When Stars Collide

by Sara Furlong-Burr

  “What other bit of news could you possibly have to …” Realization struck me mid-sentence. Phineas smiled as my eyes searched his face for confirmation. “The book? The poetry book I gave you to review. Is that your news? Are we taking it on?”

  “No.”

  My heart sank, which must have reflected on my face. “Damn it. There has to be a market for it somewhere. I mean—”

  “We’re not taking it on,” Phineas continued, “but a former colleague of mine, Clay Braxton, is very much interested in it.”

  “Clay Braxton? The Clay Braxton? The man who discovered David Ledbetter and my favorite science fiction novel of all time?”

  “That’s the one.”

  “B-But how?”

  “He has a soft spot for poetry. I read through it. It was quite good; I wish we could have taken it on here. I just don’t have much experience in the marketing of poetry. I’d have done a disservice to the author, but Clay, he’ll be able to give the book the attention it deserves. In fact, maybe you ought to give Elle a call and tell her the good news.”

  “You knew it was Elle’s book this entire time, didn’t you?”

  “Of course I did.” He chuckled. “Come on, it wasn’t a hard puzzle to piece together. L.N. Rae. Ellen Sloan, the friend of yours who, in your words, is ‘amazing at writing poetry and shit.’”

  “You really do pay attention to everything, don’t you?”

  “It all depends on what is being said and the person saying it.” He cleared his throat, swiftly changing the subject. “You never mentioned anything about Elle being an artist. Those illustrations she did were quite impressive. They really captured the essence of the particular poems they were meant to embody.”

  “That’s because Elle didn’t do those illustrations. I did.”

  Note to self: A stunned Phineas is quite the sight to behold.

  “You can pick your jaw up from the floor now.”

  “I’m sorry. I knew you probably had some sort of artistic talent to be drawn to this profession, but I never would have guessed you could draw like that. Well then, I guess congratulations are in order to both Elle and to you.” He scooted the chair back and stood up. “I’d better let you get to delivering the good news.” Our eyes met, and I couldn’t deny the shiver that went through my body. “It’s good to have you back, Mena.”

  The very second Phineas left my office, I pulled my cell phone from my purse and called Elle, hoping I wasn’t sent to voicemail, because I didn’t know how much longer I could contain my excitement.

  “Hey,” she answered, not nearly as peppy as she usually was, “I was just going to call you.”

  “Oh?” I asked, disappointed that I hadn’t been the first one to deliver the news. “You must have spoken to Clay already?”

  “Who’s Clay?”

  “If you haven’t heard from Clay, then what’s going on?”

  “It’s Monroe. His dad was killed in a car accident last night.”

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Peter wasn’t one to cry, choosing instead to internalize his pain the way men often did. Except, I was pretty positive that even a hefty percentage of those men took out their pain and the anger it caused them in some way, whether that way involved a right hook to a punching bag or a lamp shattered across their plank flooring. I hadn’t seen Peter utilize either of those methods, or any method to vent for that matter, until his father’s funeral.

  Strands of hair poked up every which way, like he’d been caught in a windstorm. While it was true he’d been through a whirlwind, his hair was the result of a nervous tic of his. Whenever he was nervous or stressed, he would run his hands through his hair like it was some sort of security blanket. He’d done that a lot over the last few days, that much was apparent from his appearance.

  Elle moved to sit next to me in a pew tucked away in the back of the church. I’d arrived into town late and had been able to slip quietly inside, catching the attention of no one but Elle. Even Peter had no idea I was here. And as I sat watching him grieve with his family, including Amanda, I wasn’t positive whether I even wanted him to know I had come at all. Luke and Elle could tell him I’d shown up to pay my respects later, after I’d already disappeared, slipping into the shadows back to New York.

  Occasionally, Peter would glance back at the pew behind him, where Luke was seated. Luke’s head managed to block his face from view at first, but then either he or Peter must have shifted over a few inches, affording me a glimpse of Peter’s face. The hell he’d been through the last handful of days was written all over him. Eyes, rimmed red from tears, peered back at his childhood friend, broken and despondent. Broken and despondent used to be the last words anyone would have used to describe Peter Monroe. Used to be.

  When I was in high school, the antennae of my garbage car broke in half when I took it through a car wash without removing it first. Not being mechanically inclined, and under the mistaken belief that duct tape could fix anything, I’d wrapped what amounted to two feet worth of it around the broken shaft, feeling proud of myself and my handiwork when I was done. Of course, the fix amounted to the equivalent of sticking a band-aid over a crack in a dam. All it did was conceal the problem, not fix it. Sure enough, within a day, the adhesive lost its effectiveness and the antenna fell, hanging on by a thread and a sliver of tape. Peter reminded me of that antennae, barely hanging on. I’d never seen him so friable, and that image of him was one that would haunt me for the rest of my life. Tears hugged the corners of my eyes, as I willed myself not to shatter into a thousand pieces right along with him.

  “He looks like he’s going to break down any moment,” I whispered to Elle.

  She nodded. “He’s looked like that for months. He’s only slightly worse for wear right now.”

  “Why? What’s been going on?”

  Elle glanced over at me. “You really have no idea?”

  “I’ve kind of been out of his life, remember?”

  “That would be a large part of it.”

  Peter’s eyes met mine when my gaze happened to wander back to his pew. At first, he only stared at me in disbelief, which morphed in slow motion into a slight, tight-lipped smile.

  “He’s been taking classes again at the local community college,” Elle whispered. “His schedule is crazy. I don’t think he’s getting much sleep.”

  “He’s back in school? That’s great. What made him decide to finally do that?”

  “To better himself, I guess. He told Luke he’s tired of being a loser.”

  “What? Peter isn’t anywhere close to being a loser.”

  “People have a tendency to not see themselves the way others do.”

  *****

  “Mena!” Jackson spotted me in the parking lot and ran over to where I stood next to my rental car.

  “Hey, little man,” I greeted him, crouching down to give him a hug. “How’s school … and other kid things?”

  “Okay.” He shrugged. “I haven’t seen you in a long time. Where have you been?”

  “I live in New York, and …” I thought about what to say to him to explain my absence, since clearly Peter hadn’t. Was he even old enough to understand what a breakup was? Even if he was, telling him was Peter’s responsibility, not mine. “I’ve just been super busy doing top secret book work.”

  “That sounds boring.”

  “Sounds like something your father would say.”

  “Oh no, what did he say?” Peter appeared from out of nowhere behind Jackson.

  I stood up from my crouching position. After Peter and I broke up, I wouldn’t have guessed we would ever be standing in front of each other having a conversation again. As familiar as it was, it also felt like we were meeting each other for the first time.

  “He’s just telling me how boring my job is,” I answered him, clearing my throat.

  “Yeah, that checks out as being something my son would say,” he acknowledged.

  “See,” I tousled Jackson’s hair, “like father,
like son.”

  He giggled. “Are you leaving again?”

  I nodded. “I was only in town for a little bit this time to attend your grandpa’s funeral and to discuss Elle’s book edits with her.”

  “Aunt Elle wrote a book?”

  “No, she wrote a masterpiece, and I drew some pretty cool pictures for it.”

  “Okay, your job doesn’t sound so boring now.”

  “Jackson,” Amanda called from across the parking lot, waving for her son to come to her.

  Jackson turned to make his way to his mother, but every so often, he would turn to look back at me, clearly wanting to say something. Finally, when he was roughly twenty feet away, he turned back around to ask me the question that obviously had been eating away at him. “Will we see you again soon?”

  I didn’t know how to answer him. While a part of me wanted to say “Of course, buddy,” another part of me knew our run-ins would grow scarcer as the months ticked away. After the wedding, the odds of me ever spending any time with Jackson again were slim to none. Nonetheless, I produced a sugar-coated response that should appease him for now. “Of course, you’ll see me again soon. I’m Aunt Elle’s maid of honor in her wedding. The wedding where you’re the ring bearer, remember?”

  “Oh yeah, right,” he replied, conking himself over the head with the palm of his hand. “Duh, Jackson.”

  “Yup, clearly your son.” I waved good-bye to him, watching him run the rest of the way to his mother.

  “It means a lot to me that you came today.”

  I looked up to Peter’s tired face, my heart beating a touch more. “Your father was a great man. I’m just sorry you and your family have to go through this.”

  He nodded, his eyes tearing up. I’ve never been good at handling emotional situations, especially once the tears began to flow. It’s not because I wasn’t sympathetic, because I was. Seeing Peter and the pain he was in tore my heart in two. I’d been reared by two apathetic individuals, and I was just now in my thirties beginning to shed some of their influence. I held out my arms, taken aback when Peter met my embrace, holding me against him as his body shook. Taking in his familiar scent, I closed my eyes and allowed myself to become lost in him the way I used to what seemed like a lifetime ago. But then I remembered why it was a lifetime ago, and why I’d spent months of my own life in tears.

  “You need to take a shower,” I said, pulling myself away from him, “and get some sleep. You look like hell.”

  A smile tugged at the corners of his lips. Smiling took an effort for him, like his facial muscles had forgotten how to perform the act. “Only you would rag on someone at their father’s funeral.”

  “Some things never change, eh?”

  “And they never should.”

  I smiled, holding back tears of my own so as not to topple the pillar of indifference I had erected. “I need to go meet Elle to talk about the edits her publisher wants her to make to her book, so I should be going. See you at the wedding?”

  He nodded. “See you at the wedding.”

  *****

  A girly girl I was not, and so spending the afternoon at a salon—not only having my hair done, but my makeup and nails done, too—was not exactly something I woke up eager to do. Yet, here I was. I probably needed to get used to it, as in two short months, I would be spending another day being primped for Elle and Luke’s wedding. After that, I would be able to return to my Plain Jane life, where a face full of makeup was a rarity, and false eyelashes were a Halloween costume.

  In a garment bag, hanging in the back of the salon, was the dress I’d purchased from Deidre’s, having taken Phineas’s advice solely because I had no idea where else to buy a dress for a movie premiere. It wasn’t like there was a store called Red Carpets ‘R’ Us, though I could make a fine argument that there should be. The girl who helped me was one of those giddy salesgirls who genuinely liked her job just as much as she liked to gossip. She told me all about the star of Soldiers of Atlantis, Kira Capucci, and how Miss Capucci had visited their store to buy a dress for some awards show. According to Ruby, said salesgirl, Kira Capucci was affable, smelled of nutmeg, and was observed texting some mystery man as Ruby was taking her measurements down. Jaw clenched to prevent me from saying anything to the woman who could alter my dress to all but ensure I had a nip slip on the red carpet, I’d just nodded and smiled, throwing in an occasional “uh-huh” and a “you’re kidding me” at opportune moments.

  After what felt like an eternity, with my hair in a French braid updo, my makeup flawless—

  complete with ruby red lips that made my teeth look ten shades whiter—and my French tip manicure, I left the salon just before four in the evening, catching a cab to Phineas’s penthouse, where I would finish getting ready. Together, Phineas and I would then be taken to the premiere in a limousine for what promised to be an awkward ride.

  Things hadn’t been the same between us since the night of the opera. As hard as we both tried to return to a sense of normalcy, it was obvious we were doing just that. Trying. Before, things had been so easy for us, so natural. There was never a need to try. But along with the new normal that existed between us came the memory of Phineas’s lips on mine and the intense heat that had enveloped us that night, all of which worked together to create the delicate cloud that hovered over our heads. Still, I wouldn’t change what happened between us, even if presented with the opportunity to do so.

  “Clarence,” I greeted the familiar doorman in front of Phineas’s apartment building. “Fancy meeting you here.”

  “Miss Mena,” he greeted me, taking me aback a bit that he remembered my name. “Mr. Drake said you would be stopping by. Do you remember how to get to his unit?”

  “Yes, I think I have a firm grasp on that. It’s nice to see you again.”

  “Ditto, Miss Mena. Oh, and Miss Mena,” he called out to me just as I was about to enter the lobby.

  “Yeah.”

  “I just wanted to let you know that he seems happy with you. When I saw you two together, it was the first time in months I’d seen a smile on his face.”

  “Thanks, Clarence, but it’s not like that.”

  “Whatever it’s like, please keep it up. He was in a dark place when the other one left, and I like seeing him happy again.”

  “I’ll do what I can.”

  I held the card Phineas had given to me in front of the sensor near the elevator. Without it, I wouldn’t have been able to access the elevator to get to Phineas’s penthouse. As the car began its climb, Clarence’s words rang through my head, “He was in a dark place when the other one left, and I like seeing him happy again.”

  So do I, Clarence, but Mr. Drake is too damn stubborn. Honestly, I wondered if anyone could truly make him happy again.

  Phineas met me at the door before I had the chance to knock. He wore a fitted tuxedo and, with his hair combed back, was enough to take my breath away.

  “What, are you rich, successful, handsome, and psychic?” I asked, walking inside.

  “So, I’m handsome now? Not just merely good looking?” His smirk was enough to make me wish I hadn’t said anything at all.

  “That was your takeaway from that? It’s not like you haven’t heard it a million times in your life.”

  “I don’t know about a million, maybe a couple hundred thousand or so.”

  I rolled my eyes, taking in the view of the city from his living room, which featured floor-to-ceiling windows. Southwest-facing, the light from the sun illuminated the penthouse, bathing it in its beautiful splendor. Bigger than my entire apartment, his living room was sparsely but tastefully furnished, featuring only the bare essential furniture, other than the grand piano in the corner near the window. A piano? Strange, I didn’t remember seeing it when I was there before. Granted, I didn’t remember too much from that twenty-four hour period.

  “Oh, and in case you’re wondering, I’m not psychic, either. Clarence actually buzzed me to let me know you were on your way.”
/>
  “Thanks for clearing that up.” I held up the garment bag. “Where should I change?”

  “Guest bedroom—down the hall, second door on the left, if you don’t remember. It has its own bathroom.”

  “I remember.”

  Entering the bedroom, I vaguely remembered having been there before. Like the living room, I marveled at the sheer size of the room and its minimalist decor. Phineas must not be one for clutter; either that or he couldn’t care less about furniture or decorating in general. On second thought, he was probably too consumed by work to pay attention to decorating, even though he had more than an ample amount of money to pay someone to care for him.

  I unzipped the garment bag, revealing my new crimson dress with the plunging neckline that would require serious amounts of double-sided tape to keep the girls in place. Ruby swore by this dress, making it a point to repeatedly tell me how ‘fabulous’ I looked in it. At the time, this evening hadn’t been much of a reality to me, but now the prospect of revealing all the skin I was about to reveal to total strangers was making me regret my life choices.

  Contemplating faking a headache or, better yet, the plague, I disrobed and slipped the gown over my head, securing it in place where it needed to be secured. Ruby the Charlatan had also managed to talk me into buying a pair of strappy, high-heeled shoes—as if I weren’t already uncomfortable enough. A pair of my own chandelier earrings completed the outfit. Coincidentally, the earrings contained accents the same shade of red as my dress, almost as if this night had been fated to happen. Once dressed, I inspected myself in the full-length mirror in the ridiculously opulent guest bedroom bathroom, unable to recognize the woman standing before me. She looked a little like me, except with way more class.

  Yup, you may as well die tonight, because you’re never going to look this good again.

  Phineas’s back was turned to me when I entered the living room. The illumination coming from his hands told me he was on his phone, most likely either checking his work email or the time, wondering why the hell he’d ask me to come along in the first place. My heels striking the plank flooring alerted him to my presence, and he promptly tucked the phone away into his pocket.