Move the Stars

by Jessica Hawkins

  I felt his silence more than anything. When I checked his expression, he was looking at the ceiling. “The graveyard shift really bothers me, Lake. I don’t like the idea of you walking home in this city at that time. The rest of it, I don’t know, we can work it out. I can bring you food and blankets while you’re waiting. I can run your lines with you.”

  “You won’t always be able to, Manning. Sometimes you’ll have to work or sleep or I’ll need to run to an audition right when I hear about it, even if we’re in the middle of something.”

  He nodded a little. “I hear you. I’ll work on it. If your skin is thicker, I guess mine will have to be as well.”

  “The city will do it for you.”

  “Yeah?” he asked. “Is that what it’s done to you?”

  There were plenty of memories to choose from, but there was no failure like the first. I’d moved here heartbroken, penniless, and lost—I must’ve ridden the subway to every borough at least once by accident—but the icing on the cake came right before my first semester. “You already know I’d been accepted to NYU. I deferred a semester. But I also had to apply for the drama school and undergo an artistic review. I was denied.” In high school, I’d always been so focused on the core classes like science, math, and English. Dad had never allowed me to consider my drama elective as anything more than a hobby. “I took general education courses my first semester and at night, I attended these acting classes in some basement. It was enough to get me in the following semester, but not enough to turn me into an actress.”

  He frowned. “Why do you say that?”

  “We had to do these workshops where we’d learn and practice technique. Well, at the end of my second semester, one of my professors kept me after class to tell me I was getting a ‘D’.”

  “Excuse me?” Manning teased. “Lake Kaplan got a ‘D’? Have you ever scored a grade lower than a ‘B’?”

  “No.” I smiled. “I was devastated. I could handle the written work and book study, but when it came to theater, I wasn’t a natural.”

  “She who at excels at everything,” Manning said.

  “Apparently not. I’d never had a teacher criticize me, and here the professor had ‘firmly suggested’ I change majors.” I crossed my arms over his chest, resting my chin on them. “Not only that, but nearly everyone around me had been acting since they were children. The closest lessons I’d had were piano. I was the slow one in the class, and that was true up until graduation a few days ago.”

  “Did you switch classes?”

  “I wanted to.” I remembered standing in the registrar’s office during winter break, ready to give up. Val and Corbin had gone home for the holidays and I was looking at a Christmas and New Year’s by myself. I’d been in New York a year, but I’d still acutely felt Manning’s absence in my life. I was used to spending Christmas morning opening gifts with my dad and Tiffany while my mom prepared a three-course dinner. I’d had a wonderful life. I’d failed at nothing until I’d failed to win Manning, and after that, things had just fallen apart. Maybe the real me was a failure, and I’d been coddled my whole life, but the alternative was eating crow and majoring in something my dad would’ve chosen for me, like business. At the last minute, I’d turned away from the office and gone back to my empty apartment. “In the end, I decided not to. All I’d had left at the time was school. So, I repeated the class the following semester.”

  “And?”

  “I earned a ‘B’. After taking the class twice I was hoping for an ‘A’, but at least it was enough to move on.”

  He craned his neck to kiss my forehead, and I felt his smile against my skin. “I still love you if you’re a ‘B’ student.” He snickered before I could protest. One single “B” did not a “B” student make. “So what changed after that?” he asked. “Or did it?”

  “The next teacher I had worked one-on-one with me. She said she could see my pain when I was off stage, but for some reason I was holding back. She coached me to tap into that.”

  “Into the pain,” he murmured, passing his hand over the top of my head.

  “It helped. Sometimes I think of you, and her, and all that I’ve missed out on, and I put it into the craft. I’m still not great, but at least I’m learning not to hold back.”

  “Lake . . .”

  “It’s okay,” I said to his chest. “I needed something, and I had that.”

  “Now you have me, too.”

  I nodded slowly, unsure of when it would start to feel like that was true. Like Manning was mine. With him by my side, I thought I could work in the city’s sanitation department with a smile on my face.

  “I’d like to meet your friends when I get back from California,” he said.

  “They’re my family.” I looked up at him again. Family. That was one thing I’d been without for years and wouldn’t get back. My dad and I were at the bottom of a mountain neither of us seemed willing to climb.

  “Does he ever talk about me?” I asked.

  Manning knew exactly who I meant. He moved his hand to cup my face. “He misses you.”

  “He said that?”

  “He doesn’t have to. We all know he does.”

  I guess Manning’s hand on my cheek was meant to soften the blow. I’d gone from being constantly under my dad’s thumb to not speaking to him once in over four years. Whenever Mom and I were on the phone, Dad was either “swamped with work,” “not feeling well,” or “on his way out the door.” Mom must’ve told those lies for herself, because the truth was obvious.

  “You were the apple of his eye, Lake—of course he misses you. Pride is a fucked-up thing and you hurt his.”

  “I had to go. I couldn’t stay there after that night.”

  His arm underneath me tensed. “I know it isn’t fair to say, but it was hard for me, too,” he said.

  “It didn’t seem that way to me.” I fell quiet remembering those moments at the altar, the way Manning had shaken Gary’s hand and smiled. “You looked happy.”

  “That was intentional.” He stroked my hair. “I was terrified if you thought I wasn’t, or that I had a single doubt, you’d stop the wedding. I felt so sick that I could barely focus on what was happening around me. Even when I wasn’t looking at you, all I saw was you . . . and then I did look. You were crying, and I worried I’d made a huge mistake.”

  Warmth prickled my scalp and finally, I felt not a bit of cold anywhere on my body. I was even sweating a little. “I would’ve stopped it,” I said. “I wish I had. All this could’ve been avoided.”

  He shook his head. “I had to go through with it, Lake. I wanted it back then. Wanted a family, and to be accepted, and to do good and be good. I didn’t believe there was another way for me. I knew for sure I couldn’t be the man for you.”

  He paused, gauging my reaction. It hurt to hear him say he’d actually wanted those things, but there was something to the idea that we wouldn’t be here otherwise.

  “I figured once I married Tiffany,” he continued, “you’d go off to USC, graduate with a great job, meet someone smarter than me, more deserving, someone with the means to give you a great life. Never in my wildest dreams did I think, even for a second, I could be that man for you.”

  “You were,” I said. “You are.” I angled up toward his mouth for a kiss, but he didn’t give it to me.

  “Am I?” he asked against my lips.

  “Yes,” I whispered. “I have a good life here, one that finally feels like my own. I’m doing what I want and having fun. That’s how I know I still need you. Without you, I could have all this and way more, and it still wouldn’t be enough.”

  Finally, he let our lips meet, kissing me softly at first, and then with a little more urgency. Again, the stiffness between us begged for my attention. I went to reach for him, but he caught my hand and kissed my palm. “That can wait. I’ve been dying to know everything about the last four and a half years. I want to hear all of it.”

  I understood too well that cravi
ng to hear every last thought his mind had held since I’d met him, just as long as it was about me—no one else. I wanted more about him, but so much of his life in California was made up of things I couldn’t bear to hear about. I whispered my next question, not even realizing I wanted to know. “Why didn’t you come sooner?”

  “I couldn’t. It took me a year to make this trip happen.”

  “And before that?”

  “Parole. I couldn’t leave the state.” He looked out the window. “Your dad wasn’t able to expunge my record like I’d hoped. I think maybe he thought he could, but in the end, it was all talk.”

  “And by then it was too late,” I said. “He’s such an asshole.”

  He turned back to me. “He has a shitty way of going about things,” he agreed, “but he’s not a bad guy. Not really. His intentions are usually in line with mine.”

  My head shot up. “You’re defending what he did? He pushed you and Tiffany together because he knew it would keep me away from you. Don’t you see that?”

  “I saw it right away,” he said. “That first time he took me in his study and got me to agree to a summer wedding. I’ve spent a lot of time with him the past few years, though, Lake. You’ll be surprised to hear he and I are pretty close.”

  I laid my head back down, concealing a scoff. “I’m going to pretend you didn’t say any of that.”

  “It bothers you?” he asked.

  “Obviously. I would really rather you cut off all ties with him. Leave that dumb job and all of it behind.”

  “It’s not going to be that easy,” he said. “I’ve gotta sell my half-finished house and hire a lawyer and God knows what else. Fuck.” He pulled the sheet off of us, disentangling from me.

  “Where are you going?” I asked.

  “I need a cigarette.” Seated on the edge of the bed, he snatched his jeans off the ground and dug through the pocket. “This is the longest I’ve gone without one since I went to jail.”

  I curled up on my side, watching his back as he hit the top of a pack of cigarettes on the heel of his palm. He peeled off the plastic. “Don’t,” I said. I had no handmade bracelet to offer him anymore, just a plea. “Don’t smoke.”

  He glanced back at me, eyebrows drawn, a cigarette dangling from the corner of his mouth like the day we’d met. “I won’t be long.”

  “You’re leaving?” As soon as I said it, I realized why. “You still won’t smoke in front of me. I’m old enough to fuck, but not for secondhand smoke?”

  He reached back and slid his hand over the curve of my hip. “Fuck, Lake? You think it’s safe to say that around me?”

  From the heated look that one word got me, I figured there was a way I could get him to stay. “Every time you crave nicotine, we can fuck instead,” I said.

  “You wouldn’t survive it,” he said. “I’m afraid you won’t as it is.” He pulled the sheet up over me just under my neck. “Stay warm. I’ll be ten minutes, max.” He stood to get on his jeans without even bothering with underwear.

  As he started for the door, I stopped him. “Smoke here. You’ll freeze downstairs.”

  “Look, Lake,” he said, turning back. “It’s not about your age or being too innocent. I don’t want to ruin your crystal-clean lungs.”

  “You did it in front of Tiffany, didn’t you?”

  “Yeah, so what’s that tell you about how I feel? Smoking is a part of me, and so are you. It’s not easy keeping the two separate.”

  I sighed. I could see him getting frustrated, so I dropped it. “Anyway, that wasn’t what I meant. I was going to say, use the fire escape.”

  He looked past the bed, out my window. The metal landing was situated halfway between my room the living room and was big enough for just a couple folding chairs and a stool. “Is Val home?” he asked.

  “I doubt it. She sleeps at her boyfriend’s place almost every night.”

  Manning rounded the bed, and I turned on my other side to watch him. It could take me up to a minute to work the window open, and I usually had to get Val to help, but Manning pulled it up with ease and climbed outside. He closed it almost all the way, then tilted the chair to dump snow over the edge before he sat. He took up as much space as Val and me put together, his bare feet nudging the metal edge, his head bowed to avoid hitting the frame.

  I could hardly believe Manning was sitting half naked on my fire escape. He looked out over the side, frowning down to the street. He smoked faster than I remembered, taking a drag every few seconds. He had a lot on his mind. So did I. And our conversation had barely even scratched the surface. It was as if we were making up for lost time while gliding past the very real, very scary details of our situation. But this apartment felt like a safe haven from all that. I didn’t want to think about what was to come. I just wanted to live in here with Manning for as long as possible.

  “Lake,” he called, ducking his head to see me through the window. He’d lit a second cigarette. “It’s fucking freezing. Come warm me up.”

  I couldn’t help the smile that broke over my face. My first ever invitation to be around him while he smoked. I sprung up from the bed, tugged on panties and a t-shirt, and went straight for the window.

  “Uh-uh,” he said, stopping me. “Put some clothes on.”

  “I’ll be fine. I’m more used to this weather than you are.”

  “It’s not that.” Switching his cigarette between hands, he lifted the window with just one. “You look good enough to eat, and I don’t want anyone’s mouth watering for you but mine. Understand?”

  The hair on my legs prickled as my face warmed. I understood. I didn’t want anyone else looking at him, either, but after all this time apart, I just wanted to hear him say it. “Explain it to me.”

  Licking his lips, he looked me up and down. “I’ve spent years keeping my hands and thoughts to myself. I know what runs through a man’s mind when he sees someone like you. I’m going to spend my lifetime making sure anyone who crosses your path knows you’re mine. So hurry up, Birdy, I’m fucking shivering out here.”

  10

  Lake

  Wrapped up in a blanket like a human burrito, thrilled to finally be allowed around Manning while he smoked, I maneuvered onto my fire escape. I still didn’t trust the structure, even though Val and Corbin had coaxed me onto it plenty of times. It often shook when all three of us were on it, and despite not being a religious person, I’d send a quick prayer up to the heavens.

  There was hardly enough room for both of us, but since Manning could practically fit two of me on his lap, that was where I sat. Still shielding myself, I opened the blanket, tucking it between us, trying to get him in it with me. He just watched me, one arm hanging over the side of the chair, the other hand delivering his cigarette to his mouth now and then.

  It wasn’t perfect, but when I was satisfied, I drew up my knees and curled into a ball against his chest. He never took his eyes from me. “You scared?” he asked.

  “Do I look scared?”

  “No, but this thing probably doesn’t feel any more secure to you than a Ferris wheel or a horse. Don’t worry, though. It’s strong. I won’t let you fall.”

  I looked over the edge. He was right. It wasn’t so much the height that scared me, but the fact that it didn’t feel sturdy. “Val and I play TLC albums and drink wine coolers out here in the summer.”

  “Yeah? Tell me more about that life.”

  “What you see is all of it. Work, auditions, friends, nights on the fire escape, and until recently, school.” Flurries snowed around us, either from the sky or the landing above. “You haven’t told me anything about yours.”

  “You said you don’t want to hear about it.”

  “So tell me something that has nothing to do with her. Just something about you.”

  “About me?” He squinted out toward some buildings and took a long drag, exhaling with a sigh. “I’ve been getting into the hard stuff, thanks to your dad.”

  I widened my eyes. “He�
��s driven you to drink?”

  He chuckled. “No. After Sunday dinner, he and I will go in his study and drink expensive liquor. He’s teaching me all about it. We talk about guns and work and sometimes even art.”

  This time, I laughed. “You’re lying.”

  “Nah. He likes books and so do I. You know that. Once in a while we’ll put on a mob movie, Goodfellas or something, while your mom and sister bake dessert.”

  Tiffany, baking? I couldn’t picture it so I didn’t. Anyway, I was more annoyed that Manning got along with my father, who hadn’t just kept me from Manning—he’d kept Manning from me, too. How could he condone that? “What’re you reading now?” I asked, desperate to change the subject.

  “You,” he said, slipping his free hand under the blanket. “I’m a blind man feeling his way around the story.” He tiptoed his fingers up my bare thigh. “Deaf, hearing a melody for the first time. A fool suffering to understand Tolstoy’s Russian.”

  “You are a poet,” I said, my mouth dry. I’d trade all the letters I’d longed for from him and never received for the love story he now recited through smoke and snowfall.

  “Here’s something you don’t know about me,” he said. “After I said my vows and walked down the aisle, I turned and looked at you, and you were in Corbin’s arms, crying.”

  I didn’t know what to say to that. If he was trying to say he was jealous, he probably deserved a punch in the face for it. “You should be grateful someone was there for me,” I said. “I don’t know what I would’ve done without him.”

  “Oh yeah?” Manning said wryly. “Grateful. Let me just think on that.”

  “Want me to tell you how things looked from my perspective right then?” I asked. He stayed silent so I said, “I didn’t think so.”

  “I still can’t get those images out of my head,” he said, not looking at me. “You at the altar behind Tiffany. Just standing there sobbing. I was so worried you’d try to stop it. I couldn’t let you speak up in front of all those people. It wouldn’t have changed anything.” He cleared his throat. “That’s what I was thinking during the ceremony, start to finish—don’t say anything, Lake. Don’t say a word. I love you, I’m sorry, and please stay the fuck quiet.”