Until The Last Star Fades

by Jacquelyn Middleton

  “Wow, I had no idea Ben had royal neighbors,” said Riley.

  “Is he a toff?” Casey set his coffee down between his Harry Styles-influenced Chelsea boots.

  “Toff?” asked Riley.

  “Rich Brit. Privileged upper class.”

  Piper chuckled. “Doubt it. He wasn’t flashing a platinum card. Our date was cheap and cheerful.”

  “I think he’s as broke as I am.” Riley’s phone lit up, sending her heart surging into her throat. Mom? A hockey GIF from Josh filled the screen. Ahh, thank God.

  Casey chose another cookie. “I guess he’s never met the Queen, then. Stolen her silver teaspoons, maybe…”

  “Ben knows someone even better.” Piper tilted her freckly nose into the bright sun. “Mark Keegan.”

  “Bollocks, he does!” Casey snapped the cookie in half.

  “He does! Ben said Mark looked out for him at drama school, made sure he wasn’t homesick, helped him learn lines. Can you imagine? Sweet, huh?”

  “Yeah.” Riley swallowed, trying to dampen the twinge in her chest. She was happy Piper was spending time with Ben but felt left out, hearing about his past secondhand. Why didn’t he open up about this stuff to me?

  “He hasn’t spoken to Mark in a while, though. Ben called him last fall, but his number had changed,” said Piper.

  “Well, that’s convenient.” Casey snorted. “Knows him, my ass.”

  Piper rolled her eyes and continued. “Ben said they both auditioned for the role of Callum in Lairds and Liars, but he lost out because Mark’s Scottish accent was better. That’s crazy—born in Scotland and you lose to an Irishman.”

  “Or maybe Ben’s a shit actor.”

  “Casey!” Riley glared. “Maybe Mark just had the look they wanted.”

  “Yeah, listen to the future casting director!” said Piper. “Ben told me about beating Mark for a voiceover job. It was a kids show—with puppets! I nearly died! Ben’s puppet-friendly! That was all I needed—”

  “Bloody hell!” Casey laughed. “You didn’t make him watch your YouTube channel on your date, did you? I thought you liked this guy. No wonder you didn’t get laid.”

  “If a guy—or girl—doesn’t get me or my love of puppets, then good riddance. I’m going to become THE go-to person for children’s television in LA one day, and my future partner will be supportive.” Piper sniffed. “My puppet channel has over twenty thousand subscribers, so I’m doing something right.”

  “Did you show him?” asked Riley.

  Piper beamed. “He complimented my storytelling and said my puppets looked like Muppets! That’s the ultimate compliment.”

  “Your internship last summer at the LA workshop paid off in more ways than one,” said Riley.

  “I know, right!” Piper brushed crumbs from her skirt. “Intern now, CEO in ten years. I told Ben that and he said ‘I believe it!’ Aw, Benjamuffin! He’s such a cutie.”

  “Benjamuffin?” Casey’s face turned sour.

  What’s with the Benjamuffin? “He’s definitely cute.” A tight smile crossed Riley’s face. Piper’s gushing about Ben was stoking that pang in her chest again. She squinted into the fountain. “When are you going out again?”

  “Oh, we’re not. Ben’s not into me, and you know—vice versa.”

  “What?” Riley’s jaw relaxed. “Why?”

  “Knew it.” Casey nodded. “Piper plus puppets equals total boner killer—”

  “It has nothing to do with my puppets. We had zero spark. There was no flirting, no kiss good-bye or hug. I dunno, maybe he’s asexual? Or a germophobe?” She gave Casey side-eye. “It was like he was channeling you, C-3PO.”

  “Steady on!”

  “He’s totally yum, but he just doesn’t do it for me,” Piper sighed. “Unlike a certain woman with a gorgeous wild Afro…”

  Riley leaned forward. “That girl at Peet’s?”

  Piper’s face lit up. “Yeah! She always does a cool design in my latte. Remember the cat, Casey?”

  He nodded. “Well, do the opposite of what I’d do then.”

  “What? Buy a regular coffee?”

  “No. Ask her out.” Casey was dead serious.

  “I think she goes to Tisch,” said Riley. “I overheard her say she’s a dance major.”

  “Ooh, bendy, Pip.” Casey raised an eyebrow. “Bet she’s into Twister bedsheets.”

  Piper nodded. “A girl’s gotta have some fun.”

  “Amen to that.” Riley woke up her phone—still no messages from Maggie.

  “The same could be said for the future Mrs. King.” Casey elbowed Riley. “Before you vanish into the backwoods of Minnesota as Josh’s child bride, apparently…”

  Her heart dipped like a lead balloon. Minnesota. She lowered her phone to her lap. “Aw, Case, I was going to tell you—”

  “Hey, it’s okay, really, I’m just winding you up. You’ve been busy. I didn’t mind hearing it from Pip.” Casey protectively wrapped his arm over Riley’s shoulder. “What you’re doing for your mom is…” He took in a deep breath. “I just wish you didn’t have to marry Josh to do it.”

  A sour taste rose in Riley’s throat.

  “It’s a shame you won’t be living the west coast life with Pip Pip Hooray here…” Casey squeezed Riley’s shoulder and let go. “You know, it’s not too late to bail.”

  “Guys—”

  “Just…think about it,” said Casey. “Josh will be off, pretending to be the new Grootzky—”

  “It’s Gretzky.”

  “Whatever.” Casey huffed. “Josh will be leaving you alone in the middle of nowheresville with only deer and pine cones to keep you company. What do they do for fun out there? Do they even have THX in their movie theaters?”

  “Saint Paul is a city, Case—Minnesota’s capital.” Riley briefly closed her eyes. “Look, I know you guys think this is some submissive move, but I’m not in the back seat. I’m the one driving this thing, being proactive about helping Mom. I’m not a victim. This is my choice.”

  Shaking his head, Casey reached for his coffee. “But do you have to marry him—”

  “I do!” Her sharp tone drew stares from two stroller-pushing nannies. A tightness squeezed her chest. Lower your voice, Riley. “Things…things are so much worse…”

  Casey paused mid-sip. “Worse? How?”

  “Where do I start?” She sighed. “The scans, surgeries, insurance premiums, chemo and radiation treatments, drugs, transfusions, ER visits, transportation costs—they haven’t taken a bite out of her savings, they’ve devoured every scrap. We had to sell her car, most of her furniture—where does it fucking end?”

  “Aw, Rye.” Piper leaned in. “I thought her place looked kinda empty.”

  “And she’s one late payment away from losing her apartment. I can’t stand by and watch her become homeless. I had to do something.”

  Casey squeezed his cup. “That’s so wrong. Cancer patients have enough to worry about—they shouldn’t end up bankrupt as well.”

  “Mom can’t even declare bankruptcy—she can’t afford the filing fees.” Riley’s breath hitched. “And I feel so…guilty…”

  “Why?” Casey squinted.

  “A year and a half ago, when she got cancer for the second time…” She diverted her eyes to her phone, sitting in her lap. “I’ve never told you, but I was going to withdraw from NYU.”

  “Seriously?” “What?” Piper and Casey’s words tripped over each other.

  Riley blew out her lips. “I’ve always paid my rent and expenses, and I contribute a bit toward fees, but even with my scholarship and loans, it’s not enough. Mom pays what they don’t cover, but with no steady income… I couldn’t have her choosing to pay for college over heating her apartment or eating, so I decided to quit.”

  “Wow.” Casey’s jaw dropped.

  “That didn’t go down well. She tore up the withdrawal forms and said ‘over my dead body.’ She laid down the law and made a morbid joke.” Riley bowed her head.
r />   “Maggie’s such a badass!” Piper smirked.

  “She said savings were put aside for my college education and she’d never let her cancer stop me from getting a degree, but now she’s sick again and I keep thinking, if I had just done it…if I wasn’t here, I know she wouldn’t be in debt.”

  Casey sighed. “And you’re fixing that by marrying PuckHead.”

  “He gets what he wants…and I do, too.”

  “Ahh, true love? Who needs it! It’s overrated, anyway,” said Casey, bumping her shoulder.

  “I don’t think it’s overrated.” Riley looked weary. “And I do care about Josh. I did love him…once. Maybe I will again—” Her phone glowed with a text from Erika.

  Rye! Check out this link for wedding invites—

  She scoffed and turned her phone over.

  “Ugh, let’s hope not. Save your heart for someone who’s worthy of it.” Casey locked eyes with Piper. “Look, promise me once your mom’s fine, you’ll divorce Josh’s ass.”

  Piper leaned forward. “Rye, we get it. You’re doing what you think is best for your mom. We’ll support whatever you decide to do, but make me a promise, too?”

  “You guys and your promises.” Riley smiled. “What? I use your mom as the divorce lawyer?”

  Piper pointed at Riley’s phone. “Text Ben.”

  “Why?” Casey scrunched up his face.

  “I think he could help, you know, get your mind off things,” said Piper. “He’s not at Tisch and he doesn’t know anything about Maggie. He’s funny and he’ll make you smile—God knows you need that kind of escape right now. Plus, he’s basically alone here…I’m sure he’d like to hear from you.”

  A chance to escape. A flutter tickled the heaviness in her chest. “Okay. Maybe.”

  Piper giggled. “He wore Christmas pudding socks on our date. How cute is that?”

  Casey raised his eyebrows.

  What’s a Christmas pudding? Don’t ask Case. He won’t shut up.

  The three friends sat quietly for a moment, watching the fountain rise and fall, soundtracked by the ‘oohs’ of overheated tourists and giggly children.

  “Oh, shit!” Piper rose quickly, discarding the empty cookie box on the fountain’s edge. “I have my Pitching Stories lecture in five. I gotta run. What do you guys have?”

  “Cinematography for Advanced Productions. My prof wants to see my doc.” Casey snapped up the empty cardboard box.

  “Library for me.” Riley picked up her backpack. “Gotta catch up on my notes.”

  Piper swiped gloss over her lips then pulled Riley into a hug. “Don’t pull an all-nighter, okay? Text me before ten; I’ll bring you a bagel.”

  “Thanks, but I’ll have escaped by then.” Riley waved as she headed to the southeast corner of Washington Square Park and Bobst Library.

  Twenty-One

  9:22 P.M. stared back at Riley from the upper right corner of her laptop screen. She could either power through for another two hours, risking burnout, or follow Piper’s advice and text Ben.

  “I’m sure he’d like to hear from you.”

  She picked up her phone. But would he? I ghosted him—not on purpose, but still. She paused, taking a deep breath. Responsible Riley, reporting for duty. She began typing.

  Have you eaten?

  An answer popped onto her screen within a minute.

  Yes sweetheart. Have you?

  Moms never change.

  Yep, a salad. Just finishing at library. Heading home soon. x

  Riley fibbed. The only thing she had eaten besides the cookies with Piper and Casey was an apple and some leftover heart-shaped Valentine’s candy. Maggie would worry if she knew her daughter was skipping meals. Sometimes a little white lie was the only option.

  Text me when you get home. Love you. x

  So, her mom was doing okay…no need to rush to Staten Island tonight. Her narrative television project was coming along nicely… She chewed the end of her pencil. Fuck it. No time like the present to grovel. She returned to her phone.

  Hey. I’m sorry for being a shitty friend.

  Twenty-seven minutes and three pages of studio blocking notes later, her phone shined bright.

  Riles!!!! Her name and the abundance of exclamation marks were followed by an emoji, the beaming face with smiling eyes.

  Riley grinned back. Ben was alive and well—somewhere—and if there ever was an emoji that captured his smiling half-crescent eyes, that one was it. She dashed off a response.

  Sorry I didn’t answer last week. Busy = no excuse. How are you?

  Riley returned to her project, figuring out where the studio cameras should go. A few minutes passed.

  Apolgy accepted. The clapping hands emoji came next, forming a sentence with 4 Josh. Big win!! Fun?

  Her thumbs hovered over her phone. Piper hadn’t said a word to Ben about her mom, so what to say about her disappearing act…anything? She hated telling people about her mom’s cancer. It wasn’t something she could easily drop into conversation. ‘Yeah, I’d love to hang out, and oh, by the way, my mom has cancer—for the third time.’ The fact that Maggie had been sick more than once didn’t make the ‘cancer talk’ any easier. If anything, it had become harder.

  Luckily, some people listened and offered sympathy or support at the first drop of the C-bomb, people like Piper and Casey. Neither one had gone through a serious illness with a parent—neither one knew anyone with cancer, but Riley didn’t have to draw a picture of her fear or anger for them; they intuitively knew. Gestures both little and large—hugs, notes taken in class, a meal brought to her door, the willingness to listen 24/7—proved they got it.

  But, some people didn’t get it, and Riley always knew what was coming. It was just a matter of assigning jerseys for their respective teams.

  The Downloaders: Friends who would ask personal questions she didn’t feel comfortable answering. Boundaries, people!

  The Bubble-Wrappers: Friends who would douse her with pity, treating her differently, like a delicate glass ornament about to shatter at any moment. I don’t have to be kept away from your party, you know. I won’t burst into tears over the guac.

  The Fakers: Friends who would profess they understood, but their words and actions proved otherwise. Erika fit in here, going off on oblivious tangents about her mom interfering with wedding planning. At least her mom will BE at her wedding.

  The Grim Reapers: A small percentage, but some ‘friends’ would tell stories about so-and-so who fought cancer, had chemotherapy, and then died. Seriously, how does that make me feel better?

  The Ghosters: The worst of all. Friends Riley thought were reliable and empathetic who would hear the news and—poof!—vanish.

  The most recent ghosting happened the previous November. A friend of Riley and Piper’s had just moved in with her boyfriend and invited them over for a game night. They were getting ready when the call came through—Maggie was in the ER, doubled over in horrific pain. The doctors were running tests with plans to admit her as soon as a bed became available. Piper stepped in, calling their friend to cancel, and sat with Riley until morning when the heartbreaking diagnosis was made—a recurrence of ovarian cancer, Stage 3C.

  A day later, Riley called their loved-up gal pal to apologize personally for the sudden cancelation. The girl insisted it was “fine, really” and promised to have Riley and Piper over another time, but months passed and a do-over never happened. In fact, no texts, no emails—nothing, not even a check-in to see how Riley or her mom were doing. Maybe the girl didn’t know what to say, maybe Maggie’s illness slipped her mind, or maybe Riley’s situation brought up feelings about her own parents’ mortality? Perhaps she just wasn’t a kind person to begin with and Riley never saw it. Whatever it was, Riley had no clue. The girl’s hasty exit from her life came at the most vulnerable time, leaving her feeling disposable, a burden, unimportant. No wonder she chose to shut people out or fake it, only sharing happy aspects of her life.

  As she mull
ed over what to type, her phone woke up again.

  You stayed 2 celebrate?

  Ben clearly didn’t know that she never made it to Minnesota or the championship game, let alone party with Josh post-win. And maybe it’s better that way…

  She typed quickly. Yeah! And paused. The less time embellishing the lie, the better. Hey, how’d the interviews go? Bakery or Broadway? She hit send.

  The beaming face with smiling eyes emoji popped up on her phone again with Broadway, baby!!!

  “YES!” She bounced in her chair, forgetting where she was until two guys at the far end of the wooden table cleared their throats loudly. Her fingers raced to answer.

  CONGRATS! Tell me everything.

  Three dots danced up and down on her screen—Ben was composing something.

  Meet now?

  Now? She paused. Makes sense. Most Broadway musicals were dark on Mondays. She typed and hit send.

  Ok. Need to drop off my stuff @home first. Meet me at mine in 30?

  His answer was immediate—the thumbs-up emoji.

  Twenty-Two

  “Shit!” Ben’s shoulders met his ears. Fuck, fuck, fuck! He squeezed a small stone in his hand, trying to play it cool. The concerned stares of people strolling past on St. Mark’s Place scorched his skin, the yellowy-purple bruises under his eyes surely adding a menacing backstory to his questionable behavior. Don’t look at me! Look at that bloke over there, pissing in the shop’s doorway.

  He had one try left. Hit her window. Make this one count. He lobbed the stone into the air, but it fell short just as Riley appeared, nose to glass. She pushed her window open and leaned over the screen-free sill with a sudden intake of breath.

  The bruises…I should’ve warned her.

  A soft smile lifted her cheeks. “Forgot how to text, Fagan?”

  “Forgot to charge my phone, and your door’s buzzer doesn’t work.”

  “Argh, sorry. I’ll be right down.”

  Ben moved closer to her front door, watching late-night shoppers, bags bulging with collectibles, leaving the tiny comic book store across the street. Just shy of 10:30 P.M., the evening air had cooled considerably from the stickiness of the day, making a jacket—or in Ben’s case, his purple hoodie—a necessity. He inhaled a deep breath, excited to see Riley. Within moments, she appeared in dark jeans, a t-shirt, and flats, her denim jacket hugging her curves.