Summer of Supernovas

by Darcy Woods

  “Thanks.” Although Grant’s tone suggests little in the way of gratitude.

  Seth cheerfully replies, “What are brothers for?”

  I jolt. “ ‘Brothers’?” I echo, swinging my head to Seth. “You guys are brothers?”

  Oh my God! That’s why Seth is familiar. The bone structure, the hair, the build…

  “Oh, you didn’t realize? Yeah, Grant’s my older brother—well, not much older. Only a year and some change.” Seth shrugs. “And we get mistaken for each other a lot. Course…I like to think I’m better-looking, but that’s probably because I’m jealous as hell he got all the musical talent. The bastard.”

  When I turn to find Grant, he’s gone. The vertical blinds sway, tapping in his absence. There’s a twinge of pain in my chest that stops my breath.

  Exactly what are the odds that my astral match and astral downfall would not only hail from the same family tree…but also share the same damn branch? One in a million? A billion?

  This is no cosmic coincidence.

  It’s a divine message. A message meant to remind me how perilously little separates the right choice in love from the wrong one. Well, unlike my departed mother, I will choose wisely. Starting with forgetting that dance with Grant. Already it feels more dream than reality, and dreams cannot replace the wisdom of the stars.

  Seth hesitantly brushes my arm. “Please tell me you’re not the type to make a guy beg.”

  “I’m sorry?” I relax my hold on the key and pull my gaze from the sky. “What were you saying?”

  “I was, uh”—he rubs the back of his neck—“asking you again about Friday? You never answered, so at the risk of totally embar—”

  “I’d love to.” I dig deep and produce a grin. “But do we have to wait? On Wednesday the planetarium is holding a summer night sky event. Sagittarius is rising in the southeast—your sun sign. Would you…be interested?” I frown. “Or maybe that’s too nerdy. You’re probably busy. Friday’s great.” I turn and inch up my skirt to avoid tearing the slit on my way back through the window.

  “You really don’t have a clue.”

  “Huh?” I stumble on my reentry, catching myself on an office chair. Seth appears at the window.

  “Well”—he climbs in stealthily—“see, I’ve got this major weakness for hot nerds and heavenly bodies.” Seth’s smile is angelic, but the light from the computer monitor on the office desk shows his eyes are pure devil. “By ‘hot nerds’ I’m referring to you, and by ‘heavenly bodies’ I’m referring to the stars and planets.”

  I chuckle, feeling the slight flutter of butterflies. There! See? I like Seth. He’s flirtatious and fun and apparently has a weakness for girls with nerdy tendencies. Most important of all, he is Sagittarius.

  “Okay,” he confesses into my silence with a boyish shrug, “I lied. I don’t know jack about the planets. But I can learn. So…maybe I just have a weakness for you.”

  “What did you say his family name was?” Gram asks.

  “Walker,” I answer. “And he goes to Hartford, so you wouldn’t know him from around here.”

  “So his family’s well-off.” Gram whistles. “As I live and breathe, so that’s the fella who turned your head. My, my, I can certainly see why. Quite a catch from what I can see from here.” She stands higher on her toes in the breakfast nook.

  “Hey, get away from the window!”

  She lets the curtain drop. “No need for testiness, Mena. It’s natural for me to be curious. Seventeen years of age and I only recall you being interested in that one boy. What was his name? Brogan?”

  “Brody Cooper,” I correct, opening my purse.

  “Right, him. He always wore”—Gram wrinkles her nose—“those saggy, ill-fitting pants.” My grandmother had never warmed to Brody. There were a million reasons why. Reasons bigger than his pants—like the sheer crime of chronology.

  “You didn’t like Brody because he was a senior and I was a freshman.” I catch my distorted reflection in the bottom of one of the pans hanging from the potrack. I wipe the lipstick at the corner of my mouth and bare my teeth, which I’m pleased to see are lipstick-free.

  “Well, now, that’s only partly true.” She moves from the nook to take the kettle off the burner. “There was also the matter of his—”

  “Gram, please! I’m nervous enough as it is without you dredging up ancient dating history.”

  “Yes, of course. You just forget I said a word about that Brogan boy.” She ceremoniously clinks the teaspoon on the rim of her teacup. “Okay, then, Mena. Let’s have a look at you.”

  With my fussing complete, I round the island countertop and brace myself for her full scrutiny. “Well?” My hands pluck at the halter dress, moving it this way and that. The A-line dress is black with little bunches of red cherries all over, a sweetheart neckline, and hem that goes all the way to my knees. Iri has assured me it’s a respectable first-date dress.

  Then why is Gram making that face? If she brought her hands to her neck, it would be the international sign for choking. Oh no…

  “What?” I ask in alarm. “Too much? Is my chest getting that icky double-boob thing?” Frantic, I tug at the halter strap. There’s no time to change.

  The doorbell rings.

  “Say something,” I plead.

  Gram closes the space between us in a few brisk steps and wraps her arms around me. “Absolutely stunning. The spitting image of your mama.” She kisses the top of my head.

  I pull back, beaming. “Really? You think so?”

  Her blue eyes are steadfast, but her voice wavers as she replies, “Hand to God. Now get that door before your gentleman caller thinks you’ve changed your mind. Go on.” Gram shoos me from the kitchen.

  The bittersweet moment is fleeting. I’ve gotten good at fixating on the sweet and denying the bitter. Years of practice. Plus, Gram’s always said living in the past can rob you blind of your tomorrows. And I want my tomorrows and all the promise they hold.

  Seth Walker stands tall on my doorstep, flowers in hand, but his confident grin fades like the daylight.

  I will put a pox on Irina’s house. I should never have let her talk me into wearing this dress. What the hell was I thinking, relying on the opinion of someone who often wears more jewelry than clothes?

  “Wow. You look beautiful,” Seth finally utters. “I…I guess I should’ve dressed up more.” He glances down at his designer jeans before fidgeting with his crisp button-down shirt. The cuffs are unbuttoned and rolled up to his elbows, revealing his tanned forearms.

  “No, you look great!” As soon as I say it, relief lights his face. “Anyway, I always overdress. I have a closet full of these dresses and never enough occasions to wear them.”

  “Then maybe we should do something about that.” He unleashes a dazzling smile. His teeth could not be straighter if I lined them up with a ruler. “Oh, I got these for you. Hope you like purple, and, um, old-school gestures.”

  I take the dozen roses from his hand and smile. “Look at me, Seth, I am all about old-school. They’re gorgeous, really, thanks.” Another swell of nervousness sloshes my stomach. “Uh, come on in.”

  Gram’s already got her eagle eye on the flowers, cataracts be damned. Of course, she’s sizing up Seth as well. Her period of assessment is measured by the distinctive ticktock, ticktock of the grandfather clock in the hall.

  “Good evening, ma’am, I’m Seth Walker. Nice to meet you.” He offers his hand, which Gram takes in hers.

  Ticktock.

  “Yes. Genevieve Carlisle, Wilamena’s grandmother.” Lesser guys would surely crumble beneath Gram’s steely gaze. I call it the Gram Gauntlet Gaze—the Triple G. It’s the one she uses when sussing out a person’s moral fiber.

  “Yes, ma’am,” Seth replies, smooth and not the least bit flustered. His confidence is awe-inspiring.

  Gram offers a sparing nod, which means he’s passed…I think. Jeez! She can be such a confounding Taurus!

  She tucks back a sil
ver tendril that’s come loose from her hair clip. “Happy to put those in water if you like, Mena.”

  “Thank you.” I give her a peck on the cheek. “We should really be going if we’re going to make that exhibit before dinner.” I shake my head at Seth’s questioning look. Gram had been so unbelievably ecstatic over my date. It just seemed unnecessary to clarify the exhibit was an astronomy-related one, in light of the tower incident.

  “Hmm, lavender.” Gram takes the flowers, turning the bouquet. “That’s a color you don’t see so often in roses. Of course”—Gram pauses to eye Seth—“you must know what that signifies since you chose them specifically for her.” She grins, knowing full well Seth hadn’t a clue about color connotations. For heaven’s sake, he isn’t a florist!

  I’m about to say as much when Gram finally fills the silence. “Enchantment. It signifies enchantment.”

  “Then”—Seth stuffs his hands in his pockets—“I suppose it was a lucky guess, Mrs. Carlisle.”

  Ooh, he’s good. Real good. I go back to being awed.

  She chuckles. “Yes. I suppose it was.” Gram shuffles toward the kitchen. And before I can feel the release of my pent-up breath, she adds, “Just be sure to keep it in your pants, son. Have a lovely evening.” The kitchen door swings shut behind her.

  My eyes go round as saucers and my face sizzles. “I’m sorry,” I sputter. “I’m sure she didn’t mean…well, no, actually, she did mean it, but—”

  “Hey.” He nudges my arm. “Come on, it’s all good.” He raises his hand. “And I, Seth Walker, solemnly swear to keep it in my pants. Even if you’re as enchanting as…”

  I stifle a laugh, shaking my head. “I used to babysit a Boy Scout, and I can tell you the solemn oath only uses three fingers.”

  He drops his hand. Now I can’t decide which is sexier—his crooked smirk or the dangerous glint in his eye. “I never said I was a Boy Scout.”

  “No, you didn’t.” The butterflies have returned. They are overcaffeinated and pumped full of steroids as they declare war on my insides.

  “Are you ready?”

  “Yes,” I answer automatically, grabbing my purse.

  Am I ready? The question feels momentous, though of course, it isn’t meant to be. Still, it won’t stop taunting me with its implications. Am I ready for tonight? Am I ready for what might follow? What I have been hoping would follow since concocting this plan?

  Truth? I don’t know.

  However, the planets have unanimously agreed—there has never been a better time for me to find out.

  “See it?”

  Seth leans closer; his hair tickles my neck. “No, show me again.”

  “There.” I circle the red laser pointer. The planetarium has cleared with the end of the presentation. Meaning the two other people besides us have left. “See, it’s sorta shaped like a teapot? That’s Sagittarius; the constellation represents Chiron, the centaur. He sacrificed himself in place of Prometheus, who was being punished by the gods for giving fire to man.”

  “What was his punishment?” Seth shifts in his seat. His leg lightly presses against mine. Is he doing that on purpose? The dark room seems to amplify every touch and word, giving them odd significance.

  I push up my glasses and feign oblivion to the casual way his jeans rub against my bare skin. Otherwise, my thoughts get too cloudy. To think days ago I was concerned about asexuality! “Prometheus was chained to a rock, and every day an eagle would come and feast on his liver. And every night the liver would magically grow back. Yeah”—I note Seth’s scrunched face—“the gods didn’t mess around. So Chiron offered up his immortality in return for Prometheus’s freedom. Zeus rewarded the act of kindness by placing him among the stars. Ergo, Chiron is Sagittarius. I guess he sorta maintained his immortality after all.”

  Seth lets out a low whistle. “How do you know all this?”

  “Reading mostly. I’ve always found the constellations and astrology to be especially…Oh, um, never mind.”

  “What? Tell me more.”

  My heart trips over its own rhythm as Seth leans closer again. I smell the faint cologne he wore at Absinthe. I like it. A lot. “You…you want to hear more about the mythology behind the constellations?” I ask, dubious.

  “Why wouldn’t I? The stories make the stars more interesting. It’s pretty impressive how much you know.” He gives me a sidelong glance. “I bet your dates are totally into you at this point, aren’t they?”

  I let out a nervous chuckle and intertwine my fingers in my lap.

  Seth gives me a gentle nudge. “Oh, please. Don’t tell me I’m the first guy to dig this about you.”

  “Well…it’s not like I routinely bring guys here.” I twist the onyx ring on my finger. “And, um, I couldn’t say what my dates thought of me since most ended in disaster.” I sigh. Honest to Aquarius, outing myself as a former dating weapon of mass destruction had not been how I wanted to christen the night.

  But that’s all in the past. It will be different with Seth.

  His eyes crinkle at the corners. “I bet you’re exaggerating, Wil. It can’t have been that bad.”

  Uh, yes, in fact, it was that bad. But I don’t want to do a postmortem on all the whys.

  “Okay,” Seth says uncertainly in the wake of my silence, “what’s the worst thing that’s happened during one of your disaster dates?”

  Drawing my gaze from the man-made dots of light, I can tell Seth is anticipating something trivial like a trail of toilet paper stuck to my shoe, or spinach wedged in my teeth, or some such nonsense. If only. “Well…I once broke a guy’s nose.”

  “Seriously?”

  I blow out a breath. “Yep. Well, technically, I’m not sure it even classifies as a true date. It was just a guy I danced with at homecoming. I guess he liked me. That is until…” This is so mortifying.

  “What?” Seth urges.

  “He caught me completely off guard! I mean, one second we’re dancing and the next he’s telling me he likes me. Which was insane because he’d never said more than four words to me. So when I reared back to see if he was kidding, he must’ve been lowering his head and…I head-butted his nose. Broke it in not one, but two places.” I sink deeper into my chair. “God, there was so much blood.”

  Seth covers his mouth, smothering the smile beneath.

  I cross my arms over my chest and scowl. “It wasn’t funny, it was traumatic…for everyone involved. I felt terrible. Sometimes I think I should come with a warning label.”

  He stifles another laugh and I knock his elbow from the armrest. “I’m sorry,” he says, his leg pressing more firmly against mine. I forget I’m supposed to be scowling. “Hey, accidents happen. It was unfortunate, sure, but not the end of the world.”

  “You think? Because they call me the black widow at school.”

  Seth has the decency to look horrified on my behalf. “No shit?”

  I smile wryly. “No, not really. But in the spirit of fairness, it’s your turn to spill.” I twist toward him, eager to hear his most mortifying account. “Okay, so what’s the worst thing that has happened to you?”

  “Hmm.” Seth runs his hand thoughtfully along his jaw.

  “Pressure’s off. We already know you can’t hold a candle to the blood and carnage of mine.”

  “All right. Well…there was this time I ripped my pants on a skateboarding jump. It was eighth grade and I was trying to impress this girl, right? So I was soaring high, and when I bent to grip my board…rrrrip! Right up the middle of the seam—total blowout. She laughed her ass off.”

  Oh Lord. History is repeating; my own ass is in serious jeopardy. I can’t stop laughing, and it comes back doubly loud in the quiet of the circular room.

  Seth chuckles and with a rueful eye adds, “All I could think was thank God I didn’t go commando. I’d never live it down. Wow, I can’t believe I just told you that story.” He hunches forward, resting his elbows on his knees, head hanging low.

  My laughter fad
es with my smile.

  He could be on a date with any one of the pretty girls salivating over him at Absinthe. Girls who don’t require warning labels. Or have grandmothers who warned him to keep it in your pants.

  Then a paralyzing thought occurs to me. What if he regrets asking me out? My stomach descends to the planetarium floor as the theory begins to sound more plausible.

  I clear my throat. “Look, I know you’re probably used to girls who are a lot cooler—nonplanetarium types. Let’s be real, how many dates are going to ramble on about constellations and magic livers and noses they’ve broken?” It’s a rhetorical question. Because we both know the answer is a big, fat zero. I lift a shoulder. “But this is me. And I don’t know how else to be, so if I’m not what you exp—”

  He silences me with his fingertip. “Stop. Just stop. You’re killing me, Wil.” Seth’s eyes fall to my lips, where his finger hasn’t moved. He exhales, dropping his hand. “Look, the more you try to talk me out of liking you, the more I like you. And you’re not like other girls I’ve dated, because you’re a million times cooler.”

  My smile stretches from one ear to the other. “So…you like me?” My Sagittarius likes me. Hope balloons in my chest. Likes me, likes me. Here I thought I was blowing it with my moronic babbling.

  “Do you really think I’d be here if I didn’t?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe you just couldn’t think of a nice way to ditch me. I was trying to give you an—”

  Seth pulls me toward him.

  “What are you doing?” I ask in surprise. One of my hands lands at his shoulder as I brace myself above him.

  I can tell he’s on the muscular side, just like Grant. No, don’t think about Grant. But now that I know they’re related, I can’t help but home in on the similarities. Little pieces of Grant are scattered all over. So I focus on the parts that are different. Seth’s nose is just a little smaller, and his jaw is just a little less square, and…and his shoes don’t have duct tape on them.

  Seth’s eyes—like mine—openly stare back. They wander my face before he crooks an index finger under my chin. My heart pounds inside my chest. “What am I doing?” he repeats at a near whisper. “Trying really hard not to kiss you.” His full lips rise in a smirk. “Mainly, because I like my nose the way it is—unbroken.”