Until The Last Star Fades

by Jacquelyn Middleton

  I know he loves me, but if he’s had problems committing to relationships before in person, how will he handle one separated by an ocean? “I love you so much. I just want this to work.”

  “And it will. I know it’ll be a test, but we’ll smash it, Riles. Seriously, it’ll take more than some daft ocean to separate us, okay?” He kissed her nose. “Now get some kip, sleepyhead. Maggie won’t be happy if we doze off in her frittata.”

  Sixty

  The news of Ben’s accident and pending departure left an air of resignation hanging over Saturday lunch at Maggie’s, the usual laughter and eighties tunes sadly absent.

  A wet paper towel traveled across the counter underneath Maggie’s hand, mopping up melted butter and eggshells. “I feel completely useless,” she said quietly.

  You and me both. Riley stuffed her hands in oven mitts and squatted down, keeping an eye on the skillet underneath the oven’s broiler, their spinach, cheese, and red pepper frittata gifting the kitchen a delicious aroma—not that anyone was hungry. How am I gonna eat this? I feel sick.

  “I wish I could make them change their minds.” Maggie dropped the garbage in the bin and washed her hands, her face still wide-eyed with shock. “You’d think they’d make an exception on compassionate grounds…”

  “I don’t think immigration knows what compassionate means.” Leaning against the kitchen doorjamb, Ben pulled up a pair of ill-fitting purple sweatpants. That morning, Riley had helped him shower (with a plastic bag covering his cast), but afterward, Ben realized he couldn’t do up the buttons on his jeans by himself. Riley raced over to the NYU bookstore, returning with the deeply discounted—and ugly—sportswear. If there ever was a reason to learn how to fasten buttons one-handed, those sweats were it.

  “It’s just wrong, making you leave now,” said Maggie. “You’re not fully healed from surgery, and you’ve got doctors here who know your case inside out.”

  “I told them that, but they didn’t care.” Ben shrugged. “One of the immigration guys laughed and said, ‘Nice try, buddy,’ like I was moaning about a cold or something.” He caught Riley’s gaze and smiled softly. “It might take a while, but I’ll find a transplant specialist on the NHS to keep an eye on me.”

  “You won’t have to pay for checkups, right? England has national healthcare?” Maggie set down three plates and dug around in her cutlery drawer.

  “Yeah, thank God. They’ll take care of me.”

  “Where will you live?” asked Maggie.

  The lump grew in Riley’s throat. Far, far away from here…might as well be another planet. For Ben’s sake, she was trying to be upbeat, but it felt like her heart was being crushed.

  “Walthamstow, northeast London. I sweet-talked Spencer, my old flatmate, this morning. My old room’s full of her wakeboarding stuff, but I can have it as long as I pay the back rent I owe. Hunter’s spotted me some money, so that’s taken care of. I’ll give Mark a bell, too. See if he knows of any work going.”

  “Thank goodness you’ve got people there who care about you…but I still think you should be staying here.”

  “Well, Maggie, at least part of me is staying here.”

  Maggie laughed and stepped over to Ben, hugging him softly so the embrace didn’t hurt him. “Saying ‘thank you’ will never be enough. After everything you’ve done for us…” She sighed. “It all seems so unfair.”

  You belong here with me. Riley could feel Ben’s eyes on her. She glanced over her shoulder and Ben was already there, waiting for her.

  “I’m going to miss you both something rotten.” He sniffed, a lost look in his eyes as he mouthed, “Love you,” to Riley.

  “We’ll miss you, but just think how happy your mom will be to see you. You are such a credit to her.” Maggie’s voice broke. She cleared her throat and loosened her hug.

  Thanks, guys. Now I’m gonna cry again. Riley pulled a loose thread on Maggie’s oven mitts, busying herself so she could blink away tears unnoticed.

  Maggie returned to the drawer, gathering forks and knives. “Before you two head back on the ferry tonight, I’ll give you a note for your mom, Ben. Don’t let me forget.”

  A quivering smile betrayed Ben’s usually easygoing façade.

  “We’ll just have to come visit,” said Maggie with a confident nod. “Take that trip we’ve planned forever, right, Riley?”

  The smell of burning egg and cheese urged Riley to remove their lunch from the broiler, giving her an excuse to answer without meeting Ben’s gaze. “Yep!” The empty promise pinched her heart. Mom’s trying to keep things positive, but she knows we can’t afford a UK trip—not now or anytime soon. She pulled out the frittata, and its eggy smell stoked another wave of nausea in her belly. I have to face the facts: Ben will go back to London, and we might never see each other again.

  Sixty-One

  It’s funny how time can drag when you’re waiting for something good—Christmas, a much-anticipated vacation, cookies in the oven—but when something you’re dreading is placed in your path, days can feel like hours, minutes like seconds, kisses—gone in the blink of a teary eye.

  For Riley and Ben, his last days in New York City—Sunday, Monday, and Tuesday—careened toward Wednesday without mercy. The life they had known for the past seven months had hit its expiration date. That evening, Ben would be on a flight to London, and Riley would be riding the subway back to Manhattan, alone.

  Her new job had kicked off two days before, but Wednesday morning Riley couldn’t face it and called in sick. The thought of spending another day training alongside her pushy predecessor with his stinky ass-breath while Ben was packing his suitcase alone had left her hyperventilating in the shower at 6 A.M. When she didn’t return a half-hour later, Ben went looking for her.

  They didn’t get very far. Closing the door to her room, Riley met his mouth and fisted his t-shirt, pulling him gently to the shaggy rug on the floor. They had kissed so often, so desperately over the past five days, their lips were red and slightly puffy, and Riley had become a fast learner at covering hickeys (or ‘love bites’, as Ben called them) with makeup.

  She wasn’t about to let Ben leave with only deep kisses to think about on the plane. Since his surgery, Riley had freed Ben from his boxers several times, teasing him with her mouth, and his tongue had reciprocated, inciting wave after wave of orgasmic fireworks, but that morning their seven-weeks abstinence of hip-to-hip, toe-curling sex ended. Ben was ready, and Riley wasn’t about to let her new job make it a measly quickie.

  They moved to her loveseat then had a session in her cramped bed, showing each other how much they were cherished, how much they were loved.

  Riley, mindful of Ben’s bruised, broken body, caressed him and kissed him and told him how much he had changed her life for the better. With the hours counting down ruthlessly, she moved above him, thinking only of their present, not that evening or the next day when, instead of Ben, loneliness would wrap itself around her.

  My beautiful Brit boy, pretend this is the beginning, not the end.

  Ben held her each time like it was their first, losing himself in her, committing her sighs, her soft skin, her taste to memory, all of his senses firing…over and over. Exploring with his hands and mouth, along her stomach, between her thighs—if he couldn’t stay, he would take her with him the only way he could: in his heart.

  My darling Riley, I could die happy right now.

  Wrapped in each other, sighs, pleasurable moans, and laughter filled the small room until the darkness outside the window began to swallow up the daylight, and one by one the twinkly lights—the stars on strings that had lovingly kept watch above their heads—began to flicker out.

  Ben’s bubblegum pink case, with its white polka dots and B. Something name tag flapping farewell, scooted along the conveyor belt and tipped, disappearing into the abyss of the airport’s bag drop. Riley’s heart did a belly flop. What brought us together is now gone.

  “Let’s get out of here.” Ben�
�s hand grasped Riley’s and led her away from the discount airline’s check-in desk.

  A twisted sense of déjà vu unsettled her. They were in a different airport—Newark, not LaGuardia where they had met—but Ben was wearing almost the exact same layers: the slim jacket (so ill-suited for winter!), his favorite purple hoodie, a flannel shirt, baggy jeans almost abandoning his butt. Even his right hand was injured, albeit wrapped in a cast instead of a bloody bandage. In seven months, Ben’s outward appearance and taste in clothes hadn’t really changed, but the way Riley saw him now couldn’t be more different. What you see on the outside, never tells the true story of someone’s heart.

  “What did you get? Aisle or window?” Riley bit her lip. Be brave. Be CHEERY. Don’t be that red-faced girl bawling at departures.

  Ben yawned. “Middle.”

  “Nooo! The worst!”

  Ben paused a few feet away from the entrance to security. Tired and sore, his abdomen ached from their passionate morning and afternoon. He looked up at the clock above the departures board. “Oh, before I forget…” He let go of her hand and slipped Riley’s going-away present, her much-loved Strand Bookstore tote, off his shoulder, rooting past his carefully packed a-ha record and two black-and-white cookies to pull out a plastic bag. “For you. A ‘see you soon’ prezzie.”

  It’s too firm to be Fun Dip. “You just put a four hundred-dollar airline ticket on your maxed-out card. You can’t afford gifts!” She smiled and reached into the bag, pulling out a thin book: The Duchess of Bloomsbury Street by Helene Hanff.

  “Oh, babe, you shouldn—” She stopped herself. “Wait…did you steal this?”

  “No! I didn’t—honest!” Ben laughed and adjusted the backpack on his shoulder. “I saw it on an outdoor cart at the Strand. I bought it back in August and was saving it for Christmas but…”

  Riley admired the book’s worn cover. “That makes it even more special—thank you.”

  “Your good habits have rubbed off on me. No more stealing, even if I’m hungry…or sockless.” He kissed her on the head and lowered both the tote and his backpack to the floor. “You’ve already read 84 Charing Cross Road—this is the sequel. It’s when she finally gets to London, something I hope you’ll do soon, too.” His eyes flitted up to the departure board again.

  Ben’s worried glance felt like a kick to Riley’s gut. “It’s time?”

  His smile dimmed. “Bugger, yeah. I still have to get through security.” He picked at the end of his cast like a nervous little boy. “Riley…”

  “I’m not ready.” She hugged Ben’s gift, halting breaths and suppressed sobs tightening her chest.

  “I don’t know how to do this…” He reached for her hand, his voice shaky. “Leaving you…”

  “I don’t want you to go.” Riley lunged, throwing her arms around him. She hid her face in his neck, choking back tears. “How will I get up each morning knowing it will be a day without you in it?”

  He squeezed her tighter and rocked back and forth. “You will. You did before and you will again…for a little while, anyway. You’re stronger than you think, Hope.” Despite his best efforts, hot tears slipped underneath his eyelashes and down his cheeks.

  She clutched him so tight, her knuckles paled. “I-I…can’t.”

  “Beautiful Riley,” he whispered, his hand smoothing her hair as he kissed her temple. “I’m still yours. It’ll just be different until we sort things. I’ll text and call, you’ll see—I’ll be a right bloody nuisance.”

  Just when I’ve found you…you go. She cried into his chest. Who would listen now? Who would understand her? Her mom was amazing, but some things you don’t tell your mother. Piper was several time zones away. Casey, while a dear friend, wasn’t the best listener…not like Ben. “It’s not the same as you being here.”

  “I know.” Ben blinked quickly, but the tears wouldn’t stop. “But, I’ll be with you”—he pulled back slightly, placing his hand gently over her heart—“here, cheering you on, loving you with every breath.”

  My Brit boy. “I love you…so…much.” Shaking, she could barely get the words out.

  “Copycat. I said it first.” His tear-soaked grin looked like it pained him. “You are my first, my always.” Ben caressed her cheek and claimed her mouth for a kiss that melted into something more…a promise, perhaps, that this embrace wasn’t the end.

  Riley’s fingers laced through his hair, digging in, keeping him close. Remember this, remember everything. Memories might be all we have left.

  They kissed and held each other until a shrill announcement for Ben’s final boarding call broke them apart.

  I’m not ready! Oh, God. Her hands slipped from his hair down his arms, her right hand grasping his left, refusing to let go. “Ben…”

  He leaned his forehead against Riley’s and whispered, “When you feel sad, just close your eyes and remember, ’kay? And we’ll be together again.” Ben squeezed her hand and released it, picking up his backpack and tote. “I’ll text you when I land.” He wiped his cheeks and backed away, ducking behind the security wall with a hand raised in farewell.

  Riley stood there for several minutes, drowning in tears, hoping Ben might pop back for another kiss or hug, but he didn’t.

  You are my last, my always…

  Out of breath and sweaty from the last-minute sprint to his gate, Ben wiped his nose with the back of his hand and dropped into his middle seat in the last row of economy. He rifled through his backpack, reorganizing his belongings post-security check before the flight attendants forced him to stow it under the seat. The t-shirt Riley sleeps in, a bag of grapes—half smushed, bugger! My birthday cards, Maggie’s note addressed to Mum. He plunged it back inside, his hand meeting something smooth and pear-shaped. What? I didn’t pack anything like that… Confused, he pulled it out for a better look. The plastic gallbladder! Ben burst into a laugh, holding the organ aloft, drawing stares from his bemused seatmates. Oh, you get me, Riles. You really get me.

  Sleepy eyes staring at the ceiling, Riley paused Ben’s ‘4 Riles’ playlist and checked the time. 4:45 A.M. He should’ve landed by now. Mid-yawn, a-ha was cut off by Sia’s vocals, making her jump. Her fingers scrambled to accept the call. “Hi!”

  “Hey.” His voice was low and sleepy. “Landed—with a thud.”

  “Oh, no. Bad landing?”

  “No. Plane was fine. I meant my heart,” he mumbled quietly. “I miss you.”

  “I miss y—” Her whisper broke. She gathered her breath, halting a surge of new tears. How do I have any left? She rolled onto her side, over a bunch of damp, balled-up tissues, souvenirs of her tear-soaked night. “It must feel good to be home, though.”

  “Ahhh, this isn’t home, not anymore. Home is you.”

  Riley clutched her stomach, the ache of missing his warmth almost breaking her in two. “I love you.”

  “Uhh, I’m getting daggers from the customs bloke. Better go. Love ya, Riley.”

  He hung up and Riley hid under her duvet, dreading day one without Ben.

  Sixty-Two

  A week later

  Waging war against a stubborn head cold, Riley blew on a steaming spoonful of her dinner—chicken noodle soup. Heavy-lidded, she blinked at her iPad, propped up against Ben’s green Bruins cap. The tablet’s live FaceTime feed showed the California sun beating down on Piper, turning her bleached blondness into a retina-burning glow.

  Riley breathed through her mouth and answered Pip’s question with a nasal twang. “Not an hour goes by that I don’t think of him.”

  “Aw, Benjamuffin. I’m sorry you’re missing him so much.” Piper frowned underneath her huge white sunglasses. “Does he FaceTime a lot?”

  “No, but he wasn’t a big FaceTimer or Skyper when he lived here, either. He calls and texts, though, all the time: photos of his breakfast, his walk to the library, doing laundry. It’s kinda funny how detailed he is.”

  “Maybe he thinks if he’s not a constant presence in your phone, you’ll
forget him?”

  An ache squeezed Riley’s throat. “I could never forget him.” Eyes getting misty, she bowed her head and set down her soup. Here come the waterworks again.

  “Rye…?” Piper lifted her sunglasses, concern narrowing her eyes.

  Change the subject. “So, how’s life, Cali girl? Anything new from two days ago?” Riley smiled and wrapped a tissue around her streaming nose.

  “Nope. Still pinching myself. Give me ALL the felt, googly eyes, and feathers! It’s puppet-making heaven! But I could do without the lame team-building t-shirts they make us wear. Check it…” Piper shifted the phone, showing off the banana yellow tee hanging shapelessly above her silver tutu, ‘I’M A PUPPET PAL!’ scrawled across her chest in a swirly red font.

  Riley grimaced. “It looks like you rolled in mustard and someone squirted ketchup on your boobs.”

  “I know, right?” Piper snapped her gum. “I love puppets, but I don’t need to declare it while walking along Santa Monica Boulevard. No wonder I haven’t made any friends.”

  “You will.” Riley dragged her spoon through her soup. “Oh! Tonight’s Halloween! You should go to that party you told me about Monday. You’ll meet fun people there, and hot ones, too—LA’s full of ’em, right?”

  “Meh. Women here think I’m weird, and the only men who give me the time of day are limp and made of felt.”

  Riley giggled. Thank God I didn’t have soup in my mouth.

  “I was listening to this girl at work bragging about her weekend hookup. She said he was a girthy seven inches. Can you imagine? I swear, I was a mess with the hot glue gun that afternoon. Come quitting time, I rushed home and pounced on Sherlock.” All of Piper’s sex toys were named after characters portrayed by Benedict Cumberbatch.

  Picking up another tissue, Riley squealed with laughter. “Oh, Pip, never change!”