A Sky Full of Stars

by Melissa Josias

  I blink at him, clearing my vision, and speak in a husky voice. “Hi.”

  “Hi?” he says, stepping back as I throw the covers off me. “Are you kidding me? What the hell?”

  I sit up and stare at him. “What? Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to fall asleep in your bed.”

  Eric shakes his head and laughs, like he can’t believe how dense I’m being. “This is not about the bed. Do you have any idea how worried I’ve been?”

  I frown at him, trying to catch up.

  “I’ve been trying to call you all afternoon. Each time I tried, I got my voicemail.”

  “Oh, right. Yes. I switched the phone off for a little while.”

  “Why? Why would you do that?”

  “Why?” I ask, and shimmy out of the bed. “Um...I guess I just wasn’t thinking straight.” I’m not about to tell him about Ben and the phone call. “I didn’t mean for you to rush over from work or anything.”

  Eric observes me from where he’s standing. He’s holding two bottles of fruit juice in his hands, and his eyes look a little tired. “There was no rushing. I worked my entire shift. It’s three thirty.”

  “I slept for five hours?” I straighten my dress; try to make sense of my hair.

  “Are you okay?” Eric asks, and steps closer to me. I sense that he’s about to touch my arm, but he stops midway. I nod and mumble that I am fine.

  Eric hands me one of the juice bottles and drinks from the other. “We can grab something to eat while we’re out.”

  The juice – mango mixed with something else – is sharp and fresh. Citrus zips along my tongue. “Where are we going?”

  “Well, you said you needed to get your clothes cleaned. We have a laundry service downstairs, but I still have to do some grocery shopping and buy a gift for tonight, so we can do it all in one place.”

  “Okay.”

  “Do you need a few minutes?”

  “No, I’m ready.” I take another glug of the juice, almost finishing it. “Thank you for this, by the way.”

  “No problem.” Eric says as he leads the way out of the bedroom. “You cleaned the kitchen. You didn’t have to do that.”

  “I had to do something.” I remember the two hundred dollars I still have and fish it out from the pocket on the inside of the suitcase. “You can have this,” I say, holding the money out to him. “For all the expenses. You know, food and stuff. And just for me being here in general.”

  Eric reaches for my hand and closes my fist over the money. His fingers are cool from holding the juice bottle. “Keep it. You can pay me back later.”

  He picks up the phone from the kitchen table where I’d left it and switches it back on. He doesn’t ask me again why I’d switched it off, and collects his wallet and car keys from the side table by the door.

  “Really, I think I should at least pay you back for all of this.”

  Eric smiles, like he is in on some joke that I am unaware of. “Don’t worry about it. If I need it, I’ll be sure to ask.” He lifts my suitcase and wheels it to the front door, where he waits for me. “Now come on, let’s get you out in the sun for a little bit.”

  Outside, it’s bright and warm, with just a hint of ocean air circling above our heads. I want to root myself to the first spot of sun I find, just outside the apartment building near the walkway. I want to stand here, my face turned to the sun, and soak up as much as I can. I’m cold, have been for a while, and now California is being kind to me.

  Eric doesn’t sense my hesitation. He unlocks the Jeep and places my suitcase in the backseat. I wander over to him.

  “Are you sure that you’re okay? You don’t seem the same as when I left.”

  I pull myself into the passenger seat. “I’m okay, I promise. I just want to die a lot.”

  Eric watches me from the driver’s seat, but doesn’t get it. “I don’t understand how you can be so callous about saying something like that.”

  I don’t mean to shrug, but my shoulders have a life of their own. “It’s a curse,” I tell him.

  Eric doesn’t say anything as he pulls out into the street, but I can feel him looking at me while I stare straight ahead. We drive in silence for a while, and this makes me feel better. I leave it all up to him. I have no idea where we are, where we are going. Everything is so foreign, so unfamiliar, that I feel I can be anyone. I don’t belong here, but no one seems to notice.

  Eric has his window rolled down, and as we drive the wind filters through the expanse of the car, flicking my hair against my cheeks and across my face. It is a beautiful afternoon with the sun still high in its axis, and for a few moments I feel like a normal girl, driving alongside a boy, neither of us having any troubles to worry about. I go inside of myself, pretending that everything is okay, that all is good. I tell myself that it’s okay to pretend one last time.

  The Laundromat is situated at the end of a strip mall, next to a pawn shop and a Jamaican restaurant. Eric pulls into a parking spot and helps me with my suitcase, dragging it behind him like a stubborn child. Inside, he helps me to decipher how to work the washing machines. We bundle all my clothes in at once – I don’t have much; I’d only packed for a week’s stay – and hope for the best. While the machine runs, Eric darts across the street to a fast food restaurant while I sit outside on one of the benches, waiting for the cycle to finish. After a few minutes, Eric returns with two hamburgers and thick malt milkshakes that make me want to sing.

  “I made the assumption that you like meat,” he says, handing me a burger whose paper wrapper is already stained with grease. “These have bacon on them.”

  We sit outside in our spot of sun, people watching. The burger is delicious. I devour it.

  “So, tell me a little about home. What’s Cape Town like?”

  I take a sip of my milkshake to buy myself some time to respond. “It’s a lot like California, I think. It has beautiful coastlines, and wine lands, and people.”

  “It has people?” Eric asks, teasing. “Man, I gotta go see that place.”

  I laugh, and he winks at me.

  “So, if it’s a lot like California, why did you come here? Why not some other exotic destination?”

  “I thought about going elsewhere, but my heart kept pulling me back here. It’s a mystery.”

  Eric smiles and his eyes shimmer. “Funny how the heart works, huh?”

  I watch Eric eat for a while. He is cute when he’s stuffing his face, all consumed, like he doesn’t want to be anywhere else in this moment.

  “So,” he says, taking a sip from his shake. “Did you, like, know Mandela?”

  I raise my eyebrows at him. “As in Nelson?”

  “Yeah.”

  “No.” I laugh. “I mean, not personally. He was the father of our nation, having abolished apartheid and all, but I didn’t know him. I saw him once, during a parade.”

  Eric nods, considering my answer. “What about Charlize Theron? She’s South African, right? Do you know her?”

  “Oh, yes. She’s my cousin, on my dad’s side.”

  “Wait, really?”

  “Of course not!”

  Eric’s face falls, and he looks genuinely disappointed. I duck my head to hide my smile. I don’t know if he’s deliberately being nice, asking me things he knows about my country or things I might associate with, or if this is just how his mind works.

  “What about you? Where are you from?” I ask.

  “Born and bred in Cali.”

  I laugh. “Really?”

  “Why’s that funny?”

  “I thought it was a running joke that everyone here is from somewhere else.”

  He nods, probably having heard this before. “I suppose that’s true for a lot of people living here. Everyone’s out here chasing a dream. That’s one of the reasons I love this place. People come here to be happy.”

  His statement falls between us like a dead bird. I don’t know if he catches on, but he goes quiet for a little while.

  “I grew u
p about thirty minutes east from here,” Eric says, peering off in that general direction. “I actually learned to surf about five miles away at Venice Beach. Grabbed my first wave on my first board and fell in love. I got out with a busted eye and a lungful of seawater, but my mom couldn’t keep me out of the water after that. At night when I’d lie in bed I could still feel my body moving with the swells. That was my favourite part.”

  “Where is she? Your mom?”

  He squints out across the road. “She died a few years ago. She got sick. She stayed sick.”

  Eric looks hurt, so I try to steer away from his mother. “Any other family?”

  “I have a sister. She lives in San Bernardino. My dad is out there somewhere. He left when we were kids.” He sighs deeply, swirling the last of his milkshake around in the bottom of his cup. “He cheated on my mom with his secretary. It still amazes me what an epic cliché he became.”

  The bitterness in his voice cautions me away from asking anything more. We finish our burgers and I gather the wrappers and scrunch them into the paper bag.

  “What about Luna?”

  Eric laughs, but the smile doesn’t reach his eyes. “You ask a lot of questions.”

  “I’m infinitely curious.”

  Eric sighs and sits back against the wall. I wait until he is ready to speak.

  “Luna was...” He pauses, thinking of the right way to say it. “She was one of the great loves of my life.” His statement startles me. I didn’t think anyone spoke like this anymore. “We were together for two years. I thought I was going to marry her,” he admits, and looks sad. “I loved her.”

  The question is begging to be asked, but I don’t want to push him. If he wants to tell me, he will.

  “A few months ago, she brought a guy into my apartment, and fucked him in my bed. They were lying naked, asleep, when I came home from work, a little earlier than usual because I wasn’t feeling well.” He laughs a broken laugh, a sound I don’t like on him. “She didn’t even have the decency to cheat on me at her own place. I had to buy a new mattress. I burned my sheets and pillowcases. It was weeks before I could sleep in my bed again.”

  “Why’d she bring him to your place?”

  “I never really had the courage to ask her that question.”

  “You’re still friends, though? I mean, this morning...”

  “No.” He cuts me off. “She’s been trying to get me back since I ended it. It’s like she thinks I can just forget what he looked like lying next to her, like he belonged.” He runs his hand over his face. “I wish I could wash out my brain.”

  “Eric...”

  He stands suddenly. “You know what? This is bullshit. I don’t want to talk about her anymore. C’mon. The laundry should be done by now. Hopefully no one stole anything of yours.”

  Eric walks back into the Laundromat without waiting for me to respond.

  It’s almost five o’clock when we leave, my clothes folded and packed neatly away in my suitcase, the smell of the fabric softener still on my fingertips. There is a soft film of cloud over the afternoon, and it’s not as warm anymore. We drive to Target while Eric rambles off a few things that he needs for his apartment since he’d forgotten to make a list. I make mental notes, sticking random words into my brain, hoping I will be able to recall them if need be.

  I man the trolley – Eric teasing me for calling it such – and saunter down the aisles with him. The supermarket is relatively empty. I spot only a few other people strolling nonchalantly through the store. Shop music bleeds from the ceilings.

  When the trolley is filled with things Eric needs – toothpaste, mayonnaise, various fruits and vegetables, beer – he leads me through the stationery section and browsers through the journals.

  “Gracie likes to write,” he says, leafing through one of the notepads on display. “She’s been collecting journals for a few years.” He picks up a thick leather journal and holds the weight of it in his hands. “I meant to buy her a really good one, but today sort of crept up on me.” He shows me the journal. “Do you think she’ll like it?”

  I run my fingers across the cover, along the stitches and bindings. It looks well made and feels good in my hands. “I don’t know anything about Grace, but this looks good. You should personalize it. Maybe write a note inside. She could take it to Nepal and add it to her collection.”

  Eric looks at me and half smiles. “That’s not a bad idea, actually. Thanks.”

  I hand him back the journal. “Sure.”

  As we head toward the tills, we pass a pretty girl with long blonde hair wearing a crop top that exposes her toned midriff. She glances at us as we go by. Her gaze lingers on Eric, who is walking slightly ahead of me. She smiles at him. I don’t see his reaction, but when she looks my way, she doesn’t seem as friendly.

  We pay for all the shopping and head back to the car. Eric is in a better mood than earlier – I think because I haven’t managed to bring up Luna again – and outside his eyes are light and the colour of butterscotch and beautiful.

  He loads the bags into the back of the Jeep and I watch him from our section of the parking lot. In the low afternoon sun, I am a girl holding up the facade that there isn’t desolation streaming through my blood. I am a girl who doesn’t itch with uneasiness, impatience. I am normal, using a man as a distraction, pretending to anyone who’s looking that we’ve done this before, we know how this will play out, we are aware of all our lines and marks.

  But, of course, I am not this girl.

  Internally, I am fooling no one.

  *

  We get back to the apartment a little after six. I offer to play the guessing game and pack away the groceries while Eric gets ready for Grace’s party. I wrap the journal in soft pink paper and make a feeble attempt at a bow with drawstring we’d purchased at the shop.

  I decide to stay in my dress, but slip off the cardigan and change into a soft leather jacket that compliments my boots. I run a brush through my hair. I don’t have any makeup except for some lip balm so I dot that along my lips and freshen up with some deodorant.

  Eric comes out of the bedroom dressed in dark chinos and a striped long-sleeve pullover that looks good on him. I inhale his scent. A slip of his ankle is peeking out from under the cuff of his pants.

  I smile at him from the table. “You look nice.”

  He pauses; fidgets with his hair. “Thanks. Awesome job with the journal. Cute bow,” he says, coming over to me, touching the paper.

  Warmth radiates off him from the shower. I want to reach out and touch his skin, his hand, his neck, but I do not have the courage.

  “Okay,” he says, picking the journal up from the table. “Ready? We’ll be back in a few hours, I promise.”

  Eric drives with the radio off, towards Venice Beach. The only sounds that permeate our conversation are the tyres on the road and voices from revellers on the streets, living it up.

  The air is cool in the dimming light. I feel nervous to be amongst people, especially strangers. I don’t know if I have the energy to interact with anyone, to make small talk with people I don’t know. I decide to stay close to Eric the entire night, to use him as a buffer.

  When we walk through the lobby in Grace’s apartment building, I lag behind a bit, cautious. We take the elevator up to the third-floor apartment. I get lightheaded with the upward motion, swallowing back nausea. As we exit, Eric must sense my uncertainty because he reaches back, and without needing to know where it is, finds my hand and grabs hold of my fingers. His hand, soft. Palms warm, fingers squeezing slightly.

  “You’ll be fine,” he whispers to me, pulling me gently along towards the apartment.

  I expect Eric to walk right in when we reach the door, but he knocks quickly and waits for someone to answer. The door opens to reveal a cute, petite girl with cropped brown hair and eyes the colour of a stormy morning. She gives a high-pitched shriek when she sees us and Eric drops my hand.

  “Gracie!” Eric steps toward her and
hugs her eagerly, lifting her off her feet. She giggles and kisses him on the cheek. The bracelet on her arm catches the light from the hallway and sparkles.

  “Thank you for coming! Oh, I’m so happy to see you.”

  “Of course,” he says, and then spins around to face me. “Grace, this is Abby. She’s my date for the night.” Grace raises her eyebrows sportingly, smiling at me. “Abby, this is Grace, the lovely girl who’s decided to abandon me for two years.”

  “Oh, don’t flatter yourself. I’m abandoning everyone.” Grace reaches out her hands to greet me. “Nice to meet you, Abby.”

  I shake her hand. “You, too.”

  “Please come inside. Make yourselves at home,” Grace says, escorting us into the apartment. “Some of the other guys are already here. Luna made it her mission to invite as many people as she could.”

  Eric doesn’t blink at the mention of her name. He hands Grace her gift and she thanks him with another kiss on the cheek.

  The inside of the apartment is compact and cute. Grace has an eclectic decorating style. We pass things I never would have thought would look good in one space – Buddha statues and framed pictures of topless women – but all come together in one cohesive look.

  Grace leads us to the kitchen where a few people are milling around. There are two hipster girls at the breakfast bar, long-haired and California beautiful. Eric doesn’t seem to know them and is introduced by Grace as I hang back and take in my surroundings. There is a group of people in the seating area by the balcony that looks out over the street, drinks in their hand, talking over each other and the music wafting from a stereo I can’t see. I catch a glimpse of something sparkly to my left, and turn to see Luna exiting one of the rooms off the hallway. She’s wearing a tight mini dress with sequins on the shoulders and her hair is tied up in a haphazard bun, rouge strands swaying with her as she walks. She is in a pair of black stilettos, her long legs going on for days. I suddenly feel severely underdressed.

  Luna gives me a skittish wave when she sees me and makes a beeline for Eric, who is still speaking with Grace and the other two girls. He freezes when he sees her, and visibly tenses when she makes an effort to kiss him on the cheek. I look away, not wanting to take part in what is to follow.