Until The Last Star Fades

by Jacquelyn Middleton

  Shit! Ben’s eyes flitted from the kid to the dad, who was more interested in his phone than his panicked son’s wails, and back to BBQ sauce lady. “Ah, I have to make sure Spider-Man doesn’t hurt himself first.” Or with my luck, shit himself—whatever comes first.

  “You’re gonna make us wait again?” Like a magnet, her bellow dragged the manager over.

  “Everything all right, Ben?”

  “We only wanted refills.” Eyes bulging, the woman picked up a napkin and fanned her scowling face, her whining on a loop. “The service here is—”

  “POO. I need, I need, NOW!”

  Ben fought back a laugh. Great timing, kid.

  “I’ll get the drinks.” Stavros turned to Ben. “Make sure that kid doesn’t fall, ’kay? Don’t need a lawsuit.”

  Hands full of dirty plates, Ben returned to the family’s booth. “Hey, Spidey, take a seat and I’ll get you some crayons—”

  “We don’t want crayons!” the seven-year-old interrupted, knocking baby Spider-Man closer to his social media-addicted sister. She was sitting on the edge of the booth, embarrassed to be seen with them. “Find my fidget spinner—I lost it!”

  “I NEED POOOOOO!” Spider-Man wriggled. Flushed cheeks and a tight frown screamed, Now!

  I can’t take kids to the loo! Can I? Eyes sweeping over father of the year, still glued to his phone, Ben pointed to the far side of the restaurant. “The restrooms are—”

  “He can’t go on his own!” The tween rolled her eyes and dropped her phone on her unopened menu. “I’ll take him!” Shooting daggers at Ben and her dad, she slouched her way out of the booth, grabbing her squirmy baby brother under his arms.

  With Spider-Man and his older sister gone, their dad’s mind elsewhere, the seven-year-old slowly slipped—first his chest, then his head—out of view, disappearing under the table. ‘Elsa’, all big blue eyes and button nose, hid behind her dad’s right arm and peeked at Ben.

  “Um, sir…” Ben bit his cheek as one of his co-workers launched into “New York, New York” a few tables away. Fighting her vocals, he shouted in the quietest way possible. “I think your son is under the tab—”

  “Hold on, Gene!” Furrowing his brow, the father acknowledged Ben for the first time, pointing at his own ears. “I can’t hear…look, it’s my divorce lawyer. Could you just—?” Without waiting for Ben’s answer, he vacated the booth and pushed past servers and customers until he reached the diner’s vestibule.

  Right. Ben exhaled heavily and set down the dirty plates, crouching down to join the boy under the table. Padding over lost straws, forgotten fries, and dirty lemon wedges, Ben spotted something shiny. He reached out to grab it as a small swinging sneaker clunked him in the temple. “Oww!” Cheers, Elsa.

  “Ben?” The scuffed shoes of Stavros stood pigeon-toed in the aisle.

  The little boy scooted out into the light. “He took my toy!”

  You little shit! Climbing out, a blush rose on Ben’s cheeks as his stomach let out a protracted growl. He stood up, his hands sticky and the knees of his black trousers gray with dust and crumbs.

  The manager frowned. “What are you doing?”

  “Finding this.” Ben handed the kid his toy and glanced at the princess sitting alone at the table, drumming a chicken wing bone against the ketchup bottle then lifting it towards her mouth… “No, don’t—”

  “Where’s Dad?” The tween pushed past with Spider-Man in tow.

  “I’m here.” The father grinned. “Let’s get some nachos.” Prying the chicken bone from Elsa’s grip, he picked up a menu and flipped through, stopping to read the kids options to her. Spider-Man fought over his dad’s phone with fidget spinner kid and the tween lolled her head against the booth, looking like she wished it would swallow her up.

  Stavros shouted in Ben’s ear, “You’ve been on the floor—wash your hands before picking up orders, okay?”

  Yeah, I know, mate—I wasn’t born yesterday. Ben pursed his lips and reclaimed the dirty plates, avoiding any eye contact with…

  “Hold your horses, sonny!”

  Pain in the arse at table six—for fuck’s sake, what now?

  “Get them to sing something good.” Sauce-stained fingers crept up her straw as she slurped her soda refill. “Like ‘Memory’ from Cats.”

  A tight smile crossed his face. “Sorry, we don’t take requests.”

  “What do you do?” She pounded the empty glass on the table. “It certainly isn’t your job!”

  If I wasn’t broke, I’d tell her where to stick her request.

  She rose to her feet and pushed past, her weary hubby offering a withering smile.

  Ben collected the check and their cash. No tip. Fuckers. He frowned, stuffing the coins and bills into his waist apron then stormed off to the garbage bin, hidden away behind a half wall. No one’s watching, right? He pinched a few fries, stuffing them in his mouth—the first food he’d eaten in almost twelve hours. Ahh, so good! Chewing quickly, he grabbed a few more and scraped the rest into the trash before visiting the restroom to wash his hands.

  Okay, what’s next? He took the family’s order and waited for another server to finish on the computer touchscreen. Hugging his snarling stomach, he watched co-workers rapping a tune from Hamilton atop the narrow catwalk snaking between booths. So cool!

  “All yours, Ben.”

  “Cheers.” Punching in his employee code, the tip of his tongue slid across his lips, his brain struggling to concentrate. Two co-workers chatted behind him, snickering about menu items they would never eat. Ben smirked, reminding himself never to try the pot pie.

  Twenty minutes later, his orders were ready. Sirloin steak for the dad, mac ’n’ cheese sliders for Spidey, nachos for fidget spinner kid…

  In two trips, he delivered the family’s meals. “Careful, plates are hot.” He set down their dishes with an oven mitt and a relieved smile. “Can I get you anything else?”

  “Hold on.” Clenching his jaw, the father wiggled his index finger for Ben to lean in. “I told you I was vegetarian. I ordered the lentil soup and gluten-free chopped salad. I can’t eat that!” He shoved away the sizzling steak. “What’s wrong with you?” The entitled snark accompanying his sneer suggested he’d have no problem reporting Ben’s error to Stavros.

  My fucking brain! A knot tugged in Ben’s stomach. “Oh, sorry about that.” Leaning forward, he picked up the meat, his eyes darting to the kids, wide-eyed and silent. “I’ll fix this.” Words flying from his lips, he turned quickly, weaving around dillydallying customers and stressed waiters. He stopped at the garbage bin and stared at the New York sirloin, mashed potatoes, and veggies hovering over the point of no return. His mouth watering, he picked a carrot off the plate. I’m so hungry—

  “Ben!”

  Fuck. Busted.

  “Table seven was complaining. I fixed his order.” Stavros hiked up his trousers again. “His soup should be ready in five.”

  “Thanks. Really sorry about that.” Ben flicked the carrot into the bin, his stomach crying out in anger. “So, this gets tossed? It’s steak…”

  “Yup, doesn’t matter. Can’t serve it to anyone else.” He slapped Ben on the back. “Don’t feel bad. All newbies make mistakes. You’ll get the hang of it.”

  “Right.” But will I? My dyslexia fucks up my concentration. I entered what I heard around me: ‘The steak tastes like an old boot,’ and I entered…steak. I can hide behind the new guy excuse now, but what about next week—if I last that long…

  Stavros swiveled back. “Oh, when you’re done, grab the mic. You’re up next!”

  Fuck! “Great.” Ben smiled through gritted teeth and dumped the steak in the trash.

  Thirty-One

  Piper and Casey were unmissable. Devouring homemade ice cream, their exaggerated pleasure-filled moans from the benches outside Sundaes and Cones turned heads at the corner of Third Avenue and East 10th Street. Even nose-deep in her black sesame ice cream, Piper kept scanning the crowd
s for her best friend. “Rye!” She leapt to her feet, her lopsided waffle cone threatening to topple.

  Riley barely raised a smile. It wasn’t just her backpack and tote weighing her down.

  “You okay?” asked Piper. “I couldn’t believe it when I got your texts…”

  “That’s a lie.” Casey lowered his cone, smirking over his hazelnut double scoop. “Don’t deny it, you’ve been hoping—”

  “I know!” said Piper through gritted teeth. “But you don’t have to mention that now.”

  Sitting down beside Casey, Riley set her backpack by her feet and checked her phone, still waiting for a response from her mom. “It’s okay. I know you guys weren’t his biggest fans.”

  “But are you okay? You did the right thing, you know.” Piper joined them on the bench as Casey chomped into his ice cream. “Would you stop doing that?” She winced across Riley. “You make my teeth throb!”

  He took another huge teethy bite. “Feel the pain, Paisley!” The garbled words barely escaped his mouth as he gently elbowed Riley, trying to make her smile.

  Sandwiched between her friends, Riley hugged her tote and grinned for the first time since breakfast. I couldn’t love these guys more. “Case, how’d it go last night? I’m so sorry I missed it.”

  “Ah, it’s okay. No one’s watched it more than you have.” He smiled. “Last night was good. Fifty people showed, nobody walked out, and my parents bought it—they think Pip’s my girlfriend. Gets ’em off my back for now.”

  “And guess who turned up?” Piper beamed over her cone. “Cicely.”

  Riley sat up. “The girl from Peet’s?”

  “Yep! We’re going on our first date next week.”

  “Aw, Pip!” Riley smiled. “I’m so happy for you!”

  “I’m happy for you. PuckHead is his-tor-y!”

  “Josh isn’t a bad guy, a little selfish sometimes, but he never cheated, never—”

  “Supported you.” With a dismissive flick, Piper smoothed her cropped black capris. “I think he used your depression to manipulate you. He never listened, never put you first…”

  “Yeah, I know. He wasn’t reliable, and the engagement only made it worse…”

  “I swore a blue fucking streak when I saw your text about that TV job,” said Piper.

  Casey tsked. “Another Starbucks we’re banned from.”

  “His assumption that you’d just blindly take a job you had no interest in like a good girl? That shows exactly how much he didn’t get you!” A river of dark ice cream crept down Piper’s hand as she leaned in.

  “Pip, you’re like a four-year-old with that cone.” Casey’s free hand rooted around in his messenger bag and reappeared with hand wipes. “You’re a germy, gooey clusterfuck.” A wipe sailed over Riley’s lap, landing on Piper’s thigh. She quickly mopped up the sticky dessert.

  “I wanted to help Mom so badly…but sitting in that fancy restaurant, I couldn’t block it out anymore. I was using him, and it made me sick to my stomach.”

  “Don’t beat yourself up. It’s not like you were doing it for selfish reasons,” said Casey.

  “If Mom knew what I’d been thinking, she’d be livid. I had to let him go, even if I hurt him—and I really didn’t want to hurt him.” Riley’s nose began to tickle. Don’t cry! You’ve held it together this long. She pulled a tissue from her tote. “Ah, God, I feel even more lost now.”

  Piper sighed. “Breakups suck.”

  “I have to live with it: I stomped on Josh’s heart and I’ve destroyed the only financial lifeline we had. The medical bills aren’t going to stop just because I did the right thing.” She shook her head. “I came this close to buying a lottery ticket on my way here. Can you say ‘desperate’?”

  “Where’s Josh now?” asked Casey.

  “Headed to his parents. He’ll stay with them until he flies back Sunday night. He’s got an interview with Sports Illustrated first—”

  “Does he now? Well, someone won’t be sitting in his old bedroom crying all weekend, then.” Casey sneered. “Privileged prick. I hate jocks.”

  Riley glanced at Piper, ice cream trickling over her cone’s edge again, eyes scrunched in thought. “Hey, we’re dissing Josh, your fave pastime—why so quiet?”

  “A crowdfunding page, that’s still an option,” said Piper.

  “Asking strangers for money is so…I’m not sure Mom would like me advertising her illness or money problems on the internet. Plus there’s that study I found—ninety percent of campaigns don’t meet their goal. Lots don’t receive any donations. If Mom’s page had a big fat zero, it would break my heart.”

  Casey crunched through his cone. “I’ve seen lots of pages racking up donations.”

  “Yeah, from the arts crowd—for your friends’ documentaries,” said Riley.

  “Not just that. A friend of a friend’s dad”—he chewed quickly—“he needed money for stroke therapy and raised thirty thousand dollars. It’s possible, you know. What do you have to lose?”

  She shrugged.

  “You don’t ask, you don’t get.” Casey popped the last chunk of cone into his mouth.

  “I guess. What would I have to do? Will you guys help me?”

  Her friends spoke simultaneously. “Yes!” “Shit, yeah.” Piper flung her ice cream into the bin beside the bench.

  Casey pouted. “There’s half left!”

  “One word: diabetes,” said Piper.

  “God, you’re not becoming diabetic.” Casey scoffed under his breath. “Delusional, yes. Diabetic, no.”

  Riley’s phone vibrated in her lap with a text from Maggie.

  Sweetheart, come home. I’ve got hugs & smiley face potatoes. x

  “I should go. I’m staying at Mom’s.”

  “All weekend?” Piper licked her fingers.

  “Just tonight. I’m supposed to visit Ben at work tomorrow.”

  Casey’s eyes darted between Riley and Piper. “So, when do I get to meet the mysterious Ben?”

  “When you stop pretending to be British,” said Piper. “Us Brits find it irritating.”

  Riley changed the subject. “Case, you working tomorrow?”

  “Yep.” He nodded. “Popcorn for dinner again.”

  “Popcorn can count toward your five a day,” said Piper.

  “That’s a stretch.” Casey chuckled. “I’m hoping they’ve fixed their claw machine. The rescue needs more toys for the dogs.”

  Riley hugged him then stood up. “You’ll score a bunch—you always do.”

  “Text if you need me and give Maggie a hug.” Piper rose to her feet and embraced her friend. “You did the right thing.”

  “Keep telling me that until I believe it.” Chin hovering over Piper’s shoulder, Riley met Casey’s eyes, his kind expression unable to soothe the worry fluttering in her stomach.

  Sunshine danced across the gentle waves of New York Harbor as the orange ferry carried tourists and locals toward Staten Island. With every passing minute, Lower Manhattan receded a little farther, but the watery gulf did little to distance Riley from her decision; she feared its ripples would affect her and Maggie for months to come. I can walk away from Josh, but the fallout is impossible to outrun. Sunglasses hiding her tears, Riley slumped on the railing, the wind whipping her hair and thoughts into a tangle.

  What have I done? Failed Mom. Hurt Josh.

  Beside her, a cluster of merry Italian tourists snapped selfies with a distant Statue of Liberty, torch thrust confidently into the cloudless April sky, her promise of enlightenment, freedom, and hope all on Riley’s wish list. One of the group, a raven-haired woman wearing an ‘I Heart NY’ t-shirt knotted at her waist, held her hands just so, making it look like Lady Liberty was balancing on her palm. With a laugh, she kissed her tanned male companion and sank into an embrace, their eyes never leaving each other.

  Josh and I were like that once. Just because you no longer love someone doesn’t mean saying goodbye won’t hurt. We shared memories, secrets…the
pain and sweetness of the past, the fears and hopes for the future. If I did the right thing like Piper says, why does it hurt so much?

  Her phone buzzed in her hand. She guessed who it was before looking at it. Erika. What was it this time? A list of bands for her and Josh’s reception…photo booth vendors? Even before she had called off their engagement, Riley had grown sick of these continual nudges down the aisle, and the nauseous feelings were rising again. She wiped away her tears and tapped the call button. Get it over with.

  Erika picked up two rings in. “Rye! So, whadya think? Aren’t the hockey player cake toppers adorable?” Her words rolled fast and furious. “If you tell them Josh’s uniform colors, they’ll custom paint his figure. He’ll LOVE—”

  “Eri, it’s over. I broke up with him—”

  “WHAT?!”

  “—this morning, so no need for cake toppers or bridesmaids…or anything else.”

  Holding back tears, Riley told Erika everything and tried to wrap up the call three times, but Erika kept lobbing questions. When Riley’s answers weren’t satisfactory, the bride-to-be shifted to advice for fixing the unfixable. They were going around in circles, their conversational carousel heading nowhere quickly.

  “But Rye, you’re giving up so much…”

  Riley stood her ground, choking back tears.

  “Fudge!” Erika huffed. “Gotta go. Stanley’s using our new leather sofa as a chew toy. Talk later?”

  Call over, Riley couldn’t hold back any longer. Warm tears chased down her cheeks as melodic Italian accents happily sailed along the breeze. Carefree and reveling in their ferry adventure, the smitten couple glanced at Riley and looked uneasy. They shifted down the railing as if her heartbreak was contagious.

  I’m not kidding myself. I know Josh’s money couldn’t guarantee a cure, but it would’ve alleviated some of Mom’s stress, erased the fear of losing her apartment. Pitching in on her medical expenses was the ONE thing I thought I could help her with, and now I can’t even do that…

  As she stared into the water, the skirt of Riley’s sunny yellow dress flirted with the light wind. She spun her mom’s moonstone ring around and around her finger, wishing for a miracle.