Swearing Off Stars

by Danielle Wong

“Well,” she muttered. She stood up and walked across the room. “I don’t know why.”

  “Yes, you do,” I said.

  “I just . . . I don’t know how to talk to you anymore.”

  “Yes you do, Scarlett,” I repeated. I walked toward her slowly and reached for her hand. She didn’t pull away.

  “It’s just . . .” She wouldn’t meet my eyes. “I liked being your friend.”

  “Aren’t we still friends?”

  She looked at me adoringly. “Yes,” she said, and finally exhaled.

  Scarlett was always the brave one between the two of us. But that night, I was much more forward than she had ever been. I craved her. I wanted to show her how much I loved her, every part of her. I held her face in my hands and looked into her green eyes. She was quiet for the first time since we’d met.

  I paused for a moment, silently asking if what I was doing was okay. She smiled shyly back at me and ran her delicate hand across my cheek. Then I kissed her, hard and slow. It was a promise—a vow to her. In that moment, I knew two things. I knew that I loved her. But more importantly, I knew that I’d never love anyone else.

  Tingles ran down my spine as she carefully unbuttoned my lavender dress. I slipped her silk camisole over her head and set it beside us. Pure, unadulterated intuition was my guide. I had no idea what I was doing, and I hoped that Scarlett wouldn’t notice.

  “Lia,” she whispered. “I love you.” She pulled me down gently and pressed her warm body against mine. I felt both of our heartbeats, rhythmically soothing me until I couldn’t tell which was which. Her long blond locks cascaded over us as we kissed and touched and tasted one another. I was overwhelmed by her sweet, salty skin and that delicious cinnamon scent. We explored each other fearlessly in the candlelight, our bodies sticky and intertwined, spread across her four-poster bed as another pretty song filled the room.

  WAKING up next to Scarlett Daniels was like having a dream that lasted far too long. I wondered how this had happened, how I could be so lucky. I watched her sleep for a while, visually tracing her silhouette, until her lids opened slowly, revealing those piercing green eyes that still made my heart skip a beat or two. Watching her expression was like replaying the night before. A huge smile spread across her face as she, too, realized that this moment was real.

  “Let’s stay here all day,” she whispered coyly.

  “Okay,” I agreed. My gaze didn’t leave hers for an hour.

  “What are you doing for Christmas?” she asked, finally breaking the silence.

  “Nothing,” I said honestly.

  My parents had written about a winter visit, but I told them that the long ocean voyage wasn’t worth it—I’d spend future Christmases with them.

  “Come to London with me,” she said, smiling. “We’ll have a little holiday of our own!”

  “Sounds amazing,” I said, grinning back.

  How could I say no to her when she was the only person I wanted to be with?

  Chapter 12

  We caught an early-morning train on December 23. It was a quick ride, most of which we spent planning our secret little vacation. Should we have dinner in the hotel, or try someplace downtown? Should we exchange gifts, or go shopping for them together? How long should we stay?

  The city was glitzy and glamorous, beyond anything I could have dreamed up myself. There were festive decorations on every main street, ladies walking around in shiny black heels, and shop windows aglow with holiday displays. Slender mannequins stood proudly in department stores and caramel aromas emanated from corner confectionaries. As Scarlett and I carried our trunks side by side, I decided I wanted to stay in London forever.

  We checked into our hotel and changed into fancier outfits. Scarlett looked stunning in a sapphire gown with a jeweled bodice, while I went with a white silk shift dress and two strands of black pearls. Scarlett convinced me to get my hair cut at a ritzy salon nearby.

  “Just a trim, though,” I pleaded.

  “Absolutely not,” she teased. “We’re in London. You have to take a chance!”

  To my dismay, I couldn’t come up with a decent reason to keep my waist-length hair. It was wild, unruly, and frequently neglected. Why not try something new? Chunks of wavy ends fell onto the floor as I watched Scarlett’s face light up with satisfaction.

  When she was done, the hairdresser spun my chair around slowly until I faced a large mirror. I gasped as I processed my new look. There I was with a chic new bob and makeup to match. My rouged lips and lined eyes made me look older . . . more sophisticated. I felt like a new person.

  “You look . . . stunning,” Scarlett said excitedly as we left the salon.

  I couldn’t wipe the confident expression off my face all night. After we went shopping for shoes neither of us could afford, we ate at a restaurant called Rules, where a pianist played elegant music as we enjoyed the most wonderful meal I’d ever experienced. Fresh rosemary saturated my taste buds as I ate roast chicken and creamy whipped potatoes. I could smell Scarlett’s ginger pan-seared salmon from across the table, and I ogled it until she let me try some. She teased me for eating so much but staying rail thin. I didn’t mind; anything to laugh with her.

  “Can you believe that this place has been around since the seventeen-hundreds? It’s hard to imagine,” Scarlett mused. “Charles Dickens used to eat here!”

  All I could do was smile as I took it all in. I was having an incredible dinner in a new city with someone I loved. I’d never been happier.

  After dinner, we put on our winter coats and ventured into the chilly London darkness. Tall lamps illuminated the streets as shop lights slowly turned off for the night. I looked up at the evening sky and stared at those stars we both loved.

  “Do you think we could ever . . . you know . . .” Scarlett kept her eyes cast upward.

  “Be together?” I finished her sentence.

  “Yes,” she said faintly.

  “You don’t seem to,” I said, looking at her curiously.

  “I’d like to believe,” she said.

  “I believe in love. And I believe in us,” I whispered as I took her hand.

  All I wanted to do was to hold her tight and kiss her. I had to stop myself from taking her into my arms right then and there.

  “Lia,” she breathed as she inched closer. I could smell her freshly washed hair and, as I turned toward her, I saw the out-line of her face. My heart began to beat faster, and then I remembered where we were. I stepped back suddenly, before anyone noticed.

  “It’s dark,” she reassured me. “No one can see us.”

  My head told me to take another step back. I knew that once she was close enough, nothing could stop me from kissing her—not fear, not judgment, not doubt. My head was right. But my heart. My heart made me stay.

  And then we kissed. A kiss as raw and electrifying as our first encounter, the kind that leaves your head spinning and your heart hammering at the interior of your chest. I wouldn’t pull away first. She’ll have to. Otherwise, I was certain that we would live in that thrilling moment until the end of time itself.

  Scarlett held my face in her hands until we finally split apart. Although I saw nothing else, I did see her eyes. They were prickled with blissful tears and melted mascara.

  “Now look at those stars and tell me that we’re impossible, Scarlett. I dare you.”

  “LIA ?” she asked on our final evening as I was making a pot of tea. “What do you think of me?”

  “What do you mean?” It was such an open-ended question.

  “How would you describe me? To a stranger.”

  “I would say that you’re the most interesting person I’ve ever met.”

  Scarlett’s eyes lit up as she digested my answer. “That’s sweet,” she said. “But you really don’t know me well enough if you find me that interesting.”

  “What do you mean?” I asked again, sitting down next to her.

  “I’m actually quite boring.” She took a long sip of her cham
omile tea.

  “Oh, c’mon,” I challenged. “We’ve gotten to know each other pretty well, Scarlett.”

  She was silent for a moment, and then, staring into the porcelain cup between her palms, she said, “Tell me a secret.”

  I thought hard about what I could tell her. But I’d been so candid lately that I felt like she knew almost everything going through my head. Finally, I said, “Before I came here, I felt like I was pretending to be someone. Someone who lived for academics and would do almost anything to impress her parents . . . someone who wanted a husband and a big house . . .”

  Scarlett put her hand on my shoulder. “When I first met you, I felt like you were maybe just trying to fit in. You know, blend into the crowd. But you’re completely different now. You have strong opinions and spectacular things to say and . . . I’m proud of you.”

  “Your turn,” I said, smiling.

  “A secret?” she asked thoughtfully, tapping those pink lips with her pointer finger. “I don’t think I could live without acting.”

  “Well, I could have guessed after watching your performance. You’re so convincing!”

  “I have to be.”

  “Of course, I mean the play would crumble if—”

  “I’m serious, Lia.”

  “I know you are . . .” I didn’t understand her sudden change of tone.

  “I’ve been acting my entire life. Not in plays, but every single day.”

  “Every day?”

  “I understood very early on how my family worked. We keep secrets from each other.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean that my aunt doesn’t tell my uncle about the other man she sees every Tuesday night. And he doesn’t tell her where he really goes on Saturdays. I lived with them you know, ever since I was a girl. I was well aware of what went on behind closed doors, so to speak. Such provocative behavior for such a conservative couple.” She said it in a mocking tone. “So I don’t tell them that I like women, because it would ruin them. For once, they would have to confront the truth.” There was so much anger in her voice.

  “You’re in a new place now,” I said gently. “Surely you don’t have to maintain that sort of front—”

  “It’s not just my family. It’s everyone.”

  “Scarlett.”

  “The world feeds on secrets, Lia. People have these thoughts and desires, but they learn to suppress them and just . . . exist.”

  “We don’t have to hide anything from each other,” I said.

  “It’s hard to break a habit after you’ve been doing it for so many years. Why do you think I’m such a good actress?” She laughed and twisted her hands in her lap. “The fact is, Scarlett Marie Daniels is just a show.”

  “You have everyone fooled, Scarlett.” I wasn’t sure what else to say. She was hurting so much and all I could do was sit there, helpless, watching her suffer. “I think that you can do anything you want to,” I said honestly. “You’re beautiful and brilliant.”

  She looked at me and opened her mouth, as if to say something, but closed it again before the words could escape. Then she leaned into me and gave me a long and unexpected kiss. She stroked my back as I pressed my lips into her neck, and then she started to cry—soft tears that fell onto my cheek like raindrops. Despite everything she had just told me, I knew that this was real. Our love, this moment, her sadness. As Scarlett continued to cry, all I could do was try to kiss her tears away.

  We lay side by side that night as I slowly drifted into a soundless sleep. Every time I woke up, I would visually trace her beautiful face. I’d start at her delicate forehead and move down to the slight curve of her nose, all the way to her narrow chin and slender neck. In the morning, I found her wrapped around me. I inhaled the sweet scent of her hair as thoughts from the night before floated through my head.

  When she finally stirred, Scarlett looked at me with wide, unguarded eyes. I smiled at her until a knowing expression cloaked her face. Memories of our conversation put her back on the defensive, only evident in her changing eyes. It was a subtle shift, imperceptible to anyone but me.

  OUR train ride back to Oxford was a quiet one. Scarlett and I made occasional eye contact, but she always looked away before either of us spoke. We’d shared so much over the past couple weeks, I didn’t understand why we were suddenly acting like strangers.

  The sudden sound of our train stopping was a relief. We barely exchanged two words as we descended to the platform, but before we parted to go unpack our trunks, Scarlett placed a gloved hand on my tense shoulder.

  “I’m sorry, Lia.”

  “For what?”

  “Last night. I don’t know what came over me.”

  “You don’t have to apologize. You were just sad.”

  “No. I ruined the trip,” she said despondently.

  “Scarlett. We got to spend Christmas in London. It was the best holiday I’ve ever had.”

  She just stared at the snowy ground beneath our feet.

  “Because I was with you,” I added quietly.

  “You mean that?”

  “Of course I do. What I said was true, you know.”

  Recognition flickered in her eyes. “Me too. I do adore you, Amelia.”

  Chapter 13

  SCARLETT

  London is magic on its own. The city’s heartbeat simply cannot be matched. But being there with Lia, seeing it through her unmarked eyes, is entirely enchanting. I don’t want to leave this place.

  I find myself blissfully unaware around her. We walk the streets like girls in love, holding hands and kissing on dark corners. Of course I have my usual hesitations, but she pulls me out of the fortress I’ve built up. She breaks down my walls and reminds me to look up at the stars.

  We’re back in the hotel room on our last night and Lia’s making tea. I ask her to tell me a secret, still working up courage of my own. Scarlett Marie Daniels is just a show, I say, trying to tell her the truth without really telling her. There’s a wrenching in my gut and I’m dying to be honest about Will and me. But I can’t betray him.

  I like falling asleep with her arm around me. When we lie side by side, it’s like getting to be together without the usual fear that accompanies daylight. I try to stay asleep for as long as possible, because waking up means that everything before Lia wasn’t a dream. When I dream, she’s my constant. Amelia Cole is my past, present, and future.

  On that final morning, I feel the cruel morning sun creep onto my face. Lia is wide awake, watching me with innocent eyes. For a moment, I smile back, completely unguarded. But the moment is short-lived. Because I know when we return to Oxford, my walls will reconstruct themselves, and I’ll find myself pretending once again.

  Chapter 14

  LIA

  Robbie came to visit me two days later—a complete surprise, and one I didn’t initially respond to well when I found him on the Watsons’ doorstep.

  “Aren’t you happy to see me?” he asked when he saw the confusion on my face.

  “Of course I am!” I cried, recovering from my shock and hugging him tightly.

  He kissed me hesitantly, a skeptical look on his face.

  “Let’s get some tea,” I said, threading my arm around his.

  He nodded his assent, and I steered him toward a nearby café.

  “How’s your family?” I asked.

  “They’re fine,” he said, forcing a smile.

  I wondered if things were still as tense as they’d been when I left.

  “Lia . . .” Robbie seemed to read my face easily. “It’s okay to ask. We miss him every single day . . .”

  “I’m so sorry about everything—about Ben,” I said quietly. “I’m not sure if I ever told you that enough.”

  He reached across the table and set his hand on mine.

  “Your parents are doing well,” he said, changing the subject.

  “Oh? That’s good. I really don’t write often enough . . .”

  “Yeah, they’re looking
at new spaces to expand the restaurant to. I do think they’d like to hear from you though. The Watsons write every so often to update them.”

  “God. I can only imagine what kind of news Mrs. Watson gives my parents.”

  “Oh, Lia.” Robbie laughed. “I’m sure the Watsons are nice.”

  “Mr. Watson is a real crumb . . .”

  For a moment, I wondered if I should tell Robbie more about the real Bruce and Camilla Watson. The people who seemed so perfect through the glass windows of their expensive home. But I shook my head at the thought.

  “But . . . they’re fine,” I shook my head.

  “So tell me about Oxford,” he encouraged with bright eyes.

  We fell back into that easy conversation pattern we’d always had—one, I now realized, that I had very much missed since coming to England. I told him everything. About how I wanted to leave the second I arrived but forced myself to stay anyway. About the movement and my friends and our meetings. About speaking in front of the school board.

  I told him about everything except Scarlett. I figured that lying to protect his feelings was worth it. We talked more about life back home, and I vowed to write more frequently. As the café emptied, Robbie moved his chair closer to mine. When we were the only two people left, he put his arm around me and leaned closer. I instantly felt something that I couldn’t quite identify. I thought perhaps it was something left over from our transitory romance, but blocked by my overwhelming feelings for Scarlett.

  As we sat there in conjoined silence, Robbie’s comforting embrace sent me into a dreamlike haze, and memories of our time together flooded my head.

  “I love this part,” he whispers into my ear.

  A black-and-white film flickers on the screen in front of us. It’s late July, and we’re the only ones in the cozy Brooklyn picture house.

  “Me too,” I whisper back.

  He puts his arm around me and I feel the welcome warmth on my bare shoulder.

  The main actor kisses his leading lady passionately onscreen. Instrumental music fills the theatre as they kiss again.