When the Stars Align

by Isabel Jolie

  I hail a cab because, well, heels. Those Sex and the City sirens were so full of Hollywood BS when they waltzed around sidewalks in Manolos. No woman in her right mind with the ability to hail a cab would ever prance around like those women. Concrete sidewalks are hard. And stilettos aren’t known for soft padding.

  As I head to Angela’s birthday dinner, I pull out my phone, deciding to reach out to my BFF on the ride over. Olivia moved to Prague after she split with her boyfriend. She claims she wasn’t running from him and just had a good job offer, but I’m not sure I believe her. Selfishly, it all worked out for me because I ended up with my own apartment. Her move was timed extraordinarily well with my promotion and raise. Still, I worry about her and try to check in often. I click on WhatsApp, the cheap way she picked to communicate while she’s abroad.

  Me: Hey, what are you up to this weekend?

  Olivia: Nada. Crashing after business trip to Asia. Jetlag killing me.

  Me: Good trip?

  Olivia: Fine. What u up to?

  Me: Heading to Angela’s birthday party. Fancy dress. (eye rolling emoji)

  Olivia: Fun.

  Me: No. Jackson will prob be there.

  Olivia: Have you seen him much?

  Me: No

  Olivia: ? Do u not want to see him?

  Me: No

  Olivia: Keep an open mind. You never know. You guys could reunite.

  Me: Ha! He hates me.

  Olivia: LMK how party goes.

  Me: Will do.

  Olivia: BTW no one hates you. Everyone loves Anna. :-)

  The cab pulls up to the restaurant. It’s on a nondescript street in the Village. Small restaurants, hip boutiques, and art galleries line the lane.

  As I pull the heavy wood door open, Angela’s mom wraps me in a warm hug and offers a glass of wine. Middle-aged men and women I don’t recognize are milling around, holding cocktails or wine glasses. All the men are in jackets and ties. Angela did not lie. Folks are dressed up to celebrate her most recent journey around the sun.

  Across the room, I spot Angela and Chase in a corner, surrounded by two older couples, presumably family. Angela’s mom guides me over to a thin, dark-haired man around my age wearing spectacles. His black hair is the exact color as Angela’s, and I immediately notice family resemblance in the facial structure. “Let me introduce you to Angela’s cousin, David Bergen. His father is my husband’s brother.”

  I give a polite smile and extend my hand.

  David takes my hand in a cordial, loose hold and responds to Angela’s mom. “No, I haven’t had the pleasure of meeting Anna yet, but I’ve heard a lot about her.” His slightly clammy hand presses into mine. When he releases my hand, I reflexively wipe my palm on my dress. His eyes follow my hand, and I stop mid-wipe. I give him an awkward, timid smile.

  Mrs. Bergen excuses herself to greet another guest. David clutches my elbow to guide me to a more private corner near the bar. “I have heard a lot about you. Angela told me she’s been trying to get you to agree to a blind date for a while.”

  I sort of chuckle. “Yeah, I don’t like blind dates.”

  He smiles. “Well, I’m hoping after tonight, it won’t be a blind date.”

  Oh, my. He seems nice, but not my type. At all. Awkward. “Yeah, I don’t...” I pause. “I’m super busy with work.” I truly suck at the blow off. Graceful maneuvering of the conversation has always been a skill beyond my reach.

  My comment must intrigue him. He steps closer to me then rubs his finger along my elbow and asks, “Why? A beautiful girl like you. Angela said you don’t date much, but now I’ve seen you, it doesn’t add up.”

  I back up a few steps to create some needed space between the two of us. I sip my wine, a delay tactic. I’m waffling between telling him I’m fresh out of a bad relationship or telling him it’s an extremely stressful time at work when my skin tingles. Without seeing him, I know. Jackson is here.

  I glance around the room, and I find him. Jackson, in a dark suit, crisp shirt, and plum tie. My breath catches. He’s moving toward us, glancing between David and me, with a glass of what appears to be scotch or bourbon in his hand.

  “Hello,” he says with a polite nod.

  I smile. I attempt to steady my voice and quell my nerves as I introduce the two men. “Hi. Jackson, this is David, Angela’s cousin. He works in finance. Jackson lived with Chase in grad school, and he’s recently moved here to New York.”

  They nod at each other. David swallows back the rest of the wine from his glass. “Can I get you both another drink? I’m gonna to head to the bar.”

  “Thanks, but I’m good.” I hold up my almost full glass so he can see.

  Jackson does the same, responding with a brief, “I’m good.”

  After David walks away, Jackson stirs the ice in his tumbler with a bored expression. “You’re the only person I know here. I expected a younger crowd.” He looks around the room and mutters, “Not that I’d know anyone, anyway.”

  “Yeah, I suspect it’s mainly family. Maybe some colleagues? It’s nice of her parents to want to do this for her, but it is a little odd with the mix of family and friends.”

  Jackson’s eyes drift over me. As his gaze roves up and down, I start to fidget and shift on my feet. I stand taller under his gaze. Goosebumps rise on my arms. There’s no physical contact, but the heat of his perusal makes me hyperaware of my own body. I become aware of the sensation of my nipples against the lace of my bra, and I press my thighs tightly together. I watch two couples standing against the far wall, aiming to look anywhere but at Jackson.

  “Is David your date?” he asks. I turn to him. He’s no longer looking at me. He’s observing two men talking near one of the tables.

  “No, no, he’s not. But Angela seems to be playing matchmaker. He’s the guy she mentioned at the park.”

  He nods. “So, you haven’t explained to her you’re not really a relationship girl. You’d prefer to just fuck?”

  My eyes widen. Did I hear him correctly? “Excuse me?”

  Dark eyes glare at me. Definitely a serious, I-don’t-like-you-at-all kind of look.

  David returns holding three glasses of wine. Jackson and I still have our drinks, so it appears David is expecting us to double fist. We had declined his offer. Reeling from Jackson’s statement, I take the glass David offers me and set it down on a nearby table. David sets one glass on the nearby cocktail table and chugs the one in his hand.

  What a shit show. David hovers by my side, as if I’m his date. I’m flustered and want distance from him but have nowhere to go. Jackson remains where he was standing before David walked up, scowling at me.

  David breeches the uncomfortable silence by telling us it’s time to get seated. “I checked, and we’re all sitting at the same table.”

  Fabulous.

  I’m seated between Jackson and David. There are nine others at our round table. Everyone else seems familiar with each other. We may be at a table of family members. The large table size requires smaller conversations on the perimeter.

  David’s leg keeps bumping up against mine under the table. The man Jackson’s been talking to turns back to his wife. With no other option, Jackson shifts to angle his body to me.

  “What have you been up to the last four years?” he mutters, resigned to making small talk with me.

  Well, both my parents died, I finally have my own apartment, and I’ve met the love of my life in dog form. And why the hell would I tell you anything after what you said to me?

  “Not much. Work. You?”

  He gives me a slight grin. “Work, huh? Yeah, me too. And a move to a new state,” he adds, almost as an afterthought.

  Are we really doing this? Chit chat? “How are you liking it so far?”

  “It’s fine. I’ll be spending a lot of time at the office. Depending on the client, I sometimes travel a lot. It doesn’t matter where I live.”

  “Is that any way to live?” I ask and immediately regret it. I sound t
oo derogatory. Serious. Keep it light, Anna Elizabeth.

  “Doesn’t sound like you’re one to talk.” he snaps back. Yep, I put the asshole lawyer on the defensive. Great.

  Right about then, David’s hand caresses my thigh. Really? Could this night get any worse? I remove David’s wandering hand from my thigh and place it back on his leg. I glare at him in an attempt to communicate a silent “keep your hands off me.” He grins, looking sheepish but also a bit like an errant teenager.

  The man on the other side of Jackson asks him a question. The two of them end up resuming their prior conversation. It sounds like a discussion about New York financial advisors.

  I stare straight ahead, stuck between handsy David and Jackson’s back. Four empty wine glasses sit in front of David’s place. He starts leaning into me and patting my hair. I lean over more. One more inch, and I’ll face plant into Jackson’s back.

  David snorts and sort of giggles. “You’re trying to get away from me.”

  I attempt a gracious smile then announce to the table, “Excuse me. I’m going to the restroom.” No one glances my way. Out of the corner of my eye, I see David snatch my glass of wine and drink from it.

  I take my time in the restroom, hoping by the time I exit, our plates will be clear. Then I can graciously make my excuses and leave. I do wonder if Chase will be popping the question tonight. The whole party has an engagement dinner kind of feel. Chase and Angela have been making the rounds visiting with the guests together. Well, if he’s going to propose, I’ll have to miss it. Hanging with drunk David all night isn’t gonna happen.

  I exit the restroom and stop. Jackson’s leaning against the wall. Glaring at me. He steps forward and guides me to the back of the hall away from the restrooms. “What are you playing at?” He sounds angry.

  “What?” I ask, floored. What the hell is going on?

  “David. Is he your end goal tonight?”

  I tilt my head in confusion, trying to figure out what he could be angry about. I’m missing something here. “What? In case you haven’t noticed, David is drunk. I don’t know what to do. I’m not playing at anything. I’m trying to be polite and not cause a scene.”

  He looks me up and down as if he’s judging the veracity of my response. “So, you aren’t planning on banging her cousin?”

  I open my mouth, shocked and pissed off. “What? No! I just met the guy. He’s drunk. Like, crazy drunk. Have you not been sitting there for the whole dinner? And thanks for helping me out, by the way.”

  I start to push past him, but he grabs my elbow, spinning me around.

  “I figured you do roommates, why not cousins?”

  What the fuck?

  “What. Are. You. Talking. About?” I whisper-screech.

  He puts his hands up in a defensive gesture. “Look, you and Angela seem like good friends. Chase hasn’t told her you two fucked in college, and now she’s setting you up with her cousin. It seems to me you’d realize if she knew the truth, she wouldn’t want you with her family.”

  I stand, stunned for a minute. Then anger rips through me. Index finger held out and swinging like a sword, I let the motherfucker have it. “First, I don’t want to date her family. Second, I never fucked, banged, or whatever with Chase. Ever!” My finger bounces around, and I suppress the urge to stab him in the eye with it.

  He stands before me, rubbing his chin. Not saying a word. Fucking lawyer.

  I throw my hands up, frustration mounting, about to blow. “Where are you getting this?” I hiss. “You are such a hypocritical fuck. You were a huge player in school. And. According to Chase. You still are! You think you know me? Well, you don’t, you fuck!” I want to punch a wall. “I don’t know where you get off.” I pause, forcing myself to calm down. “I don’t know what you’ve heard, but you are wrong.”

  “What I’ve heard?” He stalks toward me, crowding me against the wall, glaring down at me with stormy, dark green eyes. “I was there. Do you not remember?”

  I pause, a dizzy sensation coming over me. I have no idea what he’s talking about, but I know one thing. “You. Are. Wrong.”

  I tear down the hallway and hear him call after me, taunting. “Running away?”

  When I exit the hall, I see a few women casting curious glances in my direction. They may have heard us. My whisper-shout may not have been so whispery.

  Shoulders back, I storm out, charging for the subway station. What the hell? What does he think he saw? It was four years ago. There’s no telling what he thinks he saw. Fucking asshole.

  Chapter 6

  Anna

  Knock. Knock. Knock.

  The rapping noise outside my door sends Chewie into a barking frenzy. Loud barking will have Lester from unit C at my door in minutes.

  I leap up to open the door.

  Jackson stands in the hallway. He’s still wearing his suit. Before I can tell him to fuck off, Chewie bounds past me and plants both paws on his chest. Damnit.

  Chewie’s tail thumps the wall with each frantic wag. I grab her collar and pull her down.

  I peer down the hall in search of Lester, fully expecting a scolding. The grouchy man does not like dogs. But thankfully, Lester hasn’t opened his door. One good thing for the day.

  I grip Chewie’s collar and glare at Jackson. He bows his head. “I may have been out of line.”

  “You think?”

  “Can I come in?”

  “Why?”

  Apologetic green eyes peer down at me. “Please?”

  I glance down the hall again and step back, swinging the door wide. “Only because I don’t want Lester coming out yelling at us for talking in the doorway.” And because I don’t like to hold in anger. It’s not me. I let things go. I learned the hard way life’s too short not to.

  He steps inside then bends down to greet Chewie with a warm hello. Clearly, he likes dogs. So, not drenched with evil. Just an asshole—not an evil asshole. I stand with my arms crossed, tapping my foot. I’m tired, and I’ve had a shit night. Whatever he wants to say, he needs to say it and get out.

  Finally, he stands. He ducks his head. “I was out of line tonight. I had a couple of glasses of bourbon.” He shrugs. “I didn’t like seeing you with David. I saw his hand on your thigh during dinner and...” His right hand balls into a fist, and he exhales. “I know. Out of line. It’s been years since we dated. It won’t happen again.” During his whole speech he’s been looking at the ground, but his eyes meet mine when he says, “It won’t happen again.”

  He turns to leave, and I reach out and tug his sleeve. “No. You’ve got to give me more than that. I’m totally confused. Why do you think I slept with Chase?”

  He squints, and his expression says I’m out of my mind. “I was there when you and Chase got home from your date.”

  “Chase and I never went on a date.”

  Jackson takes off his coat and loops it around one of his arms. “Sushi? Do you remember when you went out for sushi?” Chewie decides Jackson’s done with her, jumps up on the futon, and spreads herself out.

  “Vaguely. Right before we moved here. Jackson, what’s this about?”

  “It was about a week after we broke up. You know what.” He stops and rubs a hand through his hair. “You are saying you never slept with him.”

  I stare at him.

  “You never slept with Chase?” he asks.

  “No,” I answer in an angry, annoyed tone, because I’m both angry and annoyed.

  He nods. “Hmmm. Chase said you were the best lay he’s ever had.”

  “He what? When?”

  “About a week after we broke up.”

  I kind of laugh. There are so many things I want to say to him—I need to say to him. We’ve got a lot of stuff we need to get straight. I’m in flannel pajama pants, a white tank top, and yellow polka dotted socks. But fuck it. “Would you like to sit? Have a glass of water?”

  Confusion crosses his face.

  “I have a few things I want to say. Before you
leave.”

  He sits in a chair. I sit on one of the barstools. “First, Chase and I never. We never went out on a date. He’s a good friend. I don’t have any idea why he would say we hooked up. But I will find out.” Jackson studies me, judging. I’m sure he’s doing his lawyer lie detector bit. Lie detect away, buddy. “Second, you can’t say we broke up. We had a rather heated discussion. Then I never heard from you again.”

  “Never heard from me again? I texted you. I called. You never called me back. I went to your apartment and left messages with your roommates.”

  “Ahm, really, Jackson? Do you not remember all of my texts to you? Asking you if everything was okay? Asking what was going on?”

  “Before those texts, I texted you.” He pulls on his chin, rubs the skin back and forth like the great thinker. I get the sense he wants to continue arguing, but he’s also come to the realization that I’m right. We never broke up. We stopped talking to each other.

  He abruptly stands and walks out of the den and into my home office.

  My den is small and dark, without windows. My apartment is a two-bedroom convertible, meaning a wall cuts the living area in half to create a second bedroom. The configuration leaves a small den without windows and then a room with windows that can be used as a second bedroom or office. No room for a kitchen table. A short bar long enough for two stools divides the den from the galley kitchen.

  My home office, or studio, is the second bedroom half, and windows line the far wall. I have a desk with two large Mac monitors set up against the back wall. I like to work on graphic design projects with a view of the north end of the city. I also have my painting easel set up so I can stand and paint.

  All three walls of the studio hold a smorgasbord of paintings and photographs. Interspersed with my work are ads and magazine pull-outs for inspiration.

  I follow him into my office. He takes slow steps around the room, studying each item hanging on my wall. The city lights twinkle through the curtainless window.