When Stars Collide

by Sara Furlong-Burr

  Dumbfounded, I peered back over my shoulder at Jo, who looked at me as if to say, “I was waving my arms, dumbass, what more did you want me to do?”

  “Mom? Melissa? What are you doing here?”

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  “Is that any way to greet your mother and your sister?” My mom stood up from the couch, Melissa following behind her. “You’re certainly looking well for someone who just had surgery a week ago, and from the sound of it, your social life seems to be back on track, though your language could still use some cleaning up.”

  “Yeah, well, had I known you were going to be dropping in from Ohio tonight, I would have kept my testicle references to a minimum.”

  “If you had checked your social media today, you would have seen we were on our way to New York. We figured that was only fair considering we had to hear about your surgery on social media.”

  I pulled out my phone and quickly scrolled through my newsfeed, finding a post from my mom depicting a cutesy plane emoji flying toward an apple. “Huh, well, I’ll be damned. And for the record, I told you about my surgery in December when I came home for the holidays.”

  “Yes, you kept it all very vague and told us that you would keep us posted.”

  “And I fully intended to. I was just waiting to call you after I received my biopsy results back, which incidentally, I received them today, and I’m in the clear.”

  “Oh, that’s wonderful,” Melissa said, taking me off guard. Melissa had inherited my father’s height and my mother’s boobs; the complete opposite of what I’d inherited.

  “Yes, it’s always cool not to have cancer,” I responded.

  My mom walked around the couch to meet me on the other side. She had a way with being able to overdress for any situation, and this was no exception. Her tailored trousers accentuated her envy-worthy gams the same way her button-down shirt perfectly flattered her figure up top. If she owned a pair of blue jeans, I’d never seen her wear them. “That is fantastic news, darling,” she said, giving me a quick side-hug. “I always told you to stay away from those sunbeds, but you were never one to listen to a word I said.”

  That was also my mom. Sweet and sour, like my favorite Chinese dish. Over the years, she’d perfected the fine art of making you feel like she actually gave a shit about you, while also causing you to question whether or not she actually gave a shit about you. It was as impressive as it was irritating.

  “You’re right, Mom, my cancer diagnosis was all my fault.”

  “Now don’t get all dramatic on me. We’re only here for two days, and I want us to have a nice visit with each other, since the three of us can only be found together in one room on special occasions and holidays.”

  “I suppose that’s my fault, too,” I sighed. “Curse pursuing college and a career. Who in their right mind would want to leave Ohio, right?” Neither my mother nor Melissa looked too amused. “All right. Since you’re here, what did you two have in mind?”

  “We thought we would be coming here to help you with your recovery,” Melissa chimed in. “But you look great, almost like you haven’t had surgery at all.”

  “Yes,” my mother added, “it’s a good thing you didn’t have real cancer, because your treatments and recovery would be quite grueling.”

  Behind my mother, Jo’s eyes widened. She took a step back, uncertain whether she should leave the room or prepare to throw down with me.

  “Oh, you mean like one of those internal cancers, like the kind that originate on an organ? Kind of like the skin … you know, your body’s largest organ.”

  “Come on, honey, you know I didn’t mean it like that. Of course, you had cancer, and of course, it was serious. I just meant—”

  “Mom,” I interrupted her before she could say something else insulting, “how about we agree that it’s a good thing it didn’t progress beyond stage two and call it good.”

  My mother smiled. Her lipstick, bright red and clown-like, looked particularly ridiculous over her freshly botoxed lips. “Now that we can agree on.”

  “So, where are you two staying?” I inhaled a deep breath, noticing Jo shaking her head in the background. “If you want, you can always crash here.” I didn’t need to look at Jo to know she was flipping me off.

  “That’s very generous of you, but we wouldn’t want to impose. Your quarters already seem … cramped. We have a room at a hotel near the airport, which we should be getting back to. We’ve had a long day of traveling and … waiting for you to come home from your exploits.”

  “Well, I wouldn’t want to keep you, then,” I replied, plastering on the world’s fakest smile.

  “How about we meet for dinner tomorrow? Pick a place near here, and we’ll meet you there.”

  “Sounds wonderful.”

  “Splendid.” My mother turned to face Jo, who promptly straightened her posture. “Nice to finally meet you, Jo. Mena has told us nothing but interesting things about you. Seems like you two are getting along well.”

  “Yes, Mrs. Straszewski. Thank you.”

  I raised my eyebrow at Jo as I escorted my mother and sister to the door, closing it behind them.

  “Oh, thank Christ they’re gone,” she said, exhaling. “Your mother is extra as fuck.”

  “Extra pretentious? Extra bitchy? Extra?”

  “Intense.”

  “Try living with her.”

  Jo shuddered. “You know, I think living with her may almost be worse than going home to visit my own parents. At least they’ve given up trying to convert me, or whatever the hell they call it. I don’t think your mom will ever give up on whatever it was that crawled up her ass.”

  “There are multiple sticks up there. Look, I’m sorry. I had … quite a night, and my phone was off at the opera. How long were you subjected to all that?”

  “Only about two hours.”

  I cringed.

  “Yup, that’s exactly how I felt, too. Your sister seems cool, though. Quiet, polite, and very straight as your mother felt the need to remind me.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Of course, she did. That’s par for the course for her. Anything associated with me has never been good enough. Hell, even my cancer isn’t good enough for her.”

  “Kudos on keeping your shit together, by the way.”

  “I’ve had years of practicing keeping my shit together around her, and also years of losing it.” I flopped down on the couch, happy to get off my feet. My leg was still stiff from surgery, and my incision sites had become sore again.

  “You know, when I opened the door and I realized they weren’t here on accident or to talk to me about saving the speckled Ecuadorian garden slug, I was kind of excited to meet your family. I guess I figured I would get some more insight into you, but I couldn’t have been more wrong. Because even though you sprang forth from that woman’s womb, the two of you couldn’t be more different.”

  “That has to be the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me, Jo.”

  Jo giggled. “It’s the truth. No wonder you moved to New York. If I would have been you, I would have been on the next bus out of town the moment I turned eighteen.”

  “I pretty much was.”

  “So, I must hear more about this big letdown of a night of yours.”

  By this point, I’d lost all interest in rehashing the events of the evening. Jo, I knew, wouldn’t let me get away without at least expanding upon some of my earlier commentary, so I decided to give her the abbreviated version of events.

  “Long story short, Phineas and I kissed and then he told me that he thought it would be best if we kept our relationship strictly professional, so I left and came home to an even more awkward situation.”

  “Ouch.”

  “Yeah. Ouch.”

  “Are you okay?”

  I nodded, contemplating her question. Honestly, I wasn’t certain whether I was okay. Phineas’s rejection of me had been just one of many from a person I thought had cared for me. Before Peter and I broke up, I’d blown off
such dismissals of me with sarcasm and feigning indifference. But since Peter, the one person in my life I trusted besides Elle, decided I wasn’t fit enough to be in his life, I’d found myself more sensitive to each blow. It was like I was being smacked repeatedly in the same spot. The first few times smarted, but then each subsequent slap thereafter became more and more painful, until it was excruciating. Tonight, my skin had been ripped open. I was bleeding, and I didn’t know when it would stop.

  “Mena? Are you sure you’re all right?”

  I looked up, meeting Jo’s concerned eyes. “I’m fine.”

  *****

  I walked the ten blocks to the Mexican restaurant I’d chosen mainly because I knew my mother wasn’t a fan of Mexican cuisine. Petty much? Yes, I was. Pearls of snow fell to the ground around me, melting on the sidewalk. After the events of last night and, well, my childhood, I’d tossed around the notion of calling the whole thing off. But I knew that wouldn’t deter my mother. Once Marilyn Straszewski got an idea in her head, she became hellbent and determined to see it through. She reminded me a bit of Elle’s mother, Betsy Sloan. Both had seemed to make it their mission to screw up their daughters’ lives, except my mother honestly thought she was helping me, and she had the means by which to travel, which arguably made her even more dangerous. The only thing that was missing with her was the substance abuse Betsy had perfected, but I had faith that she’d pick up on that sooner or later.

  The walk to the restaurant was a welcome respite from my thoughts. Before I’d gone to bed the night before, I checked my phone to find, among the eleven missed calls from my mother and Jo, a text from Phineas that simply read:

  Phineas: Did you make it home okay?

  After much contemplation on my part, including tossing around the decision to not even respond at all, I settled for the simplest, most unfeeling, straightforward response possible:

  Me: Yes.

  That was that. A return to a professional relationship, where we wouldn’t even be able to trade jabs at each other anymore. Everything would be so … formal. A part of me wished I hadn’t gone out at all last night, but that part paled in comparison to the part of me that couldn’t quit replaying the events of the night over repeatedly in my head. The part that couldn’t—or wouldn’t—allow me to erase the memory of Phineas’s skin against mine. Erase it I must if I was to have any hope of working with him without it being weird. But I had a full week before I had to return to work, meaning I could try to wipe my mind clean in increments. Baby steps. Right now, I was still learning to crawl, and I had a to work up to taking those steps. Consumed in thought, I completely passed the door to the restaurant and had to backtrack about a block.

  “I see your punctuality hasn’t improved,” my mother greeted me as soon as I arrived.

  “Mom,” Melissa muttered under her breath.

  “Good evening to you, too,” I responded, taking a seat next to Melissa in the booth.

  “It’s so good to see the two of you together in the same place.” Mom picked up her menu, her eyes scanning its contents. I smirked as her lips pursed together and her eyes glared at it as though it had just asked her whether she’d purchased her blouse from Target.

  “Are we ready to order?” Our waitress appeared at the table. From the presence of the drinks in front of my mom and Melissa, she’d already been there long before I’d arrived.

  “Start with them,” Mom said, motioning to us with a flick of her hand. “I’m still … deciding.”

  “Steak fajita, please,” Melissa said, handing the menu back to the waitress.

  “I’ll take the vegetarian meal—the number six, I guess—with an iced tea, please.” I handed my menu back to the waitress.

  “I can’t recall the last time I ordered a meal designated with a number,” Mom scoffed, ordering the number two. “Hey, when in Rome, right?”

  “Your bravery knows no bounds.” To my surprise, I thought I heard Melissa snickering softly next to me.

  “You know, it would be nice if you could break away from your book job to come visit more often, especially since Melissa has stepped away from the symphony. She and Brett have decided to expand their family.”

  “Oh.” I turned to Melissa. “Is that what you want?”

  She looked at me, stunned, like no one had ever bothered to ask her that question before.

  “What do you mean by that?” Mom asked. “Of course that’s what she wants. Brett has a good job, and it only makes sense for Melissa to stay home to raise their family.”

  “You’re right. How silly of me to forget this was 1950 and not 2020.” I turned to Melissa. She’d always been the quiet one in the family, but today she seemed a little too quiet. “Congratulations. I’m sure you and Brett will be excellent parents when the time comes.”

  “Thank you,” she offered with a small smile.

  “I was beginning to get worried I would be too old to enjoy my grandchildren there for a minute.”

  Here we go.

  “Yes, because I’m a ripe old age of thirty-three with no marriage prospects and on a two-year hold before I can even think about procreation. My God,” I feigned a gasp, “by then I’ll be thirty-five. An old maid. I may as well just hang it up now and prepare to die.”

  “Are you done?” Mom asked, annoyed.

  “I suppose I could be.”

  “What do you mean you’re on a two-year hold?”

  “I’ve been diagnosed with cancer, Mom. My oncologist wants me to be cautious for the next two years, because that’s when I’m most likely to have a recurrence.”

  “Oh please, I think they’re going a little overboard.”

  “And from where did you obtain your medical degree, again? A pregnant woman’s skin changes, and a skin change is exactly what I’m trying to avoid right now, not to mention the type of cancer I had can be transferred to a fetus in utero. Not that I really need to worry about that. It’s not like I’m getting laid.”

  “Shh,” Mom shushed me. “Not so loud.”

  “Two years is really just a drop in the bucket, if you think about it,” Melissa chimed in.

  “Exactly,” I responded, agreeing with Melissa for what was probably the first time in, well, ever.

  Mom sighed. “I guess. At least it will give you time to find a suitable husband. Look on the bright side, right?”

  “Oh? Do tell, Mom. Who is your idea of a suitable husband?” I took a sip of iced tea, adding sugar to it after finding it more bitter than I would have liked.

  “At this point, anyone but that Peter guy you were dating.”

  My mom had come close to reaching my final straw before. Many times, actually. Somehow, she’d just barely missed it each time. It was like she possessed some sixth sense when it came to knowing when to reign it in. This time, her sense had failed her.

  “Mother,” Melissa muttered under her breath.

  “You barely knew Peter. What could possibly have been wrong with him?”

  “He just didn’t seem right for you.”

  I began to seethe from the inside, and willed myself not to show it. Sometimes I felt like that was her goal, to get me upset, when in reality, it probably wasn’t. “How so. Please, expand on that.”

  “Peter didn’t seem to have a whole lot of ambition. He works in a factory, and probably always will because he doesn’t have a proper formal education.” As she was speaking, my mother was ticking the points she was making away on her fingers to really drive her point home. I’d always thought this to be one of her more condescending traits. “He has a son from another woman he never bothered to marry, and—”

  “I’m going to stop you there.” I held up my hand, wishing it were a shield that could magically block the bullshit that was spewing from her mouth from reaching my ears. It was bad enough she was bringing up Peter, but to include Jackson in all the reasons why she was happy he was no longer a part of my life was the final straw. “You’re right. Peter didn’t finish college, but do you know why he di
dn’t finish college? He didn’t finish college because he knew he needed to step up and provide for Jackson. Yes, he and Amanda were never married, but that doesn’t mean he was some deadbeat. People have children out of wedlock every day. His life just skewed from the path he was on, and the fact that he could roll with it and rearrange his entire existence to make Jackson a priority makes him a much better man than most of the ones I’ve met.”

  “Okay, clearly I’ve struck a nerve. Why don’t we just agree to disagree—”

  “I’m not done yet. Who would you have me be with, Mom? Tell me. What pretentious douche bag do you have in mind for me? Because I’d really like to know.”

  Melissa laid a cautious hand on my shoulder. “Mena, please.” One glare from me and she backed down.

  “You know, I can’t do this anymore,” I shook my head, tears blurring my vision.

  My mother sighed. “That’s good because you’re making a scene.”

  “No, you’re misunderstanding me. I mean, I can’t do this anymore.” I gestured around the table. “My whole life, nothing I’ve ever done has ever been quite good enough for you. Not graduating with highest honors from high school or summa cum laude from Cogsworth. Not getting a job in New York City, where I’ve been making it on my own without help from anyone. Absolutely nothing. So, you know what? Here.” I plunked a hundred-dollar bill down on the table and stood up. “Thank you for showing your … concern for my well-being. Yeah, we’ll call it concern. I will now be returning to the apartment that I share with my lesbian roommate, who’s a little rough around the edges but generally a good person, and back to a life you’ll never understand or accept, because it doesn’t fit into your cookie-cutter idea of what a woman’s life should be. I’ll be doing all of this, but not before I pay for your dinner with the money I made from my ‘book job’.”