When Stars Collide

by Sara Furlong-Burr

  I sat on the bed in silence, waiting for him to tell me that he was kidding, that this was all some sort of sick joke. Minutes later, with my arm seemingly made of lead and the other end of the line still silent, I removed my phone from my ear and looked down at the screen. He’d hung up. Just like that, he was gone. And it was within that realization, that slap in the face from reality, that the tears began to fall. A trickle at first and then a cascade. I threw my phone on the bed and collapsed onto my pillow, hoping that it would muffle my sobbing and the sharp gasps of air I took between sobs.

  For as long as I could remember, I had always had an interest in astronomy, reading anything I could get my hands on about the formation of the planets and the discovery of new ones. In particular, I remember reading an article describing the aftermath that transpired after two stars collided with each other in the vastness of space. The result of the impact was often catastrophic, either completely obliterating the celestial bodies forever, or in the case of neutron stars, forming a black hole. In some rare cases, however, the two stars would merge together upon impact, becoming an entity greater than themselves. That was how I would have described Peter and me. Two individuals becoming a single, greater entity when we were together. Somehow, in the wide expanse of this planet, we’d found each other, and despite our differences, our faults, and our emotional baggage, we’d managed to coalesce into a force capable of conquering the universe. I guess I’d been wrong about us. But that’s what happens when stars collide—you never quite know whether the impact will transform you or destroy you.

  My phone rang from where it had landed on the other side of my bed. Believing it to be Peter, I moved quickly to snatch it up, only to be disappointed when I saw that it was Elle calling.

  “Word travels fast,” I said, trying my best not to sound like I was falling apart piece by piece.

  “What are you talking about?” she asked, not at all trying to mask the fact that she was crying, too. “Wait, are you crying?” She sniffed so loudly, I had to move my phone away from my ear.

  “I’m not crying, you’re crying.”

  “No, seriously, Mena, what’s wrong?”

  “Peter just broke up with me.”

  “What? No! But he adores you. Why?”

  “In a nutshell, we’re two different people in two different worlds.”

  “That sounds like a bunch of bullshit. Do you want me to have Luke talk to him?”

  “That’s the last thing I want you to do. If he doesn’t want me, he doesn’t want me.” I closed my eyes and pinched the bridge of my nose to try to keep the tears at bay. “Enough about Peter and me. What’s wrong with you? Receive the wrong doilies for your reception? Do I, as your maid of honor, need to bust some kneecaps?”

  “No, I actually don’t know why I’m crying. Maybe out of relief, or even excitement. I received the results of the DNA test. Mena, Mark Damsky is my father.”

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  I readjusted myself in my seat right as the plane began making its descent, preparing for its arrival at the Evansville Indiana Regional Airport. My sudden movement brought about a throbbing ache in my lower back where my mole had been removed by a dermatology office near my apartment. For a relatively small lesion, the dermatologist had removed a large chunk of skin, which resulted in a wound that required three stitches to close. If it turned out to be a false alarm after the biopsy results were read, I was going to have real a bone to pick with Daffodil.

  On the bright side, at least the discomfort provided me with a momentary reprieve from my thoughts of Peter and the fact that I hadn’t received so much as a text from him since our breakup over three weeks ago. After talking to him every day for over a year, I had been forced to quit Peter Monroe cold turkey, and the withdrawal was brutal.

  Elle and Luke were awaiting my arrival at the airport, having arrived an hour earlier. Knowing Luke, he’d probably already secured the rental car for our trip to Jasper, Indiana, Elle’s hometown. Knowing Elle, she’d probably already had a handful of anxiety attacks brought about by the reality that she was about to meet Mark Damsky. Since discovering that the mysterious Mr. Damsky was definitely Elle’s father, I caught myself wondering what it was about him that had kept Betsy Sloan, a hardcore alcoholic and shitshow of a mother, away from him. Surely, had he been the saint he projected himself as being, Betsy would have seen it fit to include him in Elle’s life? If anything, it would have been easier than being a single mother. But, curiously, she hadn’t. And there had to have been a reason why.

  “Let’s plan a trip to Indiana. It’ll be fun, said no one ever in the history of evers,” I greeted Elle, who was waiting for me by the baggage claim. She turned when she heard my voice, her eyes cloaked in sadness as she took me in. “No,” I admonished her, pointing at her. “You aren’t doing that here.”

  “Aren’t doing what?” she asked.

  “You aren’t going to give me your big, sad puppy dog eyes. Just put them away. Close your eyes if you have to.”

  Before I could stop her, she flung her arms around me in a tight hug. “How are you holding up?”

  “I’m still standing,” I answered, glad she couldn’t see my face and the tears I was fighting to hold back.

  “Thanks for coming.”

  “Are you kidding me? Like I was going to let you meet your bio daddy without your best friend. Hell, I would have paid you to let me tag along to meet the brave man who knocked up Betsy Sloan.”

  She released me from her grip. Her face and the dark circles etched underneath each of her eyes confirmed my suspicion that her anxiety had been in full force since receiving the results of the paternity test. Her nose was red, rubbed raw from a tissue. She hadn’t been sick, so it could only have been from the tears I knew she’d shed. Proof positive that even from beyond the grave, Betsy Sloan was still toying with Elle’s emotions.

  “Is that Mena I hear?” I looked over Elle’s shoulder to see Luke approaching us, smiling.

  “The one and only.” I met Luke’s outstretched arms. Growing up, my parents had never been much for hugging—or any other form of affection, for that matter. When I became an adult, and anyone would try to hug me, I would just awkwardly stare at their outstretched arms, confused. It took some time for me to get used to the idea that hugging was a way in which normal people greeted each other.

  “Thank God,” Luke said, releasing me from his grasp.

  “I’m going to pretend that your ‘Thank God’ refers to me being the one and not the only.”

  “Then I suggest you keep pretending.” He moved to say something further, stopping himself short.

  “If you’re going to ask me how I’m holding up, please refrain from doing so. I’m here. I’m standing. That’s all that matters.”

  Luke nodded. “Okay, but I was going to tell you that you were standing on my foot. Then you took a step back, so …”

  “Oh. Carry on, then.”

  *****

  I stepped off the elevator into the lobby of the hotel precisely at our designated meeting time. Directly in front of me, near the entrance, stood Elle, her eyes glued to her phone. A smile overspread my face when I caught sight of her dressed in a cute black cocktail dress with bright red heels that elongated her already lengthy gams.

  “Are you meeting your dad or asking him to be your date to the winter formal?”

  “Too much?” she asked. “You think I should run back up to the room and change? Because I brought other outfits.”

  “I’m sure you did,” I said, grabbing her arm to stop her from running to the elevator. “You look great. Really. You’re going to be the fanciest woman in the sports bar.”

  “I’m just … I just want to make a good first impression, you know?”

  “You will, because you’re going to be yourself.”

  “That has got to be the sweetest thing you’ve ever said to me.” She turned to me with a familiar gleam in her eye.

  “Sorry, my hug quota has been maxed-out
for the day.”

  “One more time isn’t going to kill you.”

  “I’ve heard that one before, but under a completely different context. Oh, hey, here comes your fiancé. Take your hugging out on him.”

  “Not that I mind, but why are you supposed to be hugging me?”

  “Mena said something really touching.”

  Luke looked from Elle to me, feigning shock.

  “I’m just as taken aback about is as you are.” I shrugged.

  “So, are you ready?” Luke asked Elle, inspecting her face for the slightest sign of hesitation. Like Elle, he had also chosen to dress up for the occasion, donning a nice pair of slacks, button-down shirt, and matching tie with hints of the same shade of blue as his shirt. I guess I was going to be the raggedy one tonight in my basic blue jeans and T-shirt.

  “I’m as ready as I’ll ever be, I guess.”

  “How far away is this sports bar?” I asked.

  “Three blocks,” Luke answered. “I figured we’d just walk.”

  Elle exhaled. “Okay, let’s go.”

  *****

  The aroma of grease assaulted my nose the moment we entered the lobby of the downtown Jasper bar, nestled between an ice cream parlor and a beauty shop. I entered behind Luke and Elle, noticing Elle grabbing onto Luke’s hand for support. He leaned down to whisper something in her ear, giving her hand a reassuring squeeze. Poor Elle’s anxiety was at its peak. I couldn’t say as I blamed her. It wasn’t every day that a person met the father they didn’t know existed. Most of us got that out of the way the second we were born. It made things a little less awkward that way.

  Standing on my tiptoes, I scanned the faces of the patrons seated inside of the establishment, looking for the face of the man whose social media profile picture I’d only seen once. Something about his venue choice for their first meeting bothered me. For a man who was supposedly a recovering alcoholic, a bar seemed to be the last place he would want to be. Mark Damsky better damn well still be on the wagon, because if he had fallen off, only to hurt Elle the way her mother had, I would throw him back on the damn thing myself.

  “There,” Elle said, her voice quivering.

  I looked in the direction she was nodding. Seated at a table near the back of the bar was the rest of the man whose face I’d seen.

  “Are you ready?” Luke asked.

  Elle nodded. “As I’ll ever be.”

  Followed by Luke, Elle began walking toward Mark Damsky, who was still oblivious to our arrival. It wasn’t until we were just over halfway to his table that he looked up, stopping Elle dead in her tracks. He seemed confused at first, unsure of who the leggy beauty was in front of him. But then it clicked, and what unfolded next would bring tears to my eyes for years to come.

  The moment Mark Damsky realized he was staring at his daughter, confusion melted away, revealing a look of awe and unadulterated love so pure you would have thought that he was staring at his newborn daughter for the first time, not his adult daughter. Perhaps, maybe he was. Because that’s when the tears slid down Mark Damsky’s cheeks, and from the way Elle was ever-so-slightly shaking in front of me, I knew they were falling down her face, too.

  Mark stood up, prompting Elle to uproot herself from the floor and slowly walk toward him. By now, Luke’s arm was firmly around her waist, probably afraid she was going to collapse without the added support.

  “My God,” Mark said, his eyes never leaving his daughter’s face, “you look exactly like your mother.” He took a step toward her, his arms cautiously outstretched. Without needing any further invitation, Elle stepped into his embrace.

  “I look a little bit like you, too.” Elle wiped away a tear.

  “That you do,” Mark acknowledged, beaming. “That you do.”

  Elle looked back at us as though she had just been reminded that we were there. “Oh, this is my fiancé, Luke Hutchins, and my best friend, Mena Straszewski.”

  “Luke, it’s a pleasure,” Mark greeted him, shaking Luke’s hand at first, but then unexpectedly bringing him in for a quick hug, followed by the ceremonial back pat.

  I held out my hand when my turn came. “I don’t hug.”

  “She’s reached her limit for the day,” Elle said, backing me up.

  “More like for the year.”

  Mark grabbed my hand as though it were made of glass and gently shook it. “Mena, Elle warned me about you.”

  “Really? You gave your father a disclaimer before meeting me?”

  “Not a disclaimer,” Mark clarified. “She just said you were a feisty one. That’s great. The world needs more of that. She also went on about what a great friend you are and how you’ve really helped her through some things. Sounds like the kind of friend everyone should have.”

  “Well, you know.” I caught Elle’s eye, smiling.

  “Have a seat,” Mark said, gesturing at the table.

  I pulled out my chair just as the waitress arrived to take our drink orders.

  “I chose this place because they have the best fried mushrooms.”

  “There’s such a thing as a best fried mushroom?” I asked.

  “There sure is, Miss Mena. I seen you were a city girl, so I’m not surprised you haven’t sampled an array of fried mushrooms.”

  “Oh, so you saw I was a city girl.”

  “Yeah, I seen you were a city girl from one of the messages Elle sent me.”

  “Nope.”

  I looked over to Elle, who just shook her head, and I decided for her sake that I would let my biggest grammatical pet peeve go this one time.

  “Nope? You don’t live in the city?”

  “No, I meant, nope, you’re right. I haven’t been fortunate enough to sample one of Jasper’s famous fried mushrooms. But that ends tonight, Mark.”

  “That’s what I like to hear.”

  Beside me, Luke chuckled just audibly enough for me to hear him.

  “So,” I began, “let’s not beat around the bush. Why Betsy Sloan? What was it about her that brought you two together?”

  “I’d actually like to know that, too,” Elle added.

  Mark smiled at Elle. “Well, for starters, she was a beautiful woman, very smart. She was funny, always had a comeback for anything, and when she wasn’t drinking, she could be very sweet.”

  “Huh,” Elle scoffed. “That’s the first time I’ve ever heard my mother and sweet used in the same sentence.”

  “Now that’s unfortunate.” Mark frowned “She wasn’t sober very often, then?”

  “Try never.”

  “Elle, I’m sorry,” Mark said, placing his hand on hers. “Had I known you existed, I would have done everything I could do to get you out of that situation.” His hazel eyes, the same shade as Elle’s, glistened with tears.

  “You couldn’t have known,” Elle answered him reassuringly.

  “The last time I seen her was the night we went to a poetry reading together. She’d been sober for at least six months.”

  “Poetry reading? My mother liked poetry?”

  “Liked poetry? Your mother loved poetry. Loved it so much she wrote it herself.”

  Stunned, Elle could only sit in silence.

  “Elle writes some pretty mean poetry herself,” I offered, hoping to jumpstart Elle’s brain again.

  “She’s more talented than she gives herself credit for,” Luke added.

  “Sounds exactly like Betsy.” Mark took a sip from his iced tea. “Betsy was always writing and submitting her work off to places. She’d get rejection letters in the mail and be down on herself for a bit. Then she would pick herself up and resubmit other poems, until one day, toward the end of our relationship, she received a particularly hurtful rejection, like the author had just had a bad day and was taking it all out on Betsy. Whoever wrote it, told her that she basically shouldn’t quit her day job.”

  “What a dick,” I proclaimed, eyeing the plate of mushrooms placed down in front of me.

  “Isn’t that what you do for a
living?” Luke nudged me.

  “Yes, but I keep my dickishness to a professional level.”

  Whatever trance Elle had been under lifted. “That’s why she never encouraged me to pursue writing while I was at Cogsworth. Why she always told me I was just wasting my time.”

  “Because she was a terrible mother?” I asked.

  “No … well, not entirely. She didn’t want me to face the same rejection she had. She didn’t want me to get my hopes up, only to have them quashed.”

  “She encouraged you not to pursue your dreams? Some fine parenting, there.”

  “In her way, it was,” Luke observed. “She suffered pain and she didn’t want her daughter to meet the same fate. It’s an ass backwards approach, but in her mind, she was doing the right thing.”

  Mark nodded. “Betsy had a way of projecting herself onto others, especially after she’d been drinking. All her deficiencies, her character flaws, they became yours in her eyes. It was a coping mechanism for her, one she was working on while she was sober.”

  Elle glanced back at Mark. “If she was still sober and working on herself before your relationship ended, why did she leave without a trace? It doesn’t make any sense.”

  “That was my fault,” he answered, ashamed. It was a subject he’d obviously been trying to put off for as long as possible. He scratched his head through the mess of thick, brown hair, intermingled with wisps of white. “You see, when Betsy and I started seeing each other, we weren’t exclusive. I was her AA leader. I was supposed to be mentoring her, not falling for her. We kept things casual, and I thought we were on the same page, but then as we were walking home from the poetry reading together, a woman I’d gone out with a couple times approached us. She kissed me on the cheek in front of Betsy, telling me how she missed me. I knew what she was doing, trying to upset Betsy, and I told Betsy as much. I-I thought we were okay when I dropped her off that night, but it would seem as though we weren’t.”

  “You broke my mother’s heart,” Elle said matter-of-factly.