Until The Last Star Fades

by Jacquelyn Middleton

Piper snickered. “How’s work going? Has Ass-Breath left?”

  “Yep. I like it up on that floor, but my desk isn’t near anyone else, so it’s a bit lonely. I’d wander and say hi to my co-workers, but it would look bad if my boss needed me and I wasn’t around.”

  “The joys of being an assistant.” Piper sighed. “If I worked there, I’d make a point of becoming best friends with you.”

  “I know you would, Pip.” Riley blew her nose. “I really miss you guys.” It feels like that’s all I ever say.

  “Aw, I know, I feel the same—” Riley’s phone rang and Piper squinted through the screen. “Oh, is that Maggie?”

  “No…Nick, my boss. I’ll let him go to voicemail. He probably wants to quarantine me. He’s flying to London on Friday.”

  “So, how is Maggie doing?”

  “Good!” Riley’s face brightened. “She’s tolerating her anti-rejection meds much better now.”

  “That’s great news. Give her a hug from me?”

  “I will, once I’m over this stupid cold.” Riley sniffed. “Those meds weaken her immune system, so I can’t see her until I’m better.”

  Piper scowled at the screen, noticing the time. “Shit, I should head back. I have to finish an elephant puppet.”

  “Pip, I really think you should go to that Halloween party—”

  “Maybe. Look, Rye, what you said about missing everyone—you seem really down.”

  “Oh, I’m just sick and…being dramatic. I’ll be fine.” I will. I just have to keep telling myself that. “You should go—”

  “No, you’re not being dramatic. Look, gimme five? I’ll call my boss, say I have a period emergency and need tampons. I’ll FaceTime you right back.”

  “That excuse always works with male bosses.” Riley grinned. “Pip, really, I’m okay. It’s just so new…”

  “But just because I’m not there, it doesn’t mean I’m not here for you, okay? You’re not alone.”

  “I know, but there’s really no need to ‘buy tampons’.” Riley still felt lonely but laughing with Piper had boosted her mood considerably.

  “When’s your next therapy session?”

  “Tomorrow, and they’re helping—a lot. I just…slip backward sometimes. My therapist says that’s completely normal.”

  “Well, okay, but if you want to talk—”

  “I’ll call you.” Riley nodded.

  Piper snapped her gum. “You better mean that!”

  “I do!” A genuine smile graced Riley’s face. “Pip, just seeing you makes me feel better.”

  “Me, too.” Piper blew her a kiss.

  “Now, go! My soup’s getting cold—bye!” Riley waved and hit disconnect.

  Riley tapped Ben’s name in her FaceTime app. It’s worth a try. 7:30 P.M. here is…thirty minutes past midnight there. He’s probably still up reading.

  The annoying dial tone gave way to a half-assed Harry Potter.

  “Riiiiiilles!” Ben’s blue eyes creased with happiness behind round plastic eyeglasses. The Band-Aid on his forehead from his accident was gone, replaced by a smudged lightning bolt between his dark eyebrows. A loose red-and-yellow striped tie curled around his neck, outside the collar of a half-buttoned white dress shirt, and his hair was standing up like he had stuck his finger in an electrical socket. He laughed and stumbled over something, which only made him laugh harder. “Aw, baaaaaaabe, I’ve missed yooooo.”

  He’s drunk?! “Ben, where are you?”

  “Home…”

  “Where were you?”

  “Out!” His face disappeared from the screen, replaced with a swinging glimpse of clothes on the floor, the crotch of his jeans, and a small lamp. When the phone stopped its travels, it looked like Ben was flopped down on an unmade bed.

  “At a Halloween party?” She sniffed her stuffy nose.

  “Yeppers.” He waved his cast at his face. “I’m Hazza Potter!”

  “Y-Yeah, I see that.” Riley’s forehead creased. “Ben, how much beer did you have?”

  “Not much…maybe two halfs.”

  “One pint?”

  “Yup.”

  “Ben, it’s been only eight weeks. You’re not supposed to have any alcohol.”

  “I’ve been a bad boy, Riles.” He laughed and fumbled his phone. “Whoops! Spank me, dirty girl!”

  “Ben! It’s not funny!” The congestion in her sinuses started to throb. “The doctor told you no booze for three months. Your liver can’t process it. That’s why you’re pissed on one pint.”

  “I only had a lickle bit.” He exhaled heavily like he was annoyed. “Stop yellin’ at me.”

  “I’m not—”

  “Can’t do this, can’t do that…Spencer says I should have fun, says I deserve it.” He gave a woozy frown.

  Spencer—yeah, she’s an expert on liver donation. Great.

  “She dressed me like dis and we went to…Hallween party. I wasn’t having anyting, but…go onnn, have a half.” He closed his eyes, his words slow to materialize. “Then, someone gave…more…”

  Riley scowled. “Was Mark with you? Or that Freddie guy? BEN?!”

  He startled, fighting the urge to sleep. “Blimey O’Ri…” His face scrunched like he was in pain. “Do you think of me…?”

  What…? Just play along. “Do you think of me?”

  “Ohhhhh, Riles! All the fuckin’ time. I think of you at the library, I think of you while eating toast, I think of you when I have a wank.” He groaned and closed his eyes. “Ohh…”

  “Ben?”

  “Riles!” Breathless, he sprung up to a sitting position, the Potter spectacles hanging off one ear. “Let’s phone fuck!” he growled.

  “Uh…sure.” She blotted her runny nose with a tissue.

  “Hey! Guess what?! I was celebratin’!”

  “O-kay? Why?”

  “Just back from Aberdeen—that’s Scotland.”

  “Yeah, I know it’s Scotland, but the photos you sent me yesterday were in London—”

  “Fooled ya! SURPRISE! Keegs, bless ’im, got me walk-on part in Lairds.”

  “Really?” A warm, happy feeling filled her chest. “Oh, Ben! That’s incredible!”

  “Yup. I was a messenger! From another clan. Said two lines”—he flung his hand away, his cast a white blur—“then fucked off.”

  “I’m so proud of you! That must’ve been fun.”

  “Yup…but Riles, ma’ wee lassie, I had nothin’ on under ma’ kilt. I wuz bollock nekked…”

  Nice! “Well, I would’ve liked to have seen that…”

  “I…show ya now!” He yawned and lay back, trying to stuff his phone down his jeans. Riley got an eyeful of his belt. “Let’s ’ave…” He closed his eyes. “Ssssssex…” His voice trailed off into gentle snores.

  Next morning 6:05 A.M. in NYC / 11:05 A.M. in the UK

  Riley slept through the arrival of Ben’s text.

  Riley!!! Last nite, SO sorry. I was happy cuz Lairds but missing you + frustrated AF. I’m an idiot. Please 4give me? Luv u. xoxoxoxoxoxoxox

  A second text landed. ‘4 Riles!!!’—a new addition to his eighties playlist: “Tenderness” by General Public.

  Sixty-Three

  Three weeks later

  “Hey, kids! Could one of you toss that bag of marshmallows to Frank?” Can of cranberry sauce aloft, Casey’s mom, Tina, squeezed past Maggie, who was busy stirring a mixture of pork, cumin, garlic, and chili powder in a sizzling skillet atop the crowded stove. The delicious smell, along with the aroma of roasting turkey, was too much for Riley’s growling stomach to ignore.

  “I’ve got it.” Hugging her parka, cheeks still pink from watching the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day parade with Casey and his three sisters, Riley handed his dad the final ingredient destined for his sweet potato casserole.

  “Thanks, Riley.” He smiled. “Case, can ya grab that bowl with the corn husks over there?”

  “I haven’t had a chance to wash the parade off my hands yet.” Casey huffed, remo
ving his coat.

  Frank nodded to a card table in the corner of the kitchen, a staging area for his Thanksgiving feast. “Careful! Don’t spill the water.”

  “I wish we were having Yorkshire pudding.” Rolling his eyes, Casey picked up the soaking husks and turned, stopping just short of chinning his youngest sister, Carrie, with the bowl.

  “Aww! I thought I was stuffing the tamales!” the ten-year-old pouted.

  “Carrie, I’m getting them ready for you.” Maggie grinned over her shoulder. “Come dry the husks, and then you can spread the dough and add the pork.”

  “’Kay!” Carrie beamed. “Just gonna dump my coat.”

  “Oh, Care Bear, take mine?” Riley pulled her phone from her parka’s pocket and stuffed her coat in Carrie’s waiting arms. “How can I help?”

  Frank wiped his brow with the back of his hand. “Well, Maggie’s got the tamales taken care of, I’m finishing the casserole…Tina’s opening the occasional can—”

  His wife swatted his butt with a dish towel.

  “Peel some potatoes?” Frank shrugged.

  “I’m on it!”

  Casey’s twin eighteen-year-old sisters, Cherie and Chastity, opened the fridge, gawking at the homemade desserts Maggie had brought as a thank you for the kind invite.

  Frank shook his head. “What’s wrong with this picture, huh? My guests are workin’, and my kids—”

  Riley’s phone awoke with a request from Ben. Yay, he’s FaceTiming! Fourth time this week! Happiness warmed her from head to toe.

  “I’ll start the spuds,” said Casey. “You go.”

  “Thanks! I’ll be just a sec.” She ducked out of the kitchen and hit accept.

  Ben appeared with an equally wide smile, his right hand—cast marked up with colorful doodles—running through his hair. “Riles! I just got in.” He was clean-shaven and wearing a blue sweater Riley hadn’t seen before.

  Ben now owns TWO sweaters! She giggled. “Did you see my photos? Sorry I sent so many…”

  “I loved them! Balloon-a-palooza! Fuck me, now that’s what you call a parade. I wish I could’ve been there.” Ben sipped a steaming mug of tea. In London, it was around 8 P.M.

  “You would’ve loved it! They had star balloons and a turtle!” She stepped over the sweeping tail of the family’s chubby cat. “We’re at Casey’s now.”

  “Nice! Who’s there, then?”

  “A few aunts, uncles, and cousins are coming. I swear, they’re making enough food to feed all of the Bronx. Mom’s on cloud nine, cooking up a storm.” She swerved around Carrie in a rush to stuff tamales and sat down at the dining table just as the doorbell rang. Casey’s adopted Pomeranian went into full-on guard dog mode, barking its fuzzy face off.

  Ben sat up straight. “Oh. Do you need to go?”

  “Uh…” Riley looked over her phone.

  Chastity shooed the dog away and opened the door. She hugged a man who looked like Frank’s twin and then another middle-aged guy, a woman, and three teenage boys. “No, I can talk for a few minutes. If Case’s dad needs me, he’ll holler. When he heard Mom and I were doing Thanksgiving on our own, he insisted we come.”

  “That’s really nice. Can I can say hi to Maggie?”

  “Yeah, sure!” Riley craned her neck. “Oh…she’s…still busy with Casey’s sister right now, making tamales. His dad’s recipe is to die for, sooo good.”

  “I’m glad Maggie’s feeling well.”

  “Yeah, she looks so much healthier. She’s even started to put feelers out for marketing jobs. It’s twelve weeks next Tuesday, Ben—three months since surgery.” Laughter rose in the kitchen and Riley glanced up, catching Casey mid-eye roll walking to the bathroom with a ‘Families, huh?’ grimace.

  Ben dunked a cookie into his tea. “I’m looking forward to my last checkup—well, last one for a few months anyway.”

  Riley smiled at him, biting into his shortbread. “And you can have a pint next week to celebrate.”

  “No. I learned my lesson on Halloween.”

  Every time we talk, he apologizes. “Ben, I know you’re dying for a pint. It’s okay to have one or two.” An irritating laugh pulled her attention away. What? “Shit!” Riley lowered her voice. “He’s in the kitchen.”

  Ben tilted his head. “Uh, who…?”

  “Casey’s uncle with the hyena laugh. His dad wants to set Mom up with him.”

  “Yeah? Is Maggie keen?”

  “No! Mom hasn’t dated for…I dunno, five years? And this guy, he’s all octopus hands and cheesy lines, from what Casey’s told me. She might need rescuing.”

  Ben leaned in. “Oh, but before you go, I’ve got news—and a surprise!”

  “What, another role?” Riley leaned over to pet the dog. “I can’t wait for Lairds! Piper freaked when I told her! She was like, ‘Holy shit, Ben’s in a kilt?!’”

  “No, no kilts this time. I have to wear undercrackers at this gig.” His grin grew, twinkling his eyes. “Riles, I got hired by Waterstones, the huge one on Piccadilly!”

  “The bookstore? That’s terrific!”

  “I know! Finally, full-time hours, a regular pay packet. I’ll be on the third floor where the theater and film books are. I think my drama degree helped me land this one. I’m really chuffed!”

  “You should be! You’ll be amazing there.”

  “Yeah, and Spencer’s only a floor down in the young adult section, so I’ll have a friend from day one.”

  He lives with her, works with her—when isn’t he with Spencer? “Oh, did she put in a good word for you?”

  “Yep. I needed all the help I could get.”

  “No, you didn’t. You’re a dream hire, you’re friendly and amazing with customers, and you love books.”

  He smiled, unable to sit still. “Now, surprise time. Remember I was hanging with Mark and Alex in their new flat a few weeks ago?”

  “Yeah…”

  “It was like a potluck. We all brought food and stuff, so I made cookies and brownies from Mum’s and Maggie’s recipes—and everyone raved.”

  “No way! Mom will love to hear that!”

  “And Mark dared me—”

  “Oh God.” Riley cringed.

  “No, it’s nothing bad. He dared me to get a legit table at a weekend market, see if I could make a few quick quid. Most places won’t let newbies have a go, but I found one and I did a one-off last weekend…”

  “What, like a food audition?”

  “Yeah.” He chuckled. “A food audition. So, I went and…” He did a fist pump. “I sold out! I made ONE HUNDRED AND FIFTY FUCKING POUNDS! For just two hours’ work—in the rain. Imagine if it was sunny.”

  He’s so cute—and happy! “Mom’s cookies are really good! I’d stand in the rain eating them.”

  Ben bounced in his chair. “And today they called, asking me back!”

  “For another Saturday?”

  “No, for the next six weekends. It’s a proper tryout, starting this Saturday. Isn’t that hilarious? Mark will have to pay up massively, the plonker!”

  “That’s funny! Is it close to you?”

  “Nope. It’s in Bermondsey—southeast London, the Maltby Street Market. It’s about a ten-minute walk from Tower Bridge—you know, the one you keep calling London Bridge?” He giggled. “When you visit, I’m taking you to both bridges so you’ll see the difference—and believe me, there’s a HUGE difference.”

  ‘When you visit.’ With what money? “Ben, have you given any more thought to when you might visit here?”

  He took a breath. “Oh, love, that’s all I think about. With these two jobs, I reckon I can save up, maybe be there for our anniversary.”

  Oh? The end of June…eight whole months away.

  Her frown made Ben laugh. “Hope! You’re thinking June, aren’t ya?”

  “Well, that’s our anniversary.”

  “No, don’t be daft! I mean St. Paddy’s Day—our airport anniversary! The day we met!”’

  “Ohh! GOOD! I
can’t wait eight months to kiss you…” Riley did a double take—Casey was hovering with a bowl of half-peeled potatoes.

  Ben’s eyes drifted like he was trying to see what Riley was looking at.

  “Rye, sorry.” Casey leaned in and waved through her phone. “Hey, Ben. Sorry, mate.”

  “Hiya, Case, all right?”

  “I will be when today’s over. Relatives—who needs ’em.” He squinted at Riley. “You might want to come. My uncle is cracking on to your mom.” Casey shivered with revulsion and walked back to the kitchen.

  Gross. Riley curled her lip.

  Ben grimaced. “Go save Maggie. Call when you get home?”

  “It won’t be until late, like 3 A.M. your time.”

  “No worries. I’ll keep my phone near. I love you, Riley. Happy Thanksgiving.”

  I have so much to be thankful for. “I love you, too, Ben.”

  Sixty-Four

  Sunday, November 25, 1:24 P.M. in NYC / 6:24 P.M. in the UK

  A photo and text message popped up on Riley’s phone: Ben beaming with pride, holding a small chalkboard with BEN’S LOVE BITES scrawled across it.

  Sold EVERYTHING this wkend! xo

  Riley giggled and typed a message.

  How cute are YOU? Ben’s Love Bites? Mmmm, my fave! LOL! Are you sure you didn’t eat more than you sold, Cookie Monster?

  Three minutes later.

  And eat my profits? No! I’m all about £! £ = me w/u in NYC. Froze my bollocks off but getting all toasty thinkin of u.

  You want sexy FaceTime?

  Within seconds of Riley sending her text, she received a FaceTime call from Ben.

  Christmas Day, 8:46 A.M. in NYC / 1:46 P.M. in the UK

  Sitting by Maggie’s tiny Christmas tree, Riley smiled at the tartan change purse given to her by Piper and hit send on her latest text.

  Merry Christmas Benjamin Fagan, love of my life! x

  Twenty-five minutes passed—no text. Riley gave up waiting and had begun mixing waffle batter when Ben’s reply arrived.

  Happy Chrimbo, gorgeous!! Soz for late reply. On train. Give Maggie kiss! xo

  Riley happily abandoned breakfast prep and picked up her phone, replying. FaceTime?