergarments. It had become so amusing that I wrote a reminder note to myself to send her a thank you note for the entertainment. For some reason, Elle saved my gift for last, under the impression, perhaps, that its contents were worse than the gifts she already received. When she picked my gift up from the table, her expression told me that she regretted not having been successful in taking it from me and opening it back home.

  “Brace yourself,” I whispered to her as she began peeling back the paper.

  “I swear to God, Mena,” she muttered, her cheeks already burning.

  She sighed as she finished unwrapping the cardboard box and peeled away the tape holding it closed. After some serious side-eye directed at me, she opened the box and peeled back the paper covering my gift to her, gasping in what I hoped was delight.r />
  “Oh, Mena.” She was in tears by the time she freed the canvas bearing a photograph of her and Luke taken shortly after they first began dating thirteen years ago. “I can’t believe you held onto this for so long.” She turned the canvas around to show Candy who held her hands up to her face as she, too, became emotional.

  “You know me, nostalgic and shit.”

  “I just can’t believe you had it blown up and mounted. Luke is going to love this. Thank you so much.”

  She leaned over to hug me, her sudden movement jostling the box still on her knees, making its position there tentative at best. I cringed, remembering what else was inside it.

  “You know, maybe thank me some other time,” I said, encouraging her to sit upright.

  “Come on. You hugged Violet today; you can hug me, too.” She lurched forward once more, the box now balancing precariously on one leg instead of two.

  “No, seriously, you’ll thank me later.” I held out my hand, hoping she would take it, instead.

  “You’re being ridiculous.” And with that final move, that one last attempt at catching me in her grasp, the box fell to the floor in what felt like slow motion. Without wasting any time, the second it struck the floor, the industrial-sized tube of lube I’d picked up at an off-color gift shop rolled merrily out of it. Like the box from whence it came, the tube also seemed to move in slow motion, finally coming to rest at Kirsten’s feet.

  Elle looked from the tube to me and back again, her eyes as wide in circumference as the tube on the floor.

  “Huh.” I smiled, clenching my jaw. “How did that get in there?”

  *****

  “Still mad at me?” I asked Elle as we were on the way back to her place.

  “No, I’m not mad, just …”

  “I know, I know. Just disappointed. In my defense, I tried to warn you. Plus, I gave you like the best gift ever, so I think that cancels out the embarrassment.”