Until The Last Star Fades

by Jacquelyn Middleton

  “Actually…” Riley bit the inside of her cheek. “Josh isn’t my boyfriend anymore.”

  “What? But you’re flying—”

  “He’s my fiancé.”

  “NOOO! You—!” Piper’s jaw dropped. “I can’t believe you said yes. I can’t believe you lied to me!”

  “I didn’t—”

  Piper raised an eyebrow.

  “Okay, I did, but it’s only because I wanted to tell my mom first in person.”

  “Did you tell your mom why you said yes?”

  “No.”

  “Of course you didn’t—she would’ve forced you to call it off.” Piper met her best friend’s eyes. “You don’t have to be with him just to help your mom, Rye. Let’s try a crowdfunding page. People do them all the time for medical shit.”

  “Those things never work.”

  With a pout, Piper flipped a page, then another, muttering under her breath. “But you’ll marry fucking Josh…yeah, that’ll work!”

  “You can’t stay mad at me…”

  “I will if you actually go through with it. Until that happens, there’s hope.” She ran a finger down the notes. “Did you tell Erika? I bet she’s thrilled.”

  Riley nodded. “Yeah, last night. She kept bugging me with wedding advice. I told her four times to drop it. I need to concentrate on finishing school.”

  “Yeah, you do.” Piper returned to the binder. “So, where were we?”

  Fifty minutes later, empty packets of Nerds, stray Skittles, and class notes littered the floor. Riley couldn’t hold back a large tonsil-flashing yawn as Sia burst from her phone. She didn’t budge from her sofa slouch until she squinted at the lit screen. “Oh, it’s Mom!” With a lunge, she accepted the call. “Hi! What’s up? Pip’s here, going over lecture notes before I hop in the shower.”

  “Hi Piper.”

  Riley turned to her friend. “Mom says hi.” Piper waved in response.

  Maggie cleared her throat. “How was last night?”

  “It was okay. Erika had a blast—”

  Piper leaned in. “RYE LEFT WITH A STRIPPER!”

  “I did NOT! He’s just a friend I saw last night.”

  “Yeah, she saw A LOT of him last night.” Piper laughed. “He stayed over, too.”

  “PIP!” Riley elbowed her.

  “Stayed over?” Maggie’s tone was concerned.

  “Ignore her. She’s gone way over her sugar limit and it’s only ten-thirty. Ben’s roommate was having a party. He sleeps on the couch, so he couldn’t go home—”

  “Unless he wanted to land himself in an orgy!”

  Riley threw an empty box of Pocky at Piper and returned to her phone. “He’s only been in New York for a few weeks and doesn’t know anyone, so what was I supposed to do? Leave him in an all-night diner? And he slept”—Riley turned to Piper—“on my loveseat, fully clothed and alone. Nothing happened.”

  “Rye’s loss is my gain, Maggie.” Piper leaned into the phone again. “I’m gonna ask him out.”

  “Tell Piper I say good for her.”

  “Mom approves.” Riley laughed.

  “I’m glad you had fun with Erika…” Maggie’s voice slipped into a breathy whisper.

  “Mom?” A heaviness squeezed Riley’s chest. “You okay? You weren’t at the ER again, were you?”

  “No, sweetheart, but…my results came through.”

  “Results…” Her eyes widened. “You weren’t supposed to hear back until next week. They said—”

  “Honey, the cancer…it’s no longer responding to treatment. It—it’s grown.”

  This can’t be happening. Riley bowed her head and pulled her knees up to her chest, her body retracting into a ball. No! Third time lucky, remember? Third time lucky! A shaky hand met her mouth. “It’s what…?”

  Piper leaned into her best friend. “What is it?” Her normally loud voice was barely a whisper.

  A lump grew in Riley’s throat, stealing away her ability to answer.

  “They called yesterday afternoon,” said Maggie. “I didn’t want to ruin your night out.”

  “I’m—” The rail of clothing across from Riley began to blur under a veil of tears. “I’m coming over.” She choked out the words.

  “Okay, but be careful. Roads are icy, sweetheart,” said Maggie.

  Riley hung up, collapsing into Piper’s arms. Her tears told her best friend all she needed to know.

  Seventeen

  “Courage is being scared to death but saddling up anyway.”

  – John Wayne

  “Thanks for coming with me.” Riley sniffed as they left the shoveled sidewalk on Arlo Road, their boots sliding through the icy slush on the walkway leading to her mom’s apartment. The ninety-minute journey—a walk, a subway ride, the Staten Island Ferry, a bus, and then more walking—always felt much longer when she was in a hurry. “I’m sorry we took the wrong bus. My mind is…”

  “Don’t apologize.” Shivering under her fluffy coat, Piper’s eyes hopped across the snow-covered grass from one two-story dwelling to another. “I love the ferry. I always feel like Melanie Griffith in Working Girl, but without the crazy shoulder pads and hair sprayed to high heaven.”

  “It’s a classic.” Riley removed her sunglasses, tucking them in her parka’s pocket. The tears had stopped, but her eyes remained swollen and red. “Mom says all her Staten Island friends looked like that in the eighties.” Key in hand, Riley paused on the doorstep, taking a deep breath.

  Piper leaned in. “It’s going to be okay.”

  Riley unlocked the building’s front door and led Piper down the hall to her mom’s place, a one-bedroom apartment at the rear of the small building. She stuck the key in the lock and opened the door, the aroma of freshly baked cookies welcoming them in. Maggie sat on her sofa underneath a fuzzy, mocha-colored throw.

  “Mom…” Riley dropped her backpack, yanked off her boots, and flew across the room, embracing her mother tightly.

  Maggie mouthed, “Thank you,” over Riley’s shoulder.

  Piper nodded. “I’m gonna head to that café down the street. The burrito I ate on the way needs company.”

  Maggie slowly pulled out of the hug but clasped Riley’s hand, refusing to let go. “Piper, are you warm enough? Do you want a hat or mittens?”

  “Aw, thanks, Maggie, but I’m good. Text if you want anything brought back, okay?” Piper slipped through the door, leaving the small apartment quiet apart from the upstairs neighbor’s footfalls and the excited chirps of chickadees fighting over the feeder outside Maggie’s window.

  Riley’s gaze focused on Maggie’s hand wrapped around hers, warm and reassuring. Growing up, Riley always felt safe and content holding her mom’s hand, but today she wanted to repay the debt accrued over her short lifetime, to take away the fear, the uncertainty—for both of them. If only she could hold it together. Don’t cry! Stay strong. A creeping heaviness invaded her chest and climbed up her throat, constricting the release of breaths and threatening to unleash the flood of sobs churning below the surface.

  Maggie swept Riley’s hair off her forehead, looking into her eyes. “Piper’s lovely, so caring and supportive. I don’t worry so much, knowing you have a good friend like her.”

  What? Riley gulped for air. “Mom, stop talking like you’re…” She couldn’t say it; saying it would make it real. Dammit! Don’t cry, Riley, you’ll upset Mom. Be strong. Don’t cry! She bowed her head, her bottom lip surrendering, trembling out of control.

  Maggie squeezed her daughter’s hand. “Oh, sweetheart, I’m not going anywhere.”

  “I want to know the truth, Mom.” Shrugging free of her parka, Riley’s eyelashes fluttered, trying desperately to stifle a further swell of tears. “Don’t protect me—I need to know.”

  “Okay.” Maggie took a deep breath, buying time. “The ovarian cancer has grown from Stage 3 to Stage 4…actually 4B because it’s now inside my liver, but my oncologist says it hasn’t spread to my lungs or bones. Only the
liver’s involved, which is good! It could be far worse. She’s changing my chemo drugs and hopefully that will stop its progress.”

  Looking up, meeting her mom’s eyes, the ache grew in Riley’s throat. How did we get here? “Is it terminal?”

  “No, she said it’s advanced.”

  “But…isn’t that the same thing?”

  Maggie shook her head. “The oncologist explained that advanced and terminal are two different things. Advanced means the cancer can’t be cured—”

  “But if it isn’t curable, how is that not terminal?” The words didn’t make sense. They teased and twisted, a cruel riddle in Riley’s mind…

  The cancer can’t be cured.

  Mom can’t be cured.

  Riley burst into breath-stealing sobs.

  “Oh, honey.” Maggie wrapped her arm around her daughter and pulled a tissue from the box on the coffee table. Riley accepted it without hesitation. “I know it’s confusing, but listen, it’s not terminal. Advanced means the cancer won’t go away, but I can live with it—lots of women do. I’ll have more chemo, maybe enroll in a clinical trial for a new drug, and if the tumor gets smaller, surgery could be an option.”

  “But it could get larger.” Wiping her nose, Riley’s voice cracked behind the tissue. “Or spread more.”

  “It could, but here’s how I’m looking at it. I have three scenarios: one, it could grow and spread; two, it stays the same; or three, it shrinks. Two out of three ain’t bad! And I’m going to fight for those odds.”

  “But it could get worse at any moment. It’s…lying in wait.”

  “You know I’ve never been a fan of inspirational quotes, but in this case, they’re actually right. ‘Tomorrow is never promised to anyone.’ Soak up every moment, be generous with your love, and be thankful for those who love us back—rules we should all follow, right?”

  “Yeah, I guess.” Riley rolled her damp tissue into a ball and paused for a moment, stuttering breaths playing catch-up, delaying what she wanted to ask next. “So…when is cancer terminal?”

  “When there’s nothing more the doctors can do. When drugs and surgery can’t halt the cancer, they resort to palliative care—pain relief, basically. They keep the patient as comfortable as possible until…it’s time.” Maggie’s voice broke.

  She’s scared. She’s trying so hard to hide it. Riley hugged her mom, but Maggie’s sharp collarbone jabbed her throat. Her mother’s tender softness, a comfort since childhood, was long gone, a souvenir of her many chemo treatments. I can’t lose her…I just can’t.

  Tears slid down Maggie’s cheeks, but she swept them away as quickly as they fell. She swallowed and took a deep breath, a quivery smile taking over her face, not that Riley could see it. A loving hand caressed her daughter’s hair. “Hey, listen to me. Lots of people live for years with incurable cancer. We have to remain positive, keep moving forward. The new treatment might stop the cancer from getting bigger—it might even shrink it.”

  “Might shrink it? No, no, it WILL shrink it. It has to.” Riley pulled back. “Third time lucky.”

  “Third time lucky.” Maggie softly smiled. “And the doctor can give me painkillers for any discomfort.”

  “But you’re already on painkillers…”

  “They’ll just increase the dosage.”

  “But what if we can’t pay for it? The insurance copays…”

  “Don’t worry about that right now. First things first. I’ll get better, then I’ll deal with the debt once I’m back at work.” A slight sigh escaped Maggie’s lips.

  She looks so tired. How will she get through this? Riley cleared her throat. “Mom—”

  “Riley, I’ve come this far, and I’m not giving up. For one thing, there’s a wedding next year.” Maggie squeezed Riley’s hand. “I’m not kidding myself. I know it’s going to be hard, but life’s boring without a challenge, right?”

  She says that like she’s about to learn Chinese or take up triathlons. Riley nodded. I can’t show how scared I am. I can’t pull her down. I have to work harder to pretend everything is fine.

  “The new chemo cycle starts in four days, so until then, I’m doing whatever I want, which means eating ice cream, lazing in PJs, and binge-watching The Crown and Lairds and Liars. I could listen to their accents all day. I’d love to visit Britain and see everything for real.”

  “England and Scotland?” Be positive, Riley! “We’ll go next year when you’re feeling better! See where they film Lairds, visit the Queen, have fish ’n’ chips with deep fried Mars bars…go see puffins!” Riley fell easily into an old game Maggie had introduced when she was little and feeling down, discussing the perfect—albeit imaginary—getaway: the places they’d go, what they would see, what they would eat. Anemic finances meant none of these trips had ever happened. Riley always hoped the day would come when the two of them boarded a flight to Europe, credit cards be damned—and today she felt it more than ever before. “We could channel Harry Potter and visit Platform 9 ¾ at King’s Cross station, see the crown jewels, and pose with Big Ben.” Ben… Her smile stretched a little farther.

  “So many castles, so little time.” Maggie laughed. “Will Josh come too?”

  “No!” The smile slipped from Riley’s face. “Girls only, right?”

  Maggie got up from the couch.

  “Where are you going?”

  “I read that goals are more likely to be met if you visualize them every day.” Maggie tore the ‘Saturday, April 7’ paper square from her small page-a-day calendar beside the telephone. She flipped the paper over, writing ‘Hope for Britain 2019’ in her elegant penmanship. Maggie’s handwriting belonged in another era, all sophisticated swirls and delicate curves, drawing compliments from everyone who saw it. She pinned the paper underneath a purple and white NYU magnet she proudly kept on her fridge. “Done!” Her fingers lingered, tracing photos of Riley atop a large boulder in Central Park and on the Santa Monica pier in California. “You should be heading to the airport soon, honey,” she said quietly. “Josh’s big game—”

  “I’m not going anywhere.” Riley scratched her unwashed hair. “I’ll text him after. He’ll understand.”

  Maggie smiled softly at the photos and looked over her shoulder. “Should we text Piper? Get her back here for cookies and ice cream?”

  “Definitely.” Riley pulled her phone from her parka.

  “Great! I’ll get the bowls ready.” Maggie disappeared behind the kitchen wall, taking Riley’s grin with her.

  Eighteen

  Sunday, Monday, Tuesday, and…Wednesday—and nothing from Riley. Ben had sent two texts—How R U? and How was the game?—over the past four days but both messages had gone unanswered, and she still hadn’t accepted his Facebook friend request. Popping a chunk of a black-and-white cookie—a New York City staple—into his mouth, he stopped in the shade of an abandoned doorway on MacDougal Street, shoved up the long sleeves of his blue t-shirt, and slowly typed out another text.

  Got 2 job leads 2day. Wish me luck.

  Wiping perspiration from his forehead, he continued on his way, greeting the unseasonably hot April day with an optimistic grin. She’ll be chuffed for me. He dawdled through Greenwich Village, glancing down at his phone every few blocks, but his latest message ended up like the others: ignored and relegated to text purgatory. His smile slowly evaporated as a nagging hollowness wrenched his gut. She owes you nothing, Ben. Why would she answer you right away—if at all? You’re setting yourself up for disappointment like every other time—you know that, right? FUCK! He took a deep breath. But…Riley’s different…

  Careening around strolling tourists, Ben wanted answers, refusing to believe he and Riley hadn’t forged a friendly connection, refusing to believe she was ghosting him, that he wasn’t someone she cared about even a tiny bit. Maybe something happened? Maybe her Josh bloke got injured? Head down, forcing pedestrians to swerve around him, he typed slowly, but his spelling mistakes riddled the Google search bar. He jabbed the
delete key, his frustration growing with each erased letter. Several tries later, ‘ice hokcey championship’, ‘winner’, and ‘Josh’ filled the bar. He hit go and slammed face-first into a rock-hard shoulder.

  Shit! Ben spun 180 degrees on impact and his phone flew from his hand, clattering on the pavement. He winced, clutching his nose. “Fuuuuuccck!”

  His victim, who could have passed for an Olympic weight lifter, didn’t budge an inch, and neither did the steel dolly he was pushing, stacked high with heavy boxes of beer destined for the pizzeria behind them. Ear-splitting rap leaked from his massive headphones. The mountain of a man glared at Ben, clearly annoyed.

  SHIT! This stonking bloke could snap me in half. “Sorry, mate. My fault…wasn’t looking where I was…” Eyes watering, Ben’s hand dropped from his nose. A streak of bright red blood coated his fingers, derailing his apology and leaving him speechless, shuffling backward in a daze.

  “Hey!” The delivery guy let go of the dolly and lunged, grabbing a fistful of Ben’s t-shirt, yanking him too close for comfort.

  Ben flinched, lifting his hands to protect his face. “I’m sorry, okay?!” Fucking hell, he’s gonna hit me! He held his breath and squinted, dipping his shoulder and twisting away so his throbbing nose was almost out of reach. He did a double take over his shoulder, his jaw falling slack. Only a few inches behind him, two metal hatch doors reached skyward, exposing a square hole in the sidewalk and a bone-breaking drop. Steep cement stairs led downward to the restaurant’s storage cellar, cluttered with sealed boxes and bins of shattered glass bottles. Oh…my God!

  “Jeezus guy, watch where ya walkin’!” The man’s Bronx accent fought with Drake, still spilling from his headphones. He swept Ben to a safe corner of sidewalk and released his shirt, which was now stretched at the neck and speckled with red droplets.

  Ben let a breath go and a searing jolt of pain exploded through his nose. Jesus! His watery eyes surveyed the drop zone. “Hey, thanks, mate. You saved me—”

  “Tourists!” With a hairy wrist, the hulk mopped sweat from his unibrow and shook his head, seeking agreement from the cluster of people stopping to gawk. “This time, a broken beak. Next time, a broken neck—or worse, ya hands.” He snorted, playing to his audience. “How the hell would ya walk and text then, huh?” Onlookers, including several tall, willowy women laughed, earning a crooked smile from Ben’s sweaty guardian angel.