When the Stars Align

by Isabel Jolie

  Finally, he talks to me. “I’m sorry. I mean, to be clear, I’m going to kill Chase.” I smirk. I understand the sentiment. “But I’m sorry. About tonight. About...” His lips contort into a frown.

  He points to a black and white photo on my wall. It’s an angled shot of Franklin Street. He’d stood patiently beside me while I tested different positions, angling the camera to capture the geometric lines of the doors. I liked the symmetry the angle captured. I converted it to black and white and framed it as an homage to the past. He taps the photograph but doesn’t say anything. I know what’s going through his mind. He remembers the day. A rare afternoon we skipped our classes to hang out together. Shared blue cups at He’s Not Here. A warm spring day before the manic rush of the end of school descended.

  He heads back into the den. I follow.

  Jackson points at my futon with an amused smirk on his face. “Haven’t seen one of those in a while.”

  I can’t help but grin. My apartment furniture could definitely stand an upgrade. “It’s from college. Most everything else is my old roommate’s. She left the furniture behind. Furniture shopping’s not my thing.” I glance around my apartment. “Guess it wasn’t hers either. Most of this is the furniture she moved in from her college apartment.”

  “Nice art. I like it.” He points to the canvas piece in vibrant colors hanging over the futon. It’s not anything special, but it works to brighten the space. I painted it a while back. I don’t tell him I painted it. I didn’t sign the piece. It’s a suitable Ikea poster replacement.

  Jackson turns to me, an earnest expression on his face. “Any interest in being friends?”

  I bite my lip. “So, let me get this straight. Now that you know I never slept with Chase, we can be friends?”

  He rubs a hand through his hair. It’s too short for the movement to rough it up. “You have no idea how angry I was.”

  “That’s why you were so cold to me, huh?”

  “Yep.”

  We stare at each other. I’m tired. Emotionally exhausted.

  “Sure. Friends.” I take a deep breath. “Do you want to talk about what happened? I mean, back in Chapel Hill?” The last real conversation we had together ended with my crying and running out. Him calling after me.

  “No need. It’s behind us.”

  I stand there, unsure of what to say. I’m torn. I kind of do want to rehash what went wrong, and part of me wants to keep it all buried.

  “You know, even though we live on the same floor, you’ll probably never see me. I live at the office. But the next time we do see each other...friends.” He extends his hand for a contractual handshake.

  I return his smile and take his hand. “Friends. You’ve got it. Although you may see my dog walker more than me. You’re not the only one who spends a lot of time at the office.”

  “You have a dog walker?”

  “Yeah. With how much I work, I shouldn’t even have a dog. And as you pointed out, she’s big. The dog walker helps get her energy out so she won’t destroy things or bark.” I hesitate, unsure about how much he wants to stand and chitchat. “The neighbor between us, well, he complains any time she barks.”

  Jackson scratches Chewie’s ear, and she rolls over, exposing her belly. “A dog walker must cost a pretty penny here.”

  “Yeah, it’s not cheap. I wake up early to take Chewie for a solid walk each morning, but by the time I get home, I’m usually too tired to do much more than make a lap around the block. She does better if she gets out in the middle of the day.”

  “Where do you go walking?”

  “Mostly just up or down the avenue, but if I’m going to do a long walk, I’ll head to the park or over by the river.”

  He nods. “I run each morning. What time do you go?”

  “Around five-thirty.”

  “Maybe I’ll see you one morning.” He taps his hand on the door before leaving, and, as if it’s an afterthought, asks, “What’s the deal with the complaining neighbor? Anything I should be aware of?”

  I laugh. “Well, his name is Lester Johnson Truman.”

  Jackson’s eyes widen and he grins. “Seriously?”

  I rock back and forth on my feet, smiling. “Yep. I figure with a birth name like his, he’s entitled to be a grumpy bitch.”

  Jackson laughs. It’s a great sound to hear. He doesn’t laugh often. When he does laugh, I can’t help but smile.

  “He’s not such a bad neighbor once you get to know him. Because his door is right in front of the elevator, he seems aware of everyone coming and going. He’ll yell at anyone who’s loud in the hall. Don’t think about playing your music too loud either. He calls down to complain to the doormen, who then have to report to building management. I’ve received two warnings from them. But, on the whole, he’s fine. I look at him as our floor’s private security.”

  Jackson nods, absorbing the information on our mutual neighbor. “Got it. Well, see you around.” As the door closes, I hear him add in a low voice, “Neighbor.”

  I close the door and lock it then grab my phone from the kitchen counter. My thoughts spin. Chase, what the hell?

  She won’t be up, but I shoot off a text. A sort of SOS.

  Me: So, Jackson and I are friends now.

  Chapter 7

  Anna

  Monday morning, I head out the glass apartment doors with Chewie. Streetlights illuminate the sidewalk. At 5:30 a.m., it’s still dark. The sun flirts with the new day off on the horizon. But sunrise won’t happen for a while. There’s a chill in the air. New York City never sleeps, but this early in the morning, there is a noticeable lull in activity.

  Jackson stretches near a bench. I’ve seen him there the past couple of weeks. I’ve just turned right out of the building to avoid him. Now we’re friends, and I prefer the park, so today I turn left. Chewie lunges forward, nearly ripping my arm out of its socket when she recognizes her new friend.

  I pull back hard on the leash and in my most commanding voice shout, “Stop!”

  Hearing my command, Jackson stops stretching and smiles. A big smile. “Hey, there. So, you really do get up this early?”

  Walking the dog, coffee in hand, is my morning ritual. I’ve been an early riser for as long as I can remember. Now, I like to be the first in the office in the morning. I also prefer to exercise before work, if one considers walking the dog to be exercise. “It’s kind of my thing. Surprised?”

  He rubs Chewie’s head and in a low deep voice responds, “Yeah, I am.”

  I let his comment slide. Most people assume creative types are sleeping late kind of people. “Where are you off to run?”

  “Park. Where are you headed?”

  I point in the direction of the park. “Same way as you. But I’m walking. So, I’ll watch you run ahead of me.” I can definitely think of worse views than Jackson’s backside running in front of me.

  “Ever think about running?”

  I laugh. “No.” I hold up my reusable Starbucks cup of steaming joe with a lid on it. “Coffee.” I smile. “Two birds, one stone. Coffee plus workout.”

  “Walking is a workout?”

  “Yeah. I mean, according to my Apple watch it is. I meet my exercise goal each morning on my walk.”

  Jackson pulls a leg back to his butt, stretching his quad. He gives me a you-can’t-be-serious look. “A run would be better for Chewie. She’s a big dog in a small apartment.”

  Truth. But while I’m pretty athletic and love sports like tennis and soccer, running without someone chasing me has never had great appeal. I nod in agreement with Jackson. I’m not gonna argue with him. When he’s right.

  “Tomorrow morning, meet me at the same time and go for a run with me. I’ll drop off a strong cup of coffee outside your door after I shower. You can drink it on the way to the office. You’ll still kill two birds with one stone, and you won’t have to make coffee.”

  Like making coffee is a time suck. I have that machine scheduled with a start time. And I al
ready drink coffee on the way to the office. I’m more of a multi-cup kind of gal. But he’s not wrong about my beast.

  He grins. “Think about it. If you want to head out tomorrow, be here, same time.”

  Chewie and I follow down the street, my eyes trained on his ass until he blends into the handful of people out this early in the morning.

  After I walk Chewie, I shower and head to my office, the whole time thinking about my run with Jackson. Running with him appeals to me. I’ve never been a runner, but if he coaches me, maybe I’ll grow to love it. I’m slipping into the shady side of my twenties, and my jeans are a tad tighter in my upper thighs. And I’d get to see Jackson every single workday.

  My phone rings as I push my office door open and flip the light switch. Olivia.

  “Friends, huh?” No hello. She picks right up where I left off.

  “Yeah. Turns out he was pissed at me. Chase told him I slept with him.”

  “What? When?”

  “I don’t know. Sometime back in college. I’m a little fuzzy on the details. I’m gonna have to chat with Chase.”

  “No shit. What a jerk.” Olivia knows Chase. She’s been friends with him almost as long as I have.

  “Yeah. I’m meeting him for lunch this week. He’s gonna have to explain.”

  “No shit. But now you and Jackson have cleared it all up. He knows the truth. Can’t you be more than friends now?”

  An image of Jackson’s powerful, commanding business suit persona comes to mind. “I don’t think so. We’re different now, you know? He’s, like, Mr. Corporate. And the thing is, it doesn’t change some things. I still remember our last fight. He can be controlling. I’ve dated controlling. Once was enough.”

  “Yeah. I hear ya,” Olivia intones. Then she proceeds to tell me all about a Ukrainian wearing extremely tight high-rise jeans who tried to pick her up at a bar last night.

  Chapter 8

  Anna

  The next morning, I head out at the same time, sans coffee. Jackson’s doing a calf stretch beside the same bench as yesterday. A huge grin breaks out on his face the moment he sees me. His relaxed, happy, kid-like grin sends my stomach into fluttery somersaults.

  “I don’t see a coffee in your hand. Have you decided to give running a try?”

  Chewie lunges toward Jackson before I can respond then jumps right up on him, planting both paws on his chest. I laugh, both at Chewie’s eager greeting and at Jackson’s surprise. Yes, I’d definitely been hesitant to run with him. A part of me felt like Jackson was so cocky he’d assume I would come. But he hadn’t assumed. His eager smile feels like he’d hoped. My smile spreads so wide my mouth muscles hurt.

  “Yeah. I decided you’re right. Both Chewie and I could use some cardio.”

  “Wait. I need for you to repeat your statement while I record it.”

  “Record?” Then it hits me. “That you’re right. Ha. Ha. You want to record me saying you’re right. Got it.”

  He smiles. “I’ve been running for years. You’re in good hands. We’ll start off easy and build up. ’Kay?” he asks, grabbing Chewie’s leash from my hand.

  “Sounds like a plan. You going to take my dog?”

  “Yeah, you’ll have enough to focus on without having to worry about her. Plus, she needs to get used to it too, right? She wasn’t trained to run with someone yet?”

  I scratch her ear. “She’s barely trained in general.”

  “You don’t say?” He smirks.

  We head off together in the direction of the park. He places himself and Chewie on the side near the road with me near the building. Then we start running. He keeps Chewie on a short leash by his side. She learns fast, staying close, responding to the short jerks he makes on the leash.

  Ten minutes later, a burn in my lungs and a side cramp force me to slow to a walk. We’re barely inside the park. Sweat runs in beads from my face and down my neck. My chest is so sweaty areas of my t-shirt are now wet and a darker color than the rest, especially over my boobs. Lovely. I’m gasping for air and sound like a locomotive after ten minutes running.

  “Hey, good start. We can do more tomorrow. I can set your watch up with a run-walk pattern too. I like the run-walk to get you in shape.” He puts his hand up to give me a high-five.

  Great. He thinks I’m a lard ass. Maybe I am a lard ass. He takes off to finish his run, because ten minutes running doesn’t equal a workout for Mr. Fitness.

  When I leave my apartment to head to the office, I find a recyclable Starbucks cup, filled with hot coffee and a yellow Post-it note. “Great job today. Don’t forget to stretch.” I smile the entire way to the office.

  An hour later, I’m retouching an image when I hear a soft tap on my door. “You look different today.” Delilah leans against the door, coffee in hand, studying me. Can it be that obvious? One workout?

  My lungs still burn. But it’s a good burn. It reminds me of the burn I used to get when I swam laps for the middle school swim team. It feels good. I’m energized. I’ve already answered emails, and I’m putting some finishing touches on some graphics for a print ad. It’s 8:45 a.m. On a normal day, I’d be wrapping up email and news stories at this time, yet to start real work.

  “I went for a run.”

  She enters my office and sits on the edge of the sofa, facing me. “Damn, I’d hoped it was a morning sex glow.”

  I roll my eyes. My office phone rings, and I glance over to see the number. I immediately recognize the 540 area code. Mrs. Hart. My mom’s best friend. My ex’s mom.

  She’s been calling me. I scrunch my nose and say, “I’ve gotta get this.” Delilah nods and pulls the door closed, leaving me to my call. “Mrs. Hart. Hi. How are you?”

  “I’m fine, darling. How are you? I’ve been thinking about you.”

  I wish you wouldn’t. “I’m good, Mrs. Hart.” I pause. I’m not sure what else to say. Before my mom passed away, Beverly Hart would never have called me. Now she calls about once a month. It’s sweet. If she wasn’t my ex-boyfriend’s mom, I might want to foster this relationship.

  “Well, honey, I know you’re at work, and I don’t want to keep you, but I wanted to see if you’ve given any thought to your Thanksgiving plans.” Oh, yes. She wants my brother and me to join their family this year for Thanksgiving since we don’t have parents to come home to. It’s sweet. It’s also not happening.

  “Bobby’ll have to work. Residents always have to work holidays. And I’m going to stay here and celebrate with friends.”

  “Are you sure, dear? We’d love to have you. I know things didn’t work out with you and Evan, but you’ll always be like a daughter to us.” There’s an awkward pause. “You’ll always be family.”

  “I know. Thank you, Mrs. Hart. You’ll always be like family to me too.”

  As I hang up the phone, it occurs to me I should make some Thanksgiving plans. If I don’t, I’ll end up at the hospital cafeteria hoping Bobby has time to meet me over a ten-minute break or at Chase’s family’s home without Bobby. I pick up my phone and call Olivia.

  Chapter 9

  Anna

  “Hey, you!” At five feet seven inches tall or so, Chase is almost my exact height. Sometimes I have wondered if our similarity in height helped keep us in the friend zone. It’s not like I focus on a guy’s height, but I do like to wear heels without towering over my date. But even if he’d been taller, there’d never been any spark. Just not meant to be a romantic thing.

  Chase wraps his arms around me and lifts me into the air. It’s the signature Chase hug. His boisterous embrace fills me with such happiness. All the warm feelings help temper my desire to strangle him.

  After four years in New York, I’ve come to appreciate my true friendships. New York can be like an ocean for the shipwrecked—water everywhere, but none you can drink. Yes, people are a constant. But New Yorkers often seem to roam around with blinders, avoiding eye contact and interaction. It’s hard at times to make a real connection. I have plenty of acquain
tances, but not many people I’d consider close friends.

  Chase was more of an acquaintance at Carolina, but given he was the only person I knew moving to New York, we stayed in touch. We fell into a ritual of texting funny jokes to each other and meeting up for lunch on the regular. When something’s out of whack—career-wise or dating-wise—we chat it out at lunch. It’s also nice to hang out with someone not in your industry. Chase works in finance as an accountant. There’s never any danger of either of us talking shop when we get together.

  I work in Midtown, not too far from where Chase works. The proximity has also helped us stay in touch. Had his office been Downtown, we probably would have dropped the lunches ages ago.

  Chase guides us to our table, and we sit. I study him, mentally running through ways to address the giant elephant in the restaurant. There’s no way I can not ask him why the hell he lied to Jackson. It’s the how I’m struggling with.

  After the waitress walks away with our lunch orders, Chase leans back in his chair and asks, “How’s ad-land?”

  “Groovy. Working on a whole new batch of Heineken subway ads. Maybe if you’re nice, I’ll give you a frameable copy.”

  I watch as he dips bread into the olive oil, coating it with so much oil it glistens. I notice his phone lights up. He glances at the incoming text and flips his phone over without responding.

  “How’re you doing? How’s Angela?”

  Chase grunts. “Everything’s good. Did you know her parents were hoping I’d propose at her birthday bash?”

  I smile. “It did cross my mind. Not so much her parents hoping, but it had a big announcement kind of feel to it. All her family around, you guys working the crowd together as a couple.”

  Chase stuffs bread into his mouth and taps his fist against the table as he chews. After swallowing, he continues. “Well, never crossed my mind. Angela’s not so happy. I’m not sure if it’s because I didn’t propose or because it didn’t cross my mind.”