A Thousand Starry Nights

by Addison Moore

  Aspen leads us out of her office, and my hand instinctively falls into the small of her back.

  “Where to?” She leans into me and my body aches to wrap around her.

  “I thought I’d take a cue from your brother, and we’d do a little shopping.”

  Aspen lets out a riotous laugh, and my bones warm just hearing that beautiful melody. I haven’t seen her this relaxed since I can’t remember when. Leaving Henry was a balm that soothed her inflamed soul, and now she’s back—happy and light for the world to see.

  “I’m not sure anyone should be taking a cue from any of my siblings.”

  “They’re great.” I run my hand over the length of her back. “And so are you.”

  “If this is about my lack of a wardrobe, please don’t feel the need to rectify this. I’ve picked up just enough things. Besides, I hate the mall. Apostasy, Apostrophe, they should all be called Apology for being so expensive.”

  I drink down her sense of humor as if it held medicinal properties for my weary soul. I’ve missed this, the banter, her snark.

  “You look terrific, but this is sort of a surprise.”

  Aspen and I drive out about a mile to the nearest Whole Foods.

  “Changing up the pace,” she muses as we pull into the lot. “I like that.”

  “I thought you might, but we’re not eating here.” We head inside, and I grab a cart with a mean wobble before replacing it for a sturdier one with a smooth ride—an analogy of our relationship in a nutshell. We wobbled in the past, but we’re so ready for a smooth ride—at least I am. “I’m cooking for you.”

  “Are you?” She’s amused and little baffled.

  We race around the market snatching up everything locally sourced, grass-fed, harmless harvest, vegan, pescetarian food item we can find.

  “What exactly is it we’ll be eating?” Aspen wraps her self around my arm, and I freeze, shocked by the simple act. Her flowery scent envelopes me in a membrane, and soon the world fades to a dizzying blur.

  “I thought we’d start with seared Ahi as an appetizer before moving onto portabella mushrooms, gluten free pasta with garlic truffle oil, and maybe a nice Cobb salad.”

  Her brows rise in tandem. “And for dessert?” Her eyes stay trained on mine, and, for one brief moment, I’m convinced this is a proposition.

  We are for dessert, I want to tell her. Although I’m not sure how well that would go over.

  I hold up the box of fresh gluten free chocolate cupcakes we picked out from the bakery. “I’m cheating.”

  She shakes her head. “Cupcakes are always the right answer.” Her face clouds over as we make our way up the line. “You would never cheat, Carter. You’re too much of a gentleman.”

  My stomach sours. I need to pay attention to my words. There’s no reason to pull Aspen back toward the hell she’s just escaped from. It’s time to usher in a new era. I wrap my arms around her waist as she molds into me. Something tells me a new era has already begun.

  I am a cheat.

  That’s how this entire nightmare began.

  * * *

  “We’re not going back to Jinx,” I say as we work side by side to make this meal happen, my tiny kitchen coming to life with exotic scents it hasn’t been graced with the entire time I’ve taken residency.

  This moment, right here, is the culmination of all my fantasies, all of my empty wishes, my heart-felt desires. For so long I’ve dreamed of this normal-paced life with Aspen by my side, and, now, here it is, some vague version of it, but I’ll take it no matter how anemic.

  I run the pasta under cold water for a second before dumping the colander onto a platter. Aspen steps up from behind me and drizzles the garlic truffle oil over it. Her body heats to mine. Her warm breath slides down my arm, and I close my eyes a moment absorbing the sensation of her skin so close to mine. I press my back into her just to feel her softness, and she repels.

  “Sorry,” she says, stepping to the side.

  “Don’t be.”

  We plate up our food and head out back in the warmth of the day as the haze leans in and kisses the hillside. Harley runs between us before settling at Aspen’s feet. There’s a quietness I wish we could avoid as we eat our meals. Her eyes dart to mine like timid birds only to glance away when I meet up with her gaze.

  “Can I ask what happened with you and Henry?” It’s the last thing I should have asked. But it’s the one thing I want to know in the event she needs legal assistance, namely a divorce lawyer. “I want to help you. Let me carry you through this. I know how hard it can be.” Immediately I regret my words. I can see them swirling in the air between us, lazy and inexcusably desperate. Aspen is strong. In no way do I want to paint her weak. But still, I need for her to know that I’m volunteering to be her rock—that I’m immovable. I’m not going anywhere.

  “What happened with you and Cher?” Her eyes widen with a slight-ticked edge. “Was it hard to leave her?”

  “No. It was so easy I wondered why I didn’t do it sooner. Why I let the marriage happen at all.” There. The truth rolls between us like a fireball, neither of us willing to hold onto it for too long. “You happened, Aspen. You happened right from the beginning.” A dull laugh rumbles quiet in my chest. “You never stopped happening. You’re still here.” I tuck my hand against my heart. I have the home turf advantage, and I’m sweeping the moment with my anguished desolation, letting her into the darkest chamber of my heart where only she can shed light again. “You’re still happening to me. You own me, Aspen. You owned me right from the beginning.”

  Her breathing grows erratic. Her jaw tightens with pain as if I’ve added immeasurable sorrow to her already crumbling world.

  “I think I’d like to go back to Jinx now.”

  The Burden of Gravity

  Aspen

  Jane Seymour was the third wife of Henry VIII. She was the maid of honor at his first wedding to Catherine of Aragon, and an attendant to Anne Boleyn his second wife. Jane was always there under the radar, hiding in plain sight. It is thought that perhaps Henry loved her most. Tragically, Jane died just weeks after giving birth to Henry’s only male heir. Jane was the only wife of Henry’s to receive a queen’s funeral. At his request, upon his death, his body was interned next to hers. Out of all of Henry’s wives, you could say Jane was his shining star. Even cheats have their favorites.

  My life is in the throes of a seizure. Never before have I—and, here’s hoping that never again—will I experience anything like it. Lincoln brought an attorney to see me at the house. The hungriest shark in the tank he called him. My divorce is already meticulously and logically underway. But Henry’s reaction is anything but logical. Flowers. He’s sent an entire floral brigade to the office. I could open up shop—rename this floor the flower district the way the petals are flowing. Finally, Pepper, in her infinite state of respiratory distress, has ordered security to turn them away. The entire building is sneezing up an allergic storm, and it’s all Henry’s cheating fault. He’s texted me a few times. Nothing threatening—just an odd request, same one each day at five. Marriage counselor, five-thirty please come. I don’t go. I don’t ever want a reconciliation with Henry. It’s odd, though. A bit out of character for him, and it makes me wonder what his motivation is now that he’s free to be with “Nikki.”

  Another week drifts by, and the lunches with Carter grow increasingly strangled with intensity. His desire for me exudes like heat. He wants me, and now finally I’m free as the wind to make this happen. It’s strange. I’ve entertained this as a theory and played out just about every scenario but this one. I’m not sure what’s holding me back other than the past—the idea of a future that holds as much heartbreak as the present. After all, it was Carter who ran his barbed hook over my heart and made a thousand jagged tears in it to begin with. Henry was just a part of the collateral damage.

  “Beautiful!” Terri cries from behind my shoulder as she enters the boxy studio she’s graciously lent me.

 
; “I agree,” a familiar female voice chimes, and I turn to find my mother.

  “Mommy!” I jump up and pull her into a long embrace. We’ve talked on the phone since the incident, but I haven’t had time to stop by. Her hair is short and dark, and from here both she and Terri look as if they could be sisters. It’s safe to say my father had an affinity for brunettes, at least when he chose to have his affairs.

  My stomach sours. I hate the thought that every man I know has a wandering eye, and, at the end of the day, heart. I swore I would never be like my mother. A silly part of me believed that I had Henry on a string, that he needed me, my money, my organizational skills just to survive. I was his umbilical cord to the world. It never registered that Henry might actually act upon his wandering eye. It never registered that the marriage vows I felt were engraved in stone by the finger of God, were written in disappearing ink to Henry.

  “Would you look at this?” My mother steps toward the painting I’ve been working on for a near eternity—the self-portrait of Carter and me under a starry night sky. It felt like I was exposing my naked body to him, spread eagle, that day I showed him this piece. It was a confession of the soul, the kind you hope to never say out loud. I’ve been pining for you, desperately painting a much brighter future for the two of us while you were busy fucking my best friend. Although Cher wasn’t ever really my best friend. We were all pretenders locked in a game of he said she said, a twisted triangle of our own making. Carter and I thought it was a game until it wasn’t.

  “I’m hypnotized by it.” Terri shoulders up along side her, and the navy textured sky reflects in her tiny circular glasses. “I have news.” She takes up my hands and squints into me as if I were lost in the night shadows. “It’s perfect your mother is here to share in this moment. I’ve had a cancellation next Saturday night. An entire show evaporated into thin air just like that. Can you imagine?” She gives the crisp snap of her fingers. Her eyes gloss into mine, that razor-sharp smile of hers curves her lips. “I’m giving it to you, Aspen. You’ll have your own gallery exhibit. It’s my gift.”

  “Oh my, God—really?” I can’t breathe. It’s as if the universe were opening up its mouth enticing me to run in, touch my bare feet over its supple tongue. “Thank you. I don’t know what to say. I’m not sure I can pull it off.” My mind reels with the possibilities. I have all my pieces warehoused right here in this tiny studio. Mentally, I flip through each canvas as if it were a Rolodex. Is there enough for a show? Is the quality there?

  “You?” Terri breaches a laugh. “You have more pieces together than most of the tree trunks that wander this place.”

  Terri has grown accustomed to reducing her comrades in artistic arms to a vegetative state, tree trunks. I’m not sure what she calls me when I’m not around—I curve my hand over my still-sore wrist—probably a Black-Eyed Susan.

  “You have to do this.” Mom is emphatic that I indulge in this rush job.

  I turn back and inspect my favorite piece of all—Carter and I engaged in a kiss under a diamond night sky. I’m not sure I can part with anything I’ve done. This one has my heart sailing like a kite.

  A gallery exhibit. My own at last. Henry is out of my life and now this. God knows I can use the money.

  “Yes. I’ll do it.”

  * * *

  The book club. Pepper has been after me for weeks to join the festivities at what she promises will be a male bashing extravaganza that should not be missed. I never was too friendly with girls. I know it sounds cliché. I get along better with boys. But I always have. Of course, I have my sisters, and they’ve always been enough. I’m sad to say I’m not that close to Justine and Jordan as I’d like, but the last few years they’ve been social butterflies, and, in truth, I saw Henry ogling their underdeveloped breasts once at a Christmas party. Then there was the quip about having them spend the night. At the time I thought it was a silly red flag, but something in me suggested I keep Henry away from them. A part of me even grew jealous that Henry seemed to notice them over me. Henry made it a point to notice every female under thirty but the one that had legally taken his name.

  “This is their first Saturday night meeting.” Pepper clutches onto my arm, far too excited as we make our way up the walk of this one level rambling ranch home tucked away in Encino.

  “Saturday night? Sounds like the entire club has slipped to more inclement social levels. I’m sure there’s a law somewhere about hosting a book club on days that begin with an F or an S.”

  My phone buzzes in my hand. It’s a text from Carter, and my heart thumps wild.

  My date had to cancel. You in the mood for macadamia encrusted halibut? Fresh from the farmers market. The nuts were a harmless harvest, I promise.

  I want to laugh at his jab toward my dining habits, but my heart weighs heavy over the word date. Who the hell is he dating?

  He texts right back without waiting for my reply. Abby is having a sleepover at her cousin’s. It’s working out to be an impromptu extension of a birthday party she went to this afternoon.

  A dull smile rides on my lips. Of course, Abby. I’m filled with immediate relief.

  At a book club meeting. I text back. If it’s OK, I’ll drop by after. But I’ll need a ride home.

  He texts right back. Perfect. Maybe no to the ride though.

  Very funny. I’m sure Carter would want nothing more than to have me stranded at his beach house. Is that what I want? A surge of desperate elation rides through me as my entire body screams yes.

  “What’s that about?” Pepper tries to read my screen, but I drop the phone back into my purse.

  “Just Carter.”

  “Just Carter?” She laughs while ringing the doorbell. “Wish I had a man who wanted me like Carter wants you. You’re insane if you don’t see how lucky you are. That boy would sell the company’s soul just to have you in his bed. Do you think he handfed it to Stevie just to get close to you?”

  A shrill of panic prickles my skin. Maybe. God, now that she frames it that way, probably. It all makes sense. And, sadly, I’m swooning at the idea of Carter selling out his brothers at the prospect of getting into my pants. Now that’s love, Henry. Not buying a boat you can’t afford and putting your wife’s head in the guillotine as collateral.

  A sassy looking redhead answers the door, overly tanned face, bright eyes that set off a thousand tiny cigarette wrinkles as she smiles. She’s pretty, not a textbook beauty, but you might look twice at her thinking you’ve seen her before. She has a familiarity of some long forgotten sitcom queen you might struggle to place.

  “Ashley Collette.” She extends her hand as she whisks us to the living room.

  Collette even sounds familiar.

  Chairs line the periphery of the sofas making a semicircle for the gathering. Women fill the seats, giddy with laughter, the raucous sound of a good time being had by all.

  “Welcome to the coven!” A shorter girl in too-tall heels and tight, kinky curls offers me a hug without warning. “I’m just kidding.” She kisses Pepper on the cheek. “You girls ready to dish? Are you hungry? Tara made a Mississippi Mud cake and some dirt pudding. I’ve got enough sangria to save us from any fucking memory of this past week.” She screams out a laugh before whisking back into the circle.

  I lean into Pepper. “At this pace, I might need the sangria to wipe out the memory of tonight.”

  “That’s my sister, Ginger.”

  “Oh, sorry! She’s totally delightful. True story. I’m just caught off guard by all the foreign estrogen in the room.”

  Pepper laughs while averting her gaze. “She’s something all right.”

  “Ladies, ladies!” Ginger hops up and down. “It’s time to bring this trial to order! It’s time for our roses and thorns! Who here wants to dish first?”

  “Roses and thorns?” I look to Pepper. Who knew I’d need an interpreter to get through the evening.

  “You know”—she wrinkles her nose as we settle into our seats—“you say so
mething great that happened to you this week—your rose. Then something terrible, your thorn.” She blinks a quick smile that I’m sensing doubles as an apology for what’s about to follow.

  An entire slew of hands shoot up in the air. Something tells me that the She Woman Man Haters Club has just been called to order.

  Ginger gives a solemn nod. “I think most of you here would agree this has been a particularly difficult week for our friend Ashley.”

  All hands go down slowly as they turn to the redhead who opened the door. She looks beachy-causal with her hair loose in waves, her yoga pants and aquamarine tank top with her black workout bra peeking out from beneath like a fashion statement. Which reminds me, I need to lay off the comfort food and hit the gym. Buying a whole new wardrobe wasn’t as fun as I had hoped once I learned that my jeans had been lying to me for the last year and a half. I’ve managed to go up an entire size. I tried to protest the idea, but the personal shopper Lincoln hired to keep me from jumping off a denim ledge reasoned it must have been the spandex that made it impossible for me to burst their seems. Damn stretch denim. Anyway, Jinx has a full-fledged gym that I plan on attacking come Monday. It’s never too soon to get my thighs in shape for Carter. I mean summer.

  “As you know—” Ginger projects her voice to the four corners of the room. It’s pretty clear she’s the one in charge of this circus. “Ashley’s husband plays Sebastian O’Neil on The Fortune of Tomorrow.”

  The room sobers. A soft round of exasperated sighs expel in the collective spirit of disappointment.

  Oh. Shit.

  Ashley Collette is Dillon Collette’s wife! Dillon Collette, as in the very married man that Kinsley is boning.

  Ginger offers a dramatic pause. “This week, Ashley discovered some news about the woman who set out to destroy her marriage.”

  Hell. I cut a quick glance at the door.

  “I just want to say”—Ashley starts in with a mean wobble to her voice—“that when a woman does this kind of thing to another woman it should be regarded as nothing less than the highest form of treason. We are a sisterhood.”