Until The Last Star Fades

by Jacquelyn Middleton

  Everyone’s a comedian. Cheeks burning red, Ben dabbed his bleeding nose with the back of his hand. “Cheers, mate.” As if I didn’t already feel like a total pillock.

  “No sweat.” Show over, the guy leaned on the dolly’s handles and wheeled its cargo closer to the opening in the sidewalk.

  Two attractive twenty-something women carrying modeling portfolios stepped forward, one handing Ben his phone and several tissues. “Aw! Poor you, are you okay?”

  Would you two fancy nursing me back to health? A slight smile fought through his pain. “Hi.”

  “Eww, it’s swelling!” The woman winced to her equally gorgeous friend. “A doctor might need to reset it. There’s a hospital about fifteen—”

  Hospital? He made a sour face. “No, it’s fine, really. Cheers for the tissues.” He plunged his nose into the Kleenex and escaped their scrutiny, rushing past Mediterranean and vegan restaurants toward Bleecker Street. Turning the corner, he headed east, his nose throbbing harder with each quickened step and pound of his heart. He carefully steered clear of the various metal hatches—open or closed—along the gum-stained sidewalk.

  A few blocks later, an oasis in the April heat stood proud on a corner—The Red Lion pub. Ben slipped inside, craving a beer, air conditioning, and somewhere to clean up. He immediately felt at home. His favorite soccer team, Tottenham Hotspur, was playing Manchester United on the numerous flat screens, and a red telephone box stood guard in the corner. Familiar names: Boddingtons, Newcastle Brown Ale, Strongbow—imported beers and ciders—called out from a framed board behind the bar. He removed the stained tissue from his nose and fled to the men’s room, its mirror confirming what he’d suspected—he looked a bloody mess. Washing away the dried blood, he prayed his swollen nose wasn’t broken. Brilliant. How’s this going to look at job interviews?

  Back at the bar, he ordered a Smithwick’s and scowled at his shattered phone. New cracks joined old fractures zigzagging across its screen. He carefully opened the browser and selected the top search result, still waiting post-crash.

  NCAA Men’s Ice Hockey Final: North Dakota Fighting Hawks 3, Boston University 2. Winning goal scorer, Josh King…

  Her fella wasn’t hurt; he was the hero.

  The rest of the article began to dissolve into a jumble of half-formed letters, so Ben abandoned it, selecting the images tab instead. I bet Riley stayed in Saint Paul longer to celebrate. Makes sense.

  Photos of the players celebrating on and off the ice slid underneath Ben’s fingers as he searched for Riley in the crowd or by Josh’s side. Nope. He opened a YouTube video of the previous day’s standing-room-only homecoming in their college rink. Riley’s fiancé, all muscle and brimming with confidence, wearing the team’s distinctive Kelly green and white hockey jersey, was front and center—the team captain, the game-winning goal scorer, adored by everyone. He took to the microphone and made a speech like he was born for it, thanking the coaches, team staff, and “the best fans in college hockey, as well as our families, who’ve always been there to drive us to practice at the crack of dawn. This celebration is for you, too!” Cheers rose from the crowd and the UND band’s trumpets, tubas, and trombones erupted into an annoying tune Ben didn’t recognize.

  Mystery over, then. This is why she didn’t text back. She has HIM. What could you offer her? His stomach pinched. You’re kidding yourself if you think she’d ever be interested in you in that way, Fagan. Josh is somebody. You? Nobody.

  He took a long swig of beer and stared at the football match on the screen, the ache in his nose morphing into a full-on headache. His phone buzzed on the bar—a text from Piper.

  Hey! Wanna go out Friday night?

  Nineteen

  Riley withdrew from the world, choosing to stay with her mom. She called in sick to Sephora and her BBC internship, temporarily vanishing from campus. Her swimsuit remained in her backpack, balled up and ignored, and unread notifications congregated in her social media accounts. More important tasks beckoned, like running errands to the pharmacy and bank, plus accompanying Maggie to her first revamped chemotherapy treatment. It hadn’t gone well.

  Maggie returned home more nauseous than usual, could barely eat, and was tormented by an angry red rash that had sprung up across her abdomen and back. Stoic as ever, she downplayed her discomfort and exhaustion, telling her daughter in no uncertain terms that with only a month left until graduation, she was jeopardizing her degree and she should “get her ass back to the East Village, pronto,” but Riley wouldn’t listen. The thought of returning to school, hoping no one would find her crumpled in the corner of a restroom stall crying her heart out, made her sick to her stomach. She needed to be by Maggie’s side, making things easier any way she could. While her mom napped, she did laundry, cleaned the apartment, and prepared meals, trying to keep her hands and mind busy. Sitting still with nothing to do let the unthinkable creep into her thoughts, stoking the cold fear that grew inside her. But, once her mom was awake, Smiley Riley was back in action, boosting spirits and building a wall around her depression so no one, especially her mom, would be the wiser. Maggie knew, though. Moms like Maggie always did.

  The only person Riley spoke to regularly was Piper, whispering underneath a blanket on the couch while Maggie slept. Sometimes after their chats, Riley would bawl in the shower or muffle her cries with a pillow, but later, puffy eyes and a swollen nose betrayed her secret. Messages and texts—including an angry email from Riley’s landlord demanding rent—clogged her screen, remaining unanswered until Piper stepped in, dealing with Riley’s super, and keeping Casey and Erika in the loop, allowing her best friend to focus on her mom.

  Reaching her fiancé, however, had proved nearly impossible since North Dakota won the NCAA final the same day Maggie’s news broke. Josh had sent her a text immediately following their victory and Riley spoke to him briefly, but she barely had three minutes with him before the media relations director whisked him away for the post-game press conference. A text followed the next day.

  Sorry about yesterday, babe. They’ve got us booked for interviews and meet and greets, it’s crazy! I’m sorry I can’t fly home to be with you right now.

  And that was it. Since that message—six days ago—Riley’s calls, FaceTime attempts, and texts went unanswered by the team captain. His social media feeds, on the other hand, were updated with photos of ecstatic teammates sprawled on the ice with the NCAA trophy, images from the standing-room-only celebration on their home rink, and party shots—lots of boozy party pix, bleary-eyed and posing with people she didn’t recognize. She knew the big win would come with unavoidable obligations this week, but why hadn’t he spared a few minutes to get in touch?

  Fuck it. She stopped folding towels in Maggie’s living room and texted him.

  I’ve changed my mind.

  Josh replied within seconds.

  What?

  Riley shook her head. Well, THAT got his attention. She sent a FaceTime request. It barely beeped before her fiancé answered, neatly dressed in a suit, Kelly green tie and a white shirt, the collar of which stood out against a purple bruise on the side of his neck. Ouch! Male voices joked in the background, but Josh ignored them, staring into the screen.

  “Riley, what’s going on?”

  “You tell me.” She squinted. “What happened to your neck?”

  “I got whacked with a high stick on Saturday—”

  “Josh got payback, though!” A deep voice, accompanied by a face Riley recognized—a freshman teammate—interrupted. “Fucking legend! Scored the winner while that asshole stewed in the box! Won us the whole freakin’ thing!”

  “Yeah, well…” Josh winced, scratching his playoff beard. “Give me a minute, bro.” He shifted his phone so the camera captured him from the chest up as he started walking. “Rye—”

  “KINGY!” Several teammates hollered as he rushed passed. Riley couldn’t tell where they were. The pot lights, ambient music, and Josh’s clothes suggested they weren’t on c
ampus. He turned a corner, entering somewhere quiet. His furrowed brows and the space’s shadowy light made him look majorly pissed off.

  “You’ve changed your mind?”

  “Yeah, I think we should get married this year.”

  He slumped against a wall covered in golden wallpaper, his face softening into a grin. “Fuuck, you had me! I thought you were calling it off!” He laughed. “Can’t wait to become Mrs. King, huh? Wife of a future NHL star? Yeah baby, lock me down—but why the change? Not that I’m complaining.”

  “It has to be this year because I don’t—” Her breath hitched as the words got stuck in her throat. “I don’t know if—” Tears stung her eyes. “I can’t get married without Mom there.”

  “Oh, of course. Of course, baby, she’ll be there. Tell you what, pick any date you want—as long it’s not in early September when rookie training camp starts. When I’m home next month, we’ll buy your ring and start planning, ’kay?”

  Riley forced a deep breath into her lungs. “The ring, Josh…I can’t wear something worth thousands when my mom can’t afford her treatments.” After the proposal, Josh had said he’d help with Maggie’s bills, but Riley wanted confirmation. Say it again. It needs to be at the forefront of your mind. “I—I’d rather use the money to help her.” She exhaled, waiting for the fallout.

  “O-kay…” He paused. “But I still want you to have a nice ring—” A burst of voices rose off camera, drawing Josh’s gaze. “Don’t worry. I’ll help with her bills.”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah.” His eyes returned to her.

  She couldn’t hold it in any longer. All the frustration, the fear—the dread of what her future might look like—bubbled up into a chest-heaving flood of uncontrollable tears. Worried Maggie might hear, Riley grabbed a freshly laundered towel and suffocated her sobs.

  “Rye?” Josh looked pained. “Babe, please don’t cry. Things will work out.” He checked his watch. “Uh, shit.” He toyed with his tie and glanced away, torn. “I have to go…”

  “Where?” Riley lowered the towel and wiped her nose with her hand.

  “An interview with Sports Illustrated.” He tugged the knot of his tie. “But I’ll stay if you want me to. The guys can do it without me.”

  His selfless words warmed Riley’s pounding heart, but her belief in them quickly dissolved. Something lurked in his eyes. Josh had one of those faces; if you knew him well, you could read it instantly. He’s disappointed. Can I blame him? It wasn’t fair to hold him back from the rewards of his success. “No, I want you to go. You earned this, Josh. I’ll be fine. I shouldn’t be crying with Mom in the next room, anyway.”

  “You sure?”

  She nodded and plastered on a smile. “Enjoy Sports Illustrated. You’ll be great. I’m proud of you.”

  “Thanks, babe. I’m really sorry I can’t be there, just too many commitments.”

  “I know.”

  Josh blew her a kiss and Riley tapped the disconnect button.

  “Riley?” Maggie’s voice entered the room a few seconds before she did.

  “Hey, Josh says hi.” She left her phone on the coffee table. “How you feeling? Are you hungry? I can make soup.”

  “I feel rested, not so itchy. Soup would be amazing.”

  Riley smiled and leapt up from the sofa, feeling hopeful for the first time in days.

  Twenty

  Three days later

  “Finally, bare legs!” Piper’s huge oval sunglasses made her look permanently surprised. She perched on the steps of the fountain in Washington Square Park, smoothing her short skirt. “No more tights. Hello, spring!”

  Casey squirted a blob of gel sanitizer into his hand and rubbed it in thoroughly before raising his grande iced coffee to his lips. “Spring? As if.” He slurped the complex concoction featuring thirteen pumps sugar-free vanilla, fifteen pumps hazelnut, a heap of extra ice, twelve Splenda, and an inch of caramel drizzle. The name printed out on his cup, courtesy of the eye-rolling baristas, read ‘Crazy’ instead of ‘Casey’. “We jumped straight to summer.”

  Piper reached across his lap, waving an open box of Insomnia cookies in front of Riley. “I’m happy spring’s back but even happier you’re back—because that means Maggie’s feeling more like her old self.”

  “She is, but…” Riley squeezed her phone. “I hate not being there. What if she needs me?”

  “If she does, you go.” Piper’s eyebrows rose above her sunglasses. “But sitting around her apartment when she’s feeling stronger and graduation’s only weeks away helps no one. I bet she kicked your ass this morning, am I right?”

  Riley sighed.

  “Don’t feel guilty. You need to take care of yourself, too.” Piper shook the cookie box. “C’mon, eat! I didn’t buy them just to look at.”

  Riley yawned and chose a snickerdoodle cookie. “I missed these.”

  “Cookies are life—fact.” Piper nodded.

  Casey pointed to the box. “You sanitized your hands before rooting around in there, right?”

  “No, I picked a booger and then fingered each and every one.” Piper snatched it away, but Casey’s reach earned him a chocolate chunk cookie anyway.

  “Our Monday afternoon ritual isn’t the same if you’re AWOL, Rye.” Casey leaned in, a buttery popcorn smell from his part-time job at a cinema lingering in his light jacket. His eyes chased the fountain’s waterworks as they leapt into the cloudless sky. “Thank God you’re back. Listening to Paisley here, waffling on about her latest sexual misadventure, was detrimental to my GPA.”

  “I heard that!” Piper scooted a smidge to her left, setting the box down between her and Casey. “I have needs, so sue me.”

  “And I’m happy you’re fulfilling them.” Cookie in hand, Casey shook his head. “I just don’t need all the gory details—”

  “Did you ask Ben out?” Riley’s question got lost in the verbal volleys to her left.

  “Case, I’m not going to apologize because I enjoy a good fuck,” said Piper.

  “You and Ben—?” Riley’s eyes widened.

  “They did.” Casey snapped his cookie in half.

  “Really?” Riley stiffened, her tone sharp.

  “NO! Ben and I went out! We didn’t have sex—Ben’s a gentleman,” said Piper. “We had a date Friday night. Sorry I didn’t tell you, Rye.”

  Three days ago, and I’m only hearing about it now?

  Piper lifted her sunglasses, nudging them into her hair. “It seemed like something that could wait, you know? After we talked about your mom and what you missed at school each day, you sounded exhausted.”

  Riley slowly nodded. Piper wasn’t being secretive; she was being considerate as always. “How’d it go?”

  “Okay, but poor Ben looked awful. Swollen nose, two black eyes—”

  “W-What?!” Riley jerked forward. “What happened?”

  “Broke his nose.” Casey winced. “Collided with some bloke on the street, apparently.”

  “Yeah, two days before our date.” Piper nodded. “The timing couldn’t have sucked more. He had an interview for a job at a bakery and an audition today…”

  Shit. Right. He texted me last week—the day of Mom’s chemo. Too much was going on to respond.

  “Singing on Broadway.”

  A knot tightened in Riley’s stomach. “Singing? That’s amazing.” You would’ve known the news first if you had returned his text.

  “I don’t know if he got either job, though.” Piper sighed, twirling a short piece of hair around a finger. “If he didn’t, maybe he’s too embarrassed to say anything, poor guy.”

  Piper seems interested…maybe Ben is too?

  “His bruises might’ve turned them off. He looked rough—not that that ever stopped me!” Piper licked her lips. “I told him if those jobs didn’t work out, he should join me at Sprinkles. I said it as a joke, not thinking he’d be interested, but he asked me questions about cupcake recipes and everything. Apparently, he baked wit
h his mum when he was little! Super cute.”

  “Where’d you guys go?” Riley bit her cookie.

  “That mac ’n’ cheese place on First. He ate a huge portion of their four-cheese mac and three brownies.” Piper giggled. “He stole a spoon, too. I think Ben’s a bit of a klepto!”

  “Just your type, Pip,” said Casey.

  She laughed. “Hey, I haven’t shoplifted since freshman year! So, anyway—we went for a walk. It was so warm, everyone was out. Ben was like a bottomless pit, though, still hungry, so I dragged him to that cookie dough shop on LaGuardia.”

  Casey sipped his coffee. “I love that place, but it always has a humongous line.”

  “Yeah, it was crazy, so we had lots of time to talk Scotland, but for someone born there, he knows jack shit. Said he left as a six-year-old and never went back.” Piper dug in the box, selecting a sugar cookie. “I mean, I left two weeks after I was born, but at least I’ve visited a bunch of times. He wanted to know all about my background, so I gave him the world tour. He didn’t nod off into his chocolate milkshake or anything, so—yay me!”

  “How many people can say they’ve lived in Edinburgh, Paris, Tokyo, Toronto, Chicago, and New York by the age of twenty-three? Of course it’s interesting,” said Riley. “You’re interesting.”

  Piper chewed her cookie. “I guess being a diplomat’s brat makes for good date conversation. Ben told me a bit about England. He moved a few times and lived in Windsor.”

  “Hmm!” Casey raised an eyebrow. “Windsor is home to the most millionaires in Britain, including the Queen when she’s in residence at Windsor Castle.”

  “Why Google when you have Brit Twit?” Piper groaned.