When Stars Collide

by Sara Furlong-Burr

  Luke cleared his throat, standing up from the table. “Now that everyone is here, I just want to say a few words.”

  “Crap, that means we won’t be eating for another two hours,” Salvatore moaned.

  “He really knows you well, doesn’t he?” added Peter.

  Unamused, Luke shot them both some serious side-eye. “These two will be on a separate check.” He motioned at Peter and Salvatore, ensuring that the waitress, who was walking around the table filling champagne glasses, saw him. “Back to what I was going to say,” Luke began again. “First of all, Elle and I can’t thank you all enough for sharing these next few days with us. If you aren’t family by blood, you’re family by choice.”

  “Hear, hear,” Candy added.

  “It’s been a long journey for Elle and me to get to where we are today, full of twists and turns. The road has not been kind to us; but in the end, we made it through the storm and found each other on the other side.”

  Next to me, listening to her love story reaching its climax, Elle became tearful. I probably would have started crying myself if not for the fact that, with Luke standing up, Peter was now front and center in my line of sight. Much like I had been watching Elle, Peter was captivated by Luke. But within seconds of my noticing him, he noticed me. Our eyes met, and it felt like we were the only two people in the room, if only for a moment.

  Break eye contact, Mena!

  Luke cleared his throat. “As Elle and I prepare for the next chapter of our lives, we would like to acknowledge each one of you. In your own way, everyone here has played a pivotal role in all of us being in this room right now, especially—and I can’t believe I’m saying this—Mena.”

  However deep in thought I had been, the mention of my name pulled me back out of the trenches.

  “If it hadn’t been for Mena’s … colorful and assertive way of handling life, we may never have gone out on that first date.”

  “That’s for sure,” I replied, remembering the night they met at the coffee shop. Elle and I had gone there to study, not knowing that would be the night she would meet the love of her life. They were so taken with each other that neither one of them had wanted to make the first move. So, I took it upon myself to make that move for them.

  Luke raised his glass, beckoning the rest of us to follow his lead. “Here’s to family, to friendship, to friends becoming family, but most of all, here’s to finding your one everlasting love.”

  Echoing Luke’s sentiments, we took a sip from our champagne.

  “Before the food arrives, Elle and I picked up a few gifts for our wedding party we’d like to pass around.”

  On Luke’s cue, Elle reached inside of a bag hidden underneath the table, where she pulled out a stuffed tiger for the curly-haired girl, who would be acting as the flower girl, followed by an action figure for Jackson. She then removed eight small boxes, passing the groomsmen theirs and the bridesmaids ours. A box was also given to Alex and Candy.

  “This is way too small to be a bottle of scotch,” Peter observed, shaking his gift near his ear.

  Luke sighed. “Forgive me for getting you something meaningful. Just open the box.” Following Luke’s command, each of the groomsmen opened their gifts, revealing cufflinks engraved with their individual initials.

  “I suppose if it couldn’t be scotch, these will do.” Peter inspected his cufflinks thoughtfully.

  “These are really nice,” Connor added.

  Salvatore nodded in agreement. “Yeah, so much better than whiskey.”

  Luke shook his head. “Don’t worry, guys. Your bar tab is going to be on me tonight.”

  “Oh, thank God!” the three of them exclaimed simultaneously.

  “Elle, this is beautiful!” I turned my head to see Kirsten pulling a silver bar necklace from the box Elle had given to her.

  “Geez, Kirsten. Self-control much?” Violet scolded, opening her box.

  “Sorry, Daffodil. I didn’t know we were supposed to be opening them in some kind of order.”

  “Hey, that’s Mena’s thing,” Violet admonished Kirsten, fastening the necklace she’d freed from her box around her neck.

  I smiled, opening my gift to inspect my necklace, which was identical to Kirsten’s and Violet’s, except for one small detail. On the back of my bar, a message was inscribed:

  My BFF. My Inspiration. My sister.

  “Do you like them?” Elle asked. With the way she was looking at me, I suspected she’d caught sight of the dopey grin I was trying to hide.

  “It’s okay, I guess,” I answered her, smiling. My haste to fasten the necklace around my neck obliterated all traces of the cool, nonchalant persona I was trying to embody.

  Elle looked around the table at the five of us. “I wanted to get something to express my gratitude to the strong women in my life. You have each shaped who I am in some way, and I am eternally grateful for you all.

  Across the table, Alex beamed, displaying a smile that stretched from ear-to-ear, something I assumed was a rarity for her.

  Leaning back in my chair, I took in the excitement permeating the air around me, knowing that it was moments such as these that truly made it worth getting out of bed every day. Yet, in the back of my mind, a sense of dread was biding its time, waiting to pounce when I was at my most vulnerable. I had a choice to make. One that had to be made soon. One that, no matter the outcome, would inevitably hurt someone I cared about, and as hard as I tried to put that out of my mind, I knew that my internal struggle was making its way outward.

  *****

  Luke reserved a block of rooms at an inn two miles from Hargrove Gardens, the outdoor sanctuary he and Elle had chosen to host their wedding. I figured those rooms would be snatched up by guests from out of town, and that they would be the best place for me to stay and think before Phineas arrived. There, I figured I could have a moment alone to gain some clarity. I was wrong. After dinner, Luke decided that those of us in the wedding party would meet at the inn and crash there for the night, but not before heading to the inn’s bar for a pre-rehearsal cocktail.

  “C’mon, Elle.” After only two drinks, Kirsten leaned across the table, her glassy eyes inspecting Elle’s glass. “You seriously can’t only be drinking water tonight. You’re getting maaaaaaaaried. You need to party with us one last time.”

  “Because that’s how marriage works,” Luke added. “Once we’re married, I’m locking Elle inside of the house and throwing away the key. She’ll never be allowed outside again.”

  He and Elle shared a knowing look that would have easily been missed by anyone who wasn’t paying attention—which basically included everyone. Violet was checking her phone, nursing her beer; Salvatore and Connor were well on their way to Kirsten-level intoxication; and Peter, well, I’d purposely tried not to pay attention to what he was doing. But I knew he wasn’t drunk. Like me, he’d only ordered one drink.

  Geez, maybe you were paying more attention than you thought.

  “Here.” Kirsten held out her drink to Elle, hovering it over her water glass. “Take a sip. Pleeeease.”

  I pushed Kirsten’s hand away before any alcohol could spill into Elle’s water. “That’s not necessary. I’ve been secretly pouring vodka in her glass all night.” I held up my near-empty glass containing the Vodka Collins I’d ordered, taking my index finger and pressing it to my lips. “Shh … don’t tell her.”

  “Oh.” Kirsten giggled. “You’re so bad, Mena. Don’t worry. Your secret’s safe with me.”

  “Wh-What secret?” Elle asked, finally paying attention to what was going on between Kirsten and me.

  “Not that secret,” I assured her. “She thinks you’re shit-faced.”

  Elle furrowed her brows, shaking her head. “What?” she mouthed.

  “It’s better you don’t ask questions.”

  She nodded, turning her attention back to Luke. At a table full of people, I felt alone, which was okay, because considering everything that was going on in my life, I needed
to be alone. I needed a minute, an hour, a lifetime to sort through things. The way things were right now, no sorting of anything was going to take place if I stayed here. It couldn’t. Not with him sitting across the table. As my thoughts turned to Peter, I looked up at where he was sitting, my face flushing when our eyes met.

  Why does he have to look at me like that?

  With a sigh, I lifted my glass to my lips. The drinks were blessedly strong, and I had the beginnings of a nice buzz going. One plus for this evening, I suppose. And perhaps, it was the vodka talking, planting thoughts inside of my mind I didn’t want planted there, but I began to wonder whether Peter was having a hard time, too. Whether he was torn in much the same way I was, whether he wished the floor would open up just so he could sink down into its depths. Curious, my eyes found him again, but instead of meeting my gaze, he was laughing with Connor about something I missed while lost in my own thoughts.

  Why won’t he just look at me?

  Yes, I was going crazy. And if I stayed at this table much longer, I would become certifiably insane. Dizzy with the flurry of contradiction going on in my head, I scooted my chair away from the table, cringing at the high-pitched squeal that erupted when the chair’s legs scraped against the bar’s tile floor. Ears ringing, damn near everyone at the table looked up, including Elle, who whipped her head back around in surprise. The only one at the table who seemed unfazed was Kirsten, who was about three swigs away from dancing on the table. So much for being discreet.

  “I just need some air,” I said quietly to Elle as I quickly stood up to make my way outside.

  The wind did me dirty the minute I opened the door. One sharp gust blew my hair in my face as another proceeded to lift my dress up Marilyn Monroe style. Not wanting to expose myself to the world, one hand swooped down to take care of the dress situation while the other hand brushed my hair out of my eyes so I could see where I was going. Thankfully, it was a warm breeze. I guess there was something to be said about looking on the bright side.

  I didn’t know where I was going. But being outside was better than sitting in the bar, and that was good enough for me. All I could do was walk, hoping it would be enough to clear my head. A long, concrete walkway led from the inn to the parking lot. At the end of the walkway, positioned on either side of it, stood large, rectangular, concrete planters. Inside of those planters, bright purple and pink petunias greeted the inn’s guests. Figuring it was as good a place as any, I sat down at the edge of one of the planters, taking in the scent of a nearby lilac bush. If I had a choice, I would smell lilacs all day long. It was an oddity to catch a whiff of the organic lilac scent in New York, and it was just one more thing I missed living in the city.

  Sighing, I closed my eyes. Living in New York with Phineas, Jo, and my career felt right; everything made sense there. It made sense for me to be there, to only ever want to be there. But every time I set foot back in Virginia, something grabbed onto me, creating a hollowness in my heart that I carried with me back to New York.

  It’s not something, it’s someone.

  Behind me, I heard the door to the inn open and close. Footsteps, cautious at first, moved down the walkway in my direction, stopping behind me. Elle—it had to be.

  “Why is this so hard?” My voice came out choked, reflecting the tears in my eyes. Without expecting a response from her, I proceeded. “I’ve always had everything all figured out, but not this. I never thought I would be in this situation, having to make a choice between two people I care about. I’m confused, lost. Yes, that’s it. I’m lost. Except I fear there’s no right way to put myself back on course again.”

  At this point, I wanted Elle to say something Elle-like, hopeful and uplifting. But all that met me was silence, which did nothing but make the knot in my stomach tighten.

  “You can say anything any time. Even a, ‘Mena, you’re being ridiculous!’ would suffice.”

  “You’re not being ridiculous.” The voice that answered was familiar, but certainly didn’t belong to Elle. My body stiffened and my heart fell into my stomach as I turned my head to see Peter standing just feet behind me.

  “Damn it, Peter! I thought you were Elle. You could have at least announced yourself before letting me ramble on like an idiot.”

  “And you could have at least looked over your shoulder before launching into your soliloquy.”

  He was right, but I wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction. Half from frustration, half from embarrassment, I threw a hand up in the air, meaning to have it come crashing down on the soil next to me. Instead, I completely missed my intended target, and my hand came barreling down against the planter. “Oh, double damn it!” I cradled my injured hand against my stomach, breathing through the pain that was shooting up my fingers and into my arm.

  “Are you all right?” Although he made a valiant effort, I could still make out the laughter he was trying to hold in.

  “No, I’m not all right. I broke my hand.”

  Peter sat down next to me, reaching out his hand. “Let me see it.”

  I looked up at him and back down to his outstretched hand, hesitant to take it, relenting only after, “Mena, please,” came out as barely a whisper under his breath. Slowly, more from pain than hesitation, I placed my injured extremity in his.

  “Move your fingers.” he commanded, eyes fixated on every muscle, tendon, and joint in my hand as I moved it. “Good. Now make a fist.”

  I eyed him, grimacing through the pain. “Do you really want me to do that?”

  “Punch me and you may break your hand for real. But for now, I think it’s fine. It’s just going to have a nice bruise.

  “Are you sure?” I removed my hand from Peter’s grasp, flexing my fingers.

  “Look, you can ask Luke to look at it if you want to, but I’ve seen a broken hand before, and yours doesn’t appear broken to me.”

  “Oh, yeah. You broke your hand in high school after falling on the ice playing hockey.”

  “You remember.” His eyes gleamed as he smiled.

  I nodded. “I remember a lot of things. It’s both a blessing and a curse.”

  Peter’s shoulders slumped. “I’m sorry, Mena.”

  Closing my eyes, I willed myself not to cry. “You don’t have to be sorry, Peter.”

  “I do, though.” He turned to face me, and I told myself not to look at him, as doing so would surely shatter the remnants of my heart that remained scattered inside of my chest. “You’re in pain because of me. That’s never what I wanted. I thought I was doing the right thing, stepping aside to let you move on with the life you worked so hard for, but I was wrong. All I did was rip my own heart out and cause you nothing but heartache in return. And for that, I truly am sorry.”

  Any effort I’d made to keep my tears in check was in vain the second I caught sight of the agony in his eyes. His tears gutted me. They always had.

  “I just want you to know that no matter what happens, whatever path you choose, I will always be there for you in whatever capacity you want me to be.” He lifted his hand to touch my cheek, certain at first, but then growing more hesitant when his insecurities took over. I leaned into his touch, providing him with the reassurance he needed. “You’ll find your way back on course. I know you will.” Peter’s fingertips grazed my cheek as he leaned down and lightly placed his lips against my forehead. His touch sent a shockwave through my system, both intense and comforting in its familiarity. He must have felt it, too, because his lips lingered for longer than most people would deem appropriate. Still, it felt all too soon when he finally drew back.

  “Thank you, Peter.”

  He smiled, running his fingers through his hair while discreetly wiping his eyes with the back of his hand. “We should get back inside. Elle was on her way out here, but I beat her to it, instead. She’s worried about you.”

  “It’s a wonder she hasn’t sent a search party after us yet.”

  “Now that you mention it, there was talk of her fashioning milk car
tons with your picture on it. I told her it was only customary to wait fifteen minutes after someone storms out of a bar to slap their likeness on a dairy product.”

  I smacked him on the arm, unable to keep myself from laughing. That was one thing about Peter, he always knew how to lighten the mood.

  “Come on, let’s get back in there.”

  When we stepped back into the bar, we were greeted by laughter coming from the vicinity of our table. “I guess we grossly overestimated just how much we would be missed,” I said, looking up at Peter when no snide comment was forthcoming from him. Instead, his eyes were fixated ahead, his jaw clenched. Confused, I followed his eyes over to our table and gasped. Sitting next to Elle was Phineas, commanding the attention of our entire group.

  “Well, this evening has officially turned to shit.” Peter sighed. Pain returned to his eyes, threatening to break me once more.

  “I’m sorry. He wasn’t supposed to get in until tomorrow evening.”

  “You don’t have to apologize.” Peter gave me a half-hearted smile. “If you’re happy and he isn’t a flaming douche, that’s all that matters.”

  I reached out and gave his arm a squeeze, focusing my attention on our group, where everyone remained captivated by Phineas, who was regaling them with the tale of our red carpet experience. Violet and Kirsten’s elbows rested on the table, their heads propped up in their hands, leaning in as far as possible to Phineas, like he was a magnet and they were made of metal. That was Phineas, charismatic as ever. As taken aback as I was to see him, I wasn’t surprised to feel my heart fluttering in my chest when I looked at him. I’d missed him, something I felt guilty to admit with Peter a foot behind me.

  Phineas looked up from the table, his large, brown eyes lighting up the moment he saw me. He’d already been smiling, but somehow that smile seemed to stretch even farther across his face now. Without finishing his story, he scooted his chair away from the table and stood up to meet me.