When Stars Collide

by Sara Furlong-Burr

  I took his hand in mine, something I certainly wouldn’t have done had I not been only one sheet shy of three sheets to the wind. “I’m so sorry, Phin. Now I feel like a real jerk for taking your granola bars from the break room.”

  “That was you? Why am I not surprised?” It was nice to see him grin again after such a heavy story. “It’s strange, because as horrible as that experience was, I honestly believe I was reborn that day—like a part of me actually did die. When I awoke and I was told the details of what had happened, I decided then and there that my life must have meaning. So, I sought treatment, returned to school, and worked my ass off to get to where I am today. Almost dying made me realize just how much I wanted to live. I’ve since learned what works for me when I feel myself slipping away again, and I manage it.”

  “I’ll say. Just looking at you, no one would ever be able to tell that you had a care in the world. You conceal your troubles well, but you don’t have to. If you need someone to talk to, you know where my office is.”

  He nodded. “That’s the thing about depression. I liken it to an iceberg. On the surface, it may not look all that impressive, but underneath the still water its complexity is far reaching and devastating.”

  “Well, this night just got real. Here I was hoping to learn whether you were a cat or dog person.” I laughed, nudging him.

  “Let me go first this round. I promise I’ll keep it lighter.”

  “Okay.”

  He took a few seconds to mull over his selections, and then turned to me, a revitalized gleam in his eyes. “I’m OCD when it comes to cleanliness, to the point where it’s cost me relationships; I’ve never had a peanut butter and jelly sandwich; I wanted to be an artist when I grew up.”

  “This is an easy one. It’s the peanut butter and jelly sandwich. I’ve never met anyone who hasn’t eaten a good, old-fashioned PB&J.”

  “Now you have. Take a drink.”

  “How is that even possible?”

  “My mother was allergic to peanuts, and we never kept peanut butter in the house.”

  “Damn that George Washington Carver.” I knocked back my shot glass as the dizziness inside of my head intensified. “My turn, and I’m digging deep.”

  “Hit me with your best shot.”

  “I started smoking cigarettes when I was thirteen; my parents favor my sister over me; I wanted to be a pianist when I grew up.”

  “Geez, well you don’t smoke now, but then again, I’ve never heard you talk about your family, and I have no idea whether you can even play the piano.” He searched my face for information, finding nothing. “I’m going to go with your parents favoring your sister, because I can’t fathom that being true. Besides, for all I know, you don’t even have a sister.”

  “And you would be wrong. I have both parents and a sister. I’m also the black sheep of the family for so, so many reasons.”

  “Although you never speak of your parents, I figured you weren’t created in a lab, but I’m shocked that I haven’t heard something of your sister. I guess aside from your second life in Virginia, you don’t really open up much about your personal life at work.”

  “I’m a tough egg to scramble. Wait. Nope, that’s not it. Tough … A tough.” I began moving my hand around in circles with my index finger outstretched as though that would help me come up with the right words. It didn’t work. “A tough banana to split?”

  “I believe you’re looking for a tough nut to crack.”

  “That’s just ridiculous,” I scoffed.

  He lifted his shot glass. “It’s a good thing it’s me and not you taking this.” In one smooth movement, he downed the drink, setting the empty glass down. “It would appear as though we are one shot short for another round.”

  “Oops! I guess we’ll just have to finish the game some other time.”

  “Would you care to elaborate on the whole family situation?”

  I picked up the last shot sitting next to the fire pit. “Sure, but I’m going to need this first.” Phineas watched as I emptied the glass. “My sister, Melissa, was born with a congenital heart defect and had open heart surgery when she was only three weeks old. Our parents treated her like she was made of glass, fragile and destined to fall and shatter into a thousand pieces at the slightest bump. Because of that, they lived vicariously through me, throwing me into all types of activities, only two of which I actually enjoyed.”

  “Piano lessons and equestrianism.”

  “Those would be the very ones.” I gestured at Phineas using my finger gun. “My parents never asked me what I wanted, nor did they care. Melissa, though, anything she wanted to do, she was able to do. Anything she didn’t want to do, she didn’t have to do. Not me, though. And the more I resisted them, the more they pushed, until I hit my breaking point at thirteen. I started sneaking out of the house to meet friends. I began smoking on occasion.”

  “I bet that didn’t go over very well.”

  “That’s an understatement. When my parents found out, they, of course, freaked out, sending me to counseling and a private school away from all the bad influences. After they’d isolated me, broken me down just enough, I resigned myself to becoming that perfect daughter they wanted—for a while, anyway. There were a lot of things I allowed them to control, but my dreams weren’t one of them. They were resistant to me attending college at Cogsworth. Why on earth would I want to go into the publishing industry? After all, they wanted their daughter to be in a profession they could brag about to their friends at the country club. They even threatened not to pay for my tuition. I told them not to worry about that because I would pay for it myself, and I did, with scholarships.”

  “That’s quite impressive.” Phineas, seeming genuinely interested in my crap fest of a childhood, hadn’t taken his eyes off me since I began talking. “What I don’t understand is, why aren’t you and your sister closer now that you’re both adults? I get there being a sense of resentment with the way your parents treated you versus the way they treated her, but I know you understand that wasn’t her fault.”

  “I do, but she always seemed to relish the extra attention they gave her and the freedom to make the choices I couldn’t. Strangely, now that we’re grown, she seems to think life is a competition. She went to the university our parents chose for her, becoming an accomplished flautist and marrying her investment banker husband. Every time I go back to Ohio—which isn’t often—I’m forced to endure a barrage of passive-aggressive comments about my mundane life in New York, helping others succeed in life while I remain unmarried, returning home to my lesbian roommate. That’s why I don’t readily offer information about my parents, and why I’ve told people I was an only child. I just don’t want to think about them anymore.”

  “Of course, you know I would beg to differ with them on your level of success. Success isn’t measured by who knows your name or the amount of applause a person receives when they enter a room.”

  “Says the burgeoning celebrity of the publishing industry and the man who has people eating from the palm of his hand every time he walks out on stage.”

  A throng of additional people appeared from nowhere on the dance floor, which was now full to capacity. I often watched people in crowds, wondering what their lives were like compared to my own, whether we shared similar experiences. Odds were a few of them had shitty parents, too.

  Next to me, Phineas’s attention remained focused on me, like he was expecting me to expand on my thoughts.

  “You know, the worst part is that I never once—not even for a second—felt like I was loved by my own parents. If you were to ask them, they would say that was ridiculous and, of course, they loved me. They would say they did the best that they could, that they only had my best interests at heart. But you know what? I think that’s bullshit, because that feeling of inadequacy has stayed with me through the years, making me second guess the actions of others. Since my own parents didn’t love me, then why should anyone else? Then I met Elle and, later, Luke
and Peter, and I realized that I am worthy and deserving of love, after all.”

  “I understand that scenario all too well.” At some point during our conversation, Phineas had leaned in closer to hear me over the music. He was probably no more than a foot away from me now, close enough for me to catch a whiff of his signature cologne, La Nuit De L’homme by Yves Saint Laurent. The smell that drove all the women in the office absolutely batshit crazy. “I hope that, aside from the love and acceptance you found with your friends, that you yourself have also come to the conclusion that you are in fact worthy of that love and acceptance, because you are, Mena.”

  It was like someone had hit pause and I was stuck, unable to react, unable to move, unable to think, unable to do anything but look into Phineas’s eyes while acutely aware of just how close twelve inches really was. And as the gap between us was closed inch by inch by the both of us, I willed my mouth to say something, but by that point, my brain had abandoned me. Thankfully, my stomach stepped in.

  “Are you okay?” he asked as I suddenly threw my hands over my mouth.

  I shook my head, feeling the bile steadily rising toward my throat. I had, at most, ten seconds to decide where it was going to go, and since over the side of the building wasn’t an option, I found the next best solution. In the nick of time I threw my head into a potted plant and relieved myself of a night’s worth of alcohol.

  “Oh, Mena.” Phineas knelt beside me, keeping my hair away from my face and remaining there until I finished. “Come on, I think we should get you to bed.”

  *****

  I awoke the next morning with only a vague recollection of how I ended up in the huge, king-sized bed in the equally as large guest bedroom of Phineas’s penthouse. When the memories all came flooding back, I let out a moan, covering my head with my hands.

  Oh, Mena, you aren’t twenty-one anymore.

  The familiar sound of pots and pans banging together alerted me to the presence of Phineas in the kitchen. As I crawled out of bed, I was thankful to see that my clothes were still on, save for Phineas’s suit coat, which I hoped had remained vomit-free. On the floor, my heels rested next to the bed. I couldn’t even remember having removed them, but I know damn well that if I had, they wouldn’t have been coupled neatly together in such a convenient location. With the noise escalating in the kitchen, I grabbed my shoes and padded my way in the direction of the commotion.

  Phineas’s back was to me as he worked over the stove. The unmistakable crackle and the smell hugging my nose told me he was cooking bacon. His face lit up into a smile when he turned around and saw me watching him. “Good morning. Did you sleep well?”

  “Better than I should have, considering I murdered an evergreen with my stomach contents.”

  He chuckled, setting down a plate of bacon with a fried egg and a piece of burnt toast on the quartz island in front of me. “I wouldn’t worry about the fate of that tree. If regurgitated alcohol could kill it, it would have been dead months ago.” His eyes wandered down to the plate and back up at me again. “I don’t cook much.”

  “It looks … edible.”

  “Exactly what I was going for.” He filled his own plate and sat across from me.

  “Thank you for everything you did for me last night. It’s not often that I go out, and even less so that I allow myself to get as …”

  “Inebriated.”

  “I was going to say shit-faced, but if I have to keep it classy, then we’ll go with inebriated. In all seriousness, though, I owe you one.”

  “You owe me nothing,” he answered stubbornly. “If anything, it should be me offering you my gratitude.”

  “For what? Making you babysit me last night?”

  “For listening to me, for giving me the most interesting night I’ve had in quite some time.”

  “If it’s one thing I’m good at, it’s bringing the interesting.”

  *****

  My feet throbbed something fierce by the time I arrived back at my apartment, so much so that when I reached the elevator, I decided my toes had suffered enough torture for the day and removed my heels. When I opened my purse to put them inside, I saw my cell phone, its screen sternly facing me as if to ask, “Did you forget something?”

  “Peter! Oh, shit!”

  I grabbed my phone with one hand, stuffing my shoes as far as they would fit inside my purse with the other. My finger pressed the button on the side of the phone to activate its screen. Five missed calls. One from Elle and four from Peter.

  The elevator door opened, and I hobbled out into our hallway, my heel burning from a blister. Somehow, my phone’s volume had been muted, causing me to miss my calls. I just hoped I hadn’t worried Peter. It was the first time I failed to call him when I said I would. If the tables had been turned, he probably would have had double the amount of missed calls on his phone, all from me, and all increasingly more frantic. Restraint was not my middle name.

  Even before I put my key in the door, voices from inside our apartment alerted me to the fact that Jo’s night was still going strong. For a brief second, I thought about turning back around and returning Peter’s call in the hallway; but as sore as my feet were and as tired as I was from the night before, the desire to rest on my bed outweighed witnessing whatever atrocities were going on behind the door in front of me.

  “Party’s over. Time to put your clothes back on,” I announced when I walked through the door, my hand covering my eyes.

  All commotion inside ceased as soon as everyone heard me, enough to where I felt comfortable peeking between my fingers. Jo stood in the middle of the living room, a bright pink feather boa around her neck and an equally as pink cowboy hat on her head. On her left, the redhead with the nose ring—Courtney, I believe—had her arms wrapped around Jo’s waist, a blue boa around her neck. On Jo’s right, not to be excluded, the tube top girl stood with her own purple feather boa dangling from her hand as though it had been in mid-spin before I entered the apartment.

  At least they’re fully clothed.

  I gawked at the three amigos, remaining uncharacteristically silent, while Jo looked me up and down, taking in my bare feet, disheveled hair, smeared makeup, and wrinkled dress that had ridden up to my mid-thigh. The moment of silent assessment between us dissolved thereafter into a mutual nod and an unspoken consent that we would each be keeping our own secrets for now.

  The moment I closed my bedroom door, I threw my purse on the floor and called Peter. He must have had his phone nearby because he picked up on the first ring.

  “Mena?”

  “Hey, I’m so sorry. To say last night was crazy would be an understatement. I meant to call you. But between Phineas rescuing me from some thug at the club, to having a little too much to drink and my phone being on mute, I guess you could say a whole constellation of events kept that from happening.”

  “Wait … Phineas went out with you?”

  “No, he just happened to be at the same club we were at, and it’s a good thing he was there because some creep was getting a little handsy with me and my backup, being Jo, was a tad occupied. After that incident, I was a bit shaken, so Phineas—”

  “Look, Mena,” Peter interrupted me. There was something foreign present in his voice, an unsteadiness to his words. He was holding something back. Tears? Was that it?

  “Peter, is something wrong? I remember you had something important to tell me last night, and—”

  “Mena,” he said my name both sternly and with that same tremble in his voice that was beginning to make me feel uneasy. “Please. Just let me finish. Because if I don’t finish now, I don’t think I’m going to be able to, and I have to.”

  Finding myself just as nauseated as I had been right before I let the evergreen have it the night before, I slumped down on my bed. In my heart, I knew what he was going to say. I felt it in my bones, down to the very marrow. My brain, however, was fighting it, looking for a logical conclusion to what could be causing such a change in his demeanor. It was a
defense mechanism I’d put into place for myself, especially when the pain it was shielding me from was going to be particularly severe.

  “Mena, I’ve put a lot of thought into … into us. And,” he sighed from frustration or, maybe, an attempt to keep his composure. “I-I can’t do this anymore. We live in different worlds, and it’s become increasingly clearer that our worlds are never going to intersect.”

  “But they have intersected, they’re intersecting now. We’ve been intersecting.” My voice, as hard as I tried to fight against it, was mimicking the tremble in his.

  “We’re both strong people with strong convictions, and in another time and another place, we could work together brilliantly, but right now, it’s just not possible. I’ve known it in the back of my mind for a little while. My heart just wouldn’t let me see it.”

  “This is it? Just like that?”

  “Y-Yeah.” The unsteadiness in his vocal cords gave way, allowing the tears in his words to be heard as clearly as they could be seen falling down his cheeks.

  “This is what you want, then?” I struggled to sound firm on shaky ground.

  He was silent for so long that I was beginning to feel an iota of hope, but that was promptly shattered when he simply answered, “Yes.”

  “Okay,” I said, fighting back tears. “Peter?”

  “Yeah?”

  “If this is what you want, what you truly want, then I guess this is it, then.” I sighed, struggling to hold back my tears. “But for what it’s worth, I still love you. I always will.”

  He sucked in a breath, taking a moment to regain his composure. “Good-bye, Mena.”