A Thousand Starry Nights

by Addison Moore

  The room breaks out in a series of self-righteous cheers and smattering of Amen!

  To the tower with Kinsley! Believe me, I would be leading the charge.

  “So what I’ve discovered this week, is that she is someone who either works for the production or is, in fact, on the show.”

  She’s on the show! I want to scream, but resist the urge to out my idiot of a sister.

  The room fills with gasps as all of the air is suctioned right out at my sister’s expense. Freaking Kinsley. I should secretly record this horror and play it back to her later. Regardless, I think it’s time we have one fucking long talk.

  Ashley nods in agreement to whatever her neighbor whispers into her ear. “I think we should do a good old fashioned black wish session.” Her eyes flit angrily around the room as she stretches out the words black wish. “It’s only fair. She gets to screw my husband, I get to sick the universe after her.”

  “Black wish?” I whisper to Pepper. “Dear God, this isn’t really a coven is it? Because if it is, it’s totally against my religion, and I have enough going against me without pissing off anybody in the throne room.”

  Pepper shakes her head as if brushing it off. “It’s stupid. We go around wishing something ridiculous against this person. You know, wishing for her just desserts, her comeuppance.”

  “Oh, right.” Kinsley is mostly immune to anything as down to earth as comeuppance. Her Lionheart trust fund pretty much acts as a missile shield against it.

  Ashley starts. “I wish her a lifetime of pain and heartache. Nothing teaches the misery you’ve imposed on others than experiencing it for yourself.”

  My mind goes to Nikki, the ever young supermodel I envision going down on my husband while he yanks approvingly on her blonde bimbo of a ponytail. I’d wish the same for her, but, in all fairness, she might end up with Henry, and that’s punishment enough.

  The rest of the room isn’t quite as existential as they are literal. Instead, they wish for broken ankles, scarves caught in car doors that lead to a snapped spinal cord, hepatitis-laced lattes, a third degree flat-iron burn to the forehead that leaves a hard-to-disguise scar, one very unfortunate tampon insertion.

  All eyes fall on me. Holy hell. I give several hard blinks as I envision strangling my sister.

  “I wish”—to drown her at the moment, but that would be the equivalent of drowning a kitten—“I wish that all her hair falls out in her sleep. Every last blonde inch.”

  Mouths fall open, at first with the start of a laugh then with confusion.

  “You think she’s blonde?” Ashley leans in as if she hadn’t considered it.

  “Aren’t they all?” I say it so quickly half the room erupts in laughter.

  Oh. My. God. I almost caused a riot. Had I accidentally spilled Kinsley’s name, they would have formed a lynch mob. My own neck might have been in peril. Right about now, I’m fearing for both my neck and that of my home wrecker of a sister.

  “I bet she’s young.” An older woman nods sympathetically at poor Ashley. “You know I hate that they call women who date younger men a cougar, and yet there’s no name for men who do the same.” I blink at how she flipped the conversation on a dime, but I’m thankful.

  “Pigs!” Someone shouts from across the room.

  That about sums up Henry.

  A dull smile edges my lips.

  My people. I’ve finally come home to roost.

  Another woman begins an incredibly long rant about her children that goes well past the borders of good taste while talk of offspring is involved.

  “Can you believe that? They would rather spend their time with friends than the people that hewed their DNA together in love!” She grouses as the room breaks out in knowing murmurs.

  An entire string of soliloquies break out one after the other. We had abandoned the roses. It was all thorns from here on out. An entire briar patch had erupted. But no thorn was so elegantly and exquisitely worded than by a heavyset woman with a pixie cut.

  “I don’t care what that do-nothing asshole who sits on the couch has to say about me. Once a cheater always a cheater. You can’t measure your self worth off people who are quick to leave you. They were never worth your time to begin with.”

  I give a private smile because she just touched on the affectionate moniker that I have for Henry. Apparently there is a rash of do-nothing husbands clogging up Los Angeles. Must be something in the smog-riddled water. But the cheater angle, it does have me trying to fit both Henry and Carter in the same hole.

  “I have my future all mapped out for me,” she continues. “I’m already on day twenty of the living like a fucking cave man. Paleo ain’t for the faint of heart, let me tell you. In my forties, I’ll eat far less Pop Tarts. Maybe one on a special occasion—no more than two a year. Ramen noodles will mock me from the pantry. But I’ll fear carbs too much to ever bloat those delicacies with hot water. In my fifties, I’ll try my hardest to hang onto my youth. I’ll grow my hair to my waist and do Pilates, begging my body to forgive gravity’s cruel charge. In my sixties, I’ll still want sex but won’t bother to ask my drunk of a husband. He can’t get it up now. I already know it ain’t happening in twenty years. In my seventies, I’ll join the neighborhood walking group. We’ll gossip and bitch about our lives until I secretly wish I had taken up smoking in my twenties and ended it all early. In my late eighties, I’ll break a hip. I bet I get pneumonia and die within six months.” She blinks hard into her sad admission. “I hope they write something nice on my gravestone.”

  Wow. The room grows quiet as a tomb. That was charmingly deep. I don’t have a narrative for my future, but, if I did, I doubt I would be too concerned with calories or walking groups. I’m a ruminator. I would try to figure out how Carter would fit into each of my unfurling decades. If Cher would be right there to stomp out the flames of our love like she was the first time.

  The night wraps up, and Pepper and I thank Ginger for having us. I never did get to my thorn. It’s probably best. There are so many thorns to choose from these days, I wouldn’t have known where to start or end.

  “So what did you think of that man-bashing session?” Pepper grips the wheel a little tighter.

  “I feel cleansed.” And ashamed of my sister, but that’s another story.

  “I tell you, it makes me feel a little better about being single.”

  “You’re too beautiful to be single. What’s your story?”

  She takes a quick breath as she stares catatonic out the windshield and into the night.

  “It’s a boring story. Let’s just say that men are an affliction I need to stay away from for a good long while.”

  “You think there’s any good in men?” I ask after navigating Pepper through the dark hills all the way to Carter’s house.

  “I think there are good men. Yes, I think there’s good in all of us.” She pulls in tight against the stairs leading to his home. “But I also think that we’re all human. We make mistakes.” Her features soften with a sorrowful look that lets me know this conversation was just thrown back into my court. “I think if someone genuinely asks for your forgiveness, you should consider it.”

  “Are you talking about Henry?” I’ve made the error of letting Pepper have every box of chocolate he sent. We’ve both rolled our eyes at his surface apologies, his too-late flowers, his cheap chocolate carb-fest, but now I’m wondering if all that sugar has finally got to her. She’s tying Henry to something as good as chocolate in the Pavlov sense.

  “No—Carter.” She scoots me out of the door with her hand. “I’ve never met two people who I’ve wanted to smash their heads together more. Would you just kiss him already?” She waves as I slam the door on her lip lock request.

  I make my way up the walk and give a quick knock.

  If I resolve to do anything tonight, it’s not kiss Carter.

  Carter

  Aspen shows up like a dream in the night with her hair down to there, her eyes glowing like moonbeam
s, and her puckered mouth all but begging for a kiss.

  “Come in.” I pull her into a brief hug. Her hair smells of vanilla, and, for a quick second, she presses her chest hard to mine. “Excuse the boxes. Tomorrow is moving day.” I have my entire world locked and loaded and ready to go by eight a.m. It’s a little strange to think I’ve purchased a place on my own, but I’d be lying if I didn’t admit to buying that house with Aspen in mind. “I have dinner in the warmer.”

  “I’m good. Did you eat?”

  “I may have snuck in a bite or two.” I measure my fingers together an inch. I ate a full sub from Sholtz today at lunch. I didn’t dare have a bite of dinner without her, but now that she’s here I don’t want food. I just want Aspen.

  “I’ll take a drink. I sort of need one.” Her eyes dance up and down the towers of boxes. “That book club was more of a piss and moan session. And the man bashing! Who knew women could be so vicious?”

  “I’m not saying a word.” Cher and her nonstop antics come to mind. She’s viciousness personified. “Chardonnay okay? Or are you in the mood for something stiffer?”

  Her eyes widen a moment before a smile cinches on her lips. “I’ll save the stiff one for later. Wine is fine.”

  I pour us both a full glass. After my inadvertent innuendo, we’ll need it. Although I do have a stiff one just throbbing to be alleviated—I’m hoping soon by Aspen herself. I can’t begin to imagine how amazing that will feel. Hell, that’s a lie. I’ve imagined it plenty. Aspen and I have never ventured off first base, so anything behind its reach will feel like a road trip to paradise. I’m hungry for Aspen—desperate to claw into her flesh with mine in a heated, primal manner that I’m afraid I won’t ever be able to control. She has no idea the things my body demands to do to hers. I was born to love Aspen that way. I’d die to make it happen soon.

  We take our wine and head outside down in the oversized acreage they call a backyard and sit in a double wide hammock that came with the place.

  “Oh!” She laughs as she stumbles into the netting, a touch of her wine lapping over the side and onto the grass.

  I take a deep drink before settling down beside her.

  Aspen lies on her back, balancing her wine glass over her stomach, and I do the same until we’re staring up at the speckled sky. It’s foggy out, just enough to let the stars play a game of hide and seek.

  “Sure isn’t like Sea Ridge,” she whispers.

  I can count on one hand the nights we didn’t sneak off to look at the stars.

  “Not dark enough. It will be at the new house. But you’ll have to come and judge for yourself.”

  “Consider it done. I’m excited to paint Abby’s room. Speaking of which, Terri offered me my own exhibit next Saturday night at the art center.”

  “Are you kidding? That’s fantastic! Congratulations.” I lean up and spill half my wine. I knock back the rest before tossing the glass behind me.

  “Yes. That is fantastic.” She laughs, drinking her wine in haste then mimicking the gesture. “Is that supposed to be some sort of good luck charm?” She points at the discarded glasses as they trap the moonlight on the curve of their lens.

  “No.” I bear into her beautiful eyes, just inches away from mine. “You don’t need any good luck charms. You’re amazing. I’m not surprised that you’re getting your own show. What’s the theme? The title?” Aspen used to take me to gallery exhibits regularly back in the day. She loved going over each piece with me, pointing out details that the normal, untrained eye could never see. Aspen is the only lens I want to see my world through.

  “I don’t know. I have all my pieces saved. I was looking at them and realized I went through this light period then a very dark one.” The smile glides off her face at the thought.

  I’m pretty sure I was responsible for both phases. I’m not proud that I inspired her to trade the light for darkness. My life was pretty dark at that time, too.

  “Okay, how about Moments in Light, Moments in Darkness?”

  “Carter”—she readjusts her body until she’s fully facing me—“I really love that. I’m going to steal it if you don’t mind.”

  “No need to steal. I’m just repackaging what you’ve already done.”

  A breeze whistles by, shaking out the dreadlocks of the willow a few feet away.

  “I guess you know that our two weeks are up.” She nods as if I should understand what this means. “You’re free. You can have your lunch hour back.” Her gaze stretches slow and weighted over my features as the quiet of night creeps up unexpected.

  “I don’t want it back. I’m rather enjoying the company.”

  Another sweep of silence.

  “Okay then.” She offers a placid smile. “I guess you’re stuck with me.”

  “I’m never stuck with you. I’m here for you. Always. There’s so much I wish I could change about the past, but I can’t. But together, we can mold the future. I’m so—”

  She cuts me off. “My sister is a home wrecker.” Her lashes blink hard and fast. I had taken Aspen to a dizzying height, and she was struggling to catch her bearings. “Can you imagine? Destroying someone’s marriage to fulfill your selfish wants?”

  Her eyes widen bright as flashlights, warning me to temper my longing for her. It’s clear we are still off the table. But something in me has unleashed, and it’s becoming increasingly harder to bottle my emotions. I want to lay them out like a deck of cards, show her that we win in the end. We can sweep all of the prizes off the table if she just gives us one more chance. Aspen is my selfish want. I destroyed my marriage to prove it.

  “Kinsley, in case you’re wondering,” she continues. “She’s sleeping with a married man. His wife was at the book club tonight. I saw the hurt in her face.” She shakes her head. “Why do people cheat? I don’t get it.” It comes out rhetorical, but I feel the sting as sharp as a slap. I didn’t necessarily cheat on Aspen with Cher, but when you removed the gossamer, blow the dust off the past, I think that’s exactly what did happened.

  “Kinsley is her own person. Have you tried talking some sense into her?” I wish I could go back and talk some sense into myself.

  “No, but I will. A marriage is a line that she never should have crossed.”

  “I guess some could argue that he was the one with the wedding ring. He should’ve known better, too.”

  Aspen’s gaze drifts past my shoulder, and I can’t help but wonder if we’re both thinking of her philandering husband.

  She takes a full breath. “Stevie and Ford are getting married the Saturday after my exhibit. Isn’t that crazy? My sister and your brother?”

  I give a deep moan. “That is something.” I wanted to say it should have been us four years ago. But it should have been are four very damning words.

  “Stevie chose me to be her bridesmaid so she can watch us dance at their reception. I think she orchestrated this entire wedding for that reason alone. Is that a tad egocentric of me to think that way?”

  A dark laugh rumbles from me as I pick up her hand. My fingers loosen for a moment as our eyes meet in haste. She glances down at our conjoined flesh, and her chest expands. Her discomfort spills between us, weighted as sandbags.

  “I’m sorry.”

  “No, it’s okay.” Her warm fingers seal over mine, and I close my eyes a moment. Aspen is opening like a flower—a single delicate bloom that I’m afraid will clam up again without warning. “Anyway, Ford is pretty incredible, and Stevie will make a beautiful bride.”

  I give a wry smile at the thought of Aspen thinking my brother is pretty incredible. He is, but it still dings my ego a bit.

  “I have a confession to make,” I whisper, trying desperately not to sound like a thirteen-year-old girl. She gives my hand a squeeze as the hammock rocks us peaceably along. “I was at your wedding, Aspen.” I swallow hard looking methodically into each of her eyes. “You were a beautiful bride.”

  A moment of aching silence whittles by. In an act of recklessness
, I’ve pulled a glass dome of discomfort over the two of us. And, now, I’m rethinking my stance on future confessions.

  “Oh? I didn’t realize you and Cher came.” She gives a hard sniff, and I can’t bear the pain on her face another moment, so I fix my gaze back to the hard-to-find stars.

  “She didn’t. It was just me.” It’s true. I thought of halting the whole damn ceremony. Cher wanted to burn the invitation, but I kept it like some foolish cherished treasure. Now that I think about it, Cher had the right idea, after all, it was Henry that Aspen was marrying not me. “I died that night.” My fingers clasp tight around her hand, but my gaze remains fixed on this LA starry night. “It killed me that you were with him, Aspen. I couldn’t take it. I almost tracked you down that night. I know that’s not fair. I’m sorry.”

  A hard breath expels from her lungs, pluming a veil of precipitation.

  “I know the feeling.”

  Our sighs rise in the night as if we were making a wish four years too late.

  I lean up on my elbow, and she does the same. Here we are—our faces just inches apart after this bizarre midnight confessional. My head inches towards her, but she doesn’t reciprocate. I bear into her with my desperate gaze, my entire being shouting that I want this with her. Let’s put the past behind us. Let’s heal.

  I’m about to warn her that I’m going in for a kiss when my phone goes off.

  “Shit.” I pull it out quickly and examine it. There’s not a person on the planet I’ll pick it up for unless it has to do with my daughter, and it does.

  In less than five minutes, Aspen and I are in my truck on our way to pick up Abby from a failed sleepover. It was Cher who called from her sister’s house. It’s my week, so Abby comes home with me. It turns out three-year-olds only like sleepovers in theory. We arrive at the Toluca Lake house and meet up with an unwelcomed sight in the driveway, Cher. She’s still here so I can only guess things will get awkward.