The Aeon Star

by Hart, Lauren T.

  "Brett," they said in unison, though hers had more of a whine to it.

  Nick smiled and kissed her. "Back here," he hollered in response, and reached for his shirt.

  She straitened herself on the couch, and bit her lip in frustration, an attempt to calm the butterflies which where dismally plummeting headfirst into the ground.

  Brett clutched a brown paper sack in one hand and Ashley in the other. Public displays of affection were a rarity for them. Even more so at work, save for the rare occasion when they would steal themselves away in Brett's closet — err office.

  The four of them ate lemon sorbet and chatted about travel and weddings and work and blah. Then just before midnight, Jen yawned, and Ashley promptly decided it was time for them to go. Jen wished she'd discovered that bit of information earlier — she'd have started yawning at 9:15. She scolded herself for having such a thought – Brett and Ashley were her friends. (Who had just interrupted her night of sexual bliss with Nick.)

  They walked Ashley and Brett to the door and said their goodbyes.

  Nick kissed Jen on the stairs and informed her that he still had a few odds and ends he wanted to get sorted before tomorrow. The butterflies wept as she climbed the stairs, changed into her nightgown and climbed into bed.

  "I can drive you to the airport, if you want." Jen was saying as she tidied the kitchen the next morning. "You don't have to take a taxi."

  Nick was sifting through a pile of documents on the kitchen table. "I always take a taxi," he said then added something in Italian as he leafed through one of the folders, before putting it in his backpack.

  She laughed, "What was that last bit again?"

  "Uh... It's part of my routine," he translated.

  "Routine? Or is it more like a superstition?"

  "Maybe," he shrugged with a half smile, still lost in the scatter of papers on the table. After a few more minutes of sorting he shuffled the papers on the table into a stack, and carted them back to his office.

  He leaned against the fridge and watched her as she removed Roger from the dishwasher, added detergent and started it.

  "Mrs. Chen can do that you know."

  "So can I."

  He pulled her to him and kissed her. It was a good kiss. It didn't feel like a goodbye kiss it felt like—

  "I love you," he whispered. "I wanted you to know."

  "I love you, too." She kissed his smile with her own.

  "Is it really that easy?"

  "Loving you is very easy."

  He sighed. "Had I known that, I would have told you I loved you five months ago."

  "We've only known each other five months."

  "I know." He kissed her.

  The butterflies rejoiced. She tried to keep them as tame as she could, knowing that his taxi was due at any moment.

  Nick was still in route to Italy when she got home from work that day. She tried not to think about the eight-hour time difference that was going to make it difficult for their schedules to line up. Or worse — the fact that Nick had no idea how long he'd be gone.

  The only positive was that he would have email access and told her he would check as often as he could. Typed words did okay with the basics but in the end, they were only words. They had no life to them, no touch, no soul.

  The days crept by...

  She did what she could to keep herself busy. Not that there wasn't plenty to do between work and being Ashley's Maid of Honor. But at night when she was home, besides the company of Roger and Peaches, she was alone.

  She wondered if it had been the same for Nick. Had he felt this same loneliness after his family died? With only his cats and his memories to comfort him. Is that why he went looking for love in the arms of others? 187 times... Maybe it was best not to think about those kinds of things. She pushed the thought from her mind and made a cup of tea hoping it would help her fall asleep then went to bed.

  With Peaches at her feet and Roger purring in the chair she drifted off to sleep.

  As she slept, she dreamed.

  In her dream she found herself walking down a corridor with dark, stone walls on either side. She had no idea where she was but she felt like she knew where she was supposed to be going, as if she were being pulled. She heard voices behind one of the doors. Suddenly she was inside the room. She had no idea how she had gotten there but dreams were like that.

  Shelves full of books lined the walls. In the center of the room was a table, surrounded by three men cloaked in hoods, all hunched over around a long table. They were so wrapped up in what they were doing that none of them took any notice of her entrance.

  One of the men was short and broad, his eyes full and droopy, and what was left of his hair grew on his face. The second man was older, with a slight stature, and a curved back. He had thin silvery hair and small dark eyes that sat behind large gasses. These two men wore Benedictine robes. The third, wore a hoodie. It was Nick.

  "Nick," she called.

  He lifted his head, briefly, and smiled as if to acknowledge her, but quickly refocused his attention on the task in front of him. The others paid her no attention at all. As engrossed as they were, she decided it was probably best not to disrupt them. She took a seat next to the door. They weren't speaking English, it sounded like Italian, but as she listened, she began to understand what they were saying.

  "Where does this stubbornness of yours come from, Carroll?" asked the first man.

  "Wisdom," Carroll, said, pushing his glasses up on his nose. "And that comes from age," he smirked.

  "I believe I agree with Carroll on this one, Vincenzi," Nick said. "I believe they are talking about the same type of thing, but not the exact same thing. Consider the time between events." Nick rubbed his hand across his chin, deep in thought.

  "Supposing time could stop the Devil." Vincenzi said gruffly.

  "It says 'like unto the devil', Vincenzi. Not 'the devil.'" Nick said, his focus still intently on the book in front of him, he carefully turned a few more pages.

  Vincenzi was about to say more when Carroll raised his hand to him and said: "It's not worth the argument. Be it the devil, his kin, or otherwise, above all else it is evil, and that is why we must be of concern."

  "What about this bit here, and the drawing?" Nick asked, "What have you made of this?"

  As Vincenzi and Carroll leaned in to take a closer look, Nick reached into his backpack and pulled out a notebook. He flipped toward the end of the book and started jotting down notes.

  "I believe they are referring to the other side." Vincenzi offered, "Yes, see here, the universe of the infinite," he read, "which includes both Heaven and Hell."

  Carroll laughed. "Are you trying to pull the wool over our eyes young Nicholas?" the laughter left his voice then. "I believe you are familiar with... the Aeon."

  Nick sliced his finger on the edge of the page he was in the process of turning "Ouch-shi—" he almost swore. "Sorry," he apologized for his near slip. He tucked his bleeding finger into the sleeve of his hoodie, and pinched it with his thumb to stem the bleeding.

  "Aeon?" Vincenzi said. "What is this... Aeon?"

  "I am familiar with the Aeon," Nick confessed, "What I'm asking for, is perhaps an alternate interpretation. Rumor, superstition, anything?"

  "Of course," Carroll nodded in understanding. "But after all of that, what remains is still little more than Vincenzi has just told you."

  "But what is this Aeon?" Vincenzi asked again.

  "It is Nicholas's... deity." Carroll explained. Vincenzi looked as confused as Jennifer felt.

  She stood, hoping to get a closer look without interrupting them.

  "Well," Nick had started to speak then stopped and looked in her direction again.

  She looked back, wondering if it would be all right for her to come closer or if it would be best to return to her seat by the door.

  Nick took a moment to examine his injured finger, and then turned his attention back to the books on the table.

  As N
ick didn't seem to have an opinion either way, she crossed the small room to the table to view the muddle of books before them. Some so old they were hand written. Like the one that lay open in front of Nick.

  She recognized the drawing on the page in front of him. It was a simple array of stars. One larger, eight-sided star in the center, surrounded by six smaller stars, three on each side. It was nearly identical in formation to what she had tattooed across her back.

  But how could that be? She gasped in shock, and then—

  She was awake, in her bed, Roger still purring softly in the chair next to her. She sat up in bed, and curled her knees up to her chest.

  Peaches lifted her head and mewed softly as if to say, are you okay?

  "It's okay," Jen answered.

  Peaches flicked her tail in the air, squinted her eyes, and started to purr along with Roger.

  Jen envied their contentedness.

  She knew practically nothing about dream interpretation, but it seemed to her that the dream was trying to connect her to Nick's faith, to the Star Souls. But then, hadn't her waking life been doing that as well? Maybe Nick was right. Maybe she was in denial. She had denied any significance about the house that felt like home — the house in which she now lived. She had denied her attraction to Nick – which was just silly really. And she had denied that she could be a Star Soul, simply on the basis of... what exactly? Not liking Marcus? Marcus being right? Not wanting to believe in something that didn't fit her paradigm of life, or — more than that — didn't fit society's acceptable weirdness standards?

  She thought back to the countless times Quincy and Nancy's narrow views of the world, and what it should be, had infuriated her, and yet, when she found herself presented with something new, something different, she had done exactly the same thing: denied it, rejected it, and avoided it.

  She picked up the rose quartz heart sitting on her night table and turned it over in her hand, running her finger around the edge of its form. Nick had bought it for her because of it's meaning, because it was meant to heal a broken heart. Not because it actually did. Maybe that's what this was too. Maybe it was the thought that mattered most. Maybe it was the mindset. Maybe it would be okay if she accepted that she was different, instead of denying it.

  Like when she stopped denying how she felt about Nick.

  Maybe she could be different, and still be a part of the world around her. Like Nick did. Like Paul did. Like Marcus— err, no. Marcus was a bad example.

  Still, the idea of labeling herself a Star Soul, just felt... well, crazy — a little bit, and kind of dumb, and... wrong.

  She wished that Nick were here.

  She set the rose quartz down and picked up her cell phone. It was 3:27 AM. Italy was eight hours ahead, so that meant it was nearing 11:30, for Nick. She brought him up in her contacts and hit send.

  It felt like an eternity for the phone to ring. It rang once then twice then a third time.

  "Hi you've reached Nicholas Grace, sorry I missed your call. Leave me a message and I'll get back to you," his sexy voice stated, followed shortly by the obligatory beep.

  "Hi, it's me, Jen. I couldn't sleep, so I thought I'd give you a call," she paused then sighed. "Peaches and Roger send their love." She held the phone up to a purring Peaches, who issued her standard acknowledgement meow. "I've realized something..." she said, "I was right; the house is just a house. It was never the house. It was you. It's always been you. I miss you, I love you," and then she hung up the phone.

  She curled up with her pillow, but kept the phone in her hand in case he called back.

  She didn't remember falling asleep again. But she had definitely been sleeping when her phone sounded. She was startled awake as her phone twitched and buzzed in her hand along with the melodic ringtone.

  But it wasn't Nick. It was Ashley.

  Another day, another set of distractions, but they did nothing to ease the growing ache of her longing for Nick, who didn't call.

  Why didn't he call?

  Another day. And then another...

  Jen had taken Nick up on his offer to make the room her own and painted the walls a soft creamy brown, which looked an awful lot like taupe, but sounded much less neutral. She accented with red. Red pillows, a red throw, and a beautiful abstract painting that she had found leaning against a garbage can on her walk home. It was a little dirty and had a small tear in the canvas, but she was willing to overlook this minor flaw.

  Another day... and then another.... and then, eventually another week crept by...

  Chapter 24

  I Would Give You The Stars

  "Hey there, Bambi or Benji, or whoever you are," Brett called to her as she was refilling drinks.

  Jennifer looked at her nametag. "It's Bingo, thank you very much," she said curtly, but with a smile.

  "How many tables have you got going?" he said pulling her aside.

  "Six, but four are just lingering," she said. "Table nine is eating, and seven is considering dessert."

  "Okay," Brett said. "I'll take 'em. You go home."

  "Go home?" she questioned. "It's not even three o'clock. Why would I do that?"

  "Because you left your phone at home," Brett said and then cracked a huge conspiratorial smile. "And Nick's phone is charged now."

  Nick.

  Jen almost dropped the pitcher of soda she was carrying. Fortunately she had just enough sense to set it down on a nearby table, before she jumped up and hugged Brett tightly around his neck.

  "Thank you. Thank you. Thank you!" she said through happy tears.

  "Okay," Brett said half hugging her in his awkward way and patting her back. "Save it for Nick."

  She grabbed her things and raced home.

  She bounded through the front door and up the stairs to her room. No phone. It wasn't there. Where was it?

  Think, she commanded. Where could she have left it?

  It beeped when she had messages. She moved quietly about the room and bathroom, searching, hoping to hear it beep, so that she could locate it. Nothing.

  She thought she heard it ringing faintly, but couldn't figure out where it was coming from. Maybe it was simply a case of wishful thinking.

  She retraced her steps. She remembered picking it up along with her laundry — the laundry room. She switched her clothes from the washer to the dryer, hoping not to find her phone amidst them.

  It wasn't there.

  Beep.

  She'd heard it, but couldn't tell where it was coming from exactly... maybe the kitchen.

  The kitchen. She found it sitting on the counter, behind the toaster. She had unplugged it that morning when she had discovered Roger – who was probably suffering from toast withdrawals — pawing at it.

  Two missed calls and two messages, from Nick.

  First message: "I hate that I missed your call," his tone was dark, somber even, "but it was so good to hear your voice. I've missed you so much. I've had it with Italy, with searching for answers that don't exist, with all of it," he sighed, clearly frustrated. "I'm coming home. And I can't wait to see you."

  He was coming home — at last. But when was he coming home? Had he left Italy yet? Surely Brett wouldn't have sent her home just so she could get the message.

  Second message, from less than five minutes earlier: "Brett thinks you must have left your phone at home. Said he'd send you home. I guess you haven't made it there yet."

  "Damn it." The phone had been ringing.

  She dialed his number.

  It went directly to voicemail.

  He'll call again, she told herself. He will.

  She waited, pacing. Five minutes. Ten minutes. An eternity. Okay... not an eternity, but it felt like it.

  It was only about 20 minutes later when the front door opened. He was home. She knew he was. She didn't have to see him to know it. She could feel it.

  She practically flew down the hall toward the front door. He set down his luggage and his backpack in just enough time to catch
her as she leapt into his arms. Her arms around his neck and her legs around his waist; she kissed him heartily and he returned her fervor.

  "I got something for you," he managed between kisses.

  "Is it a snow globe?"

  "It's not a snow globe," he assured. He set her down and retrieved a rather sizable gift bag.

  "What is it?" she asked.

  "I'm not going to tell you what it is," he said, tossing his hoodie over the banister.

  She sat on the stairs with the bag between her legs. It was full of tissue paper. Amidst the tissue paper she found a box — a jewelry box — stained red and trimmed with silver.

  "It's beautiful," she managed, just a whisper.

  It was beautiful, probably expensive too. She ran her thumbs along the ridge of the lid before she opened it. It was lined in red velvet; a large mirror adorned the inside of the lid. In the bottom of the box, was a silver star-shaped pendant that hung on a sliver chain. She suspected that the white diamond looking stone in its middle might be an actual diamond.

  "It's too much," she said.

  "You don't like it?" he asked.

  "I do like it," she choked on her emotions. "It's gorgeous. I sort of have this thing for stars," she gushed.

  "I thought you might." He smiled and kissed her then picked up his suitcase

  "From my tattoo?" she asked.

  "From, my tattoo. You have a tattoo? Of a star?" he sounded surprised.

  "Stars," she informed. "On my back."

  "Since when?" he looked amused.

  "I got it right after I moved out here. Just before we met. I thought you'd seen it."

  He shook his head.

  "Not even that night you slept over? When I was changing?"

  "I had my eyes shut," he admitted. "Probably a good thing because that is very... sexy." He cleared his throat. "I'm just going to... go... start my laundry now."

  She suppressed a chuckle as he headed off toward the laundry room. She took the jewelry box upstairs to her room and placed it on top of the dresser. It matched the décor of her room perfectly. It must be kismet.

  "I could really go for some Chinese right now," Nick said when she returned to the kitchen. "How about you?"