Separate Like Stars

by Diana Kane

  “Find peace now,” I whisper to her. I swipe at the tear that rolls down my cheek and realize that my mother isn’t by my side anymore. I turn and find her with her arms wrapped around Olivia. Olivia, my heart stammers. I haven’t seen or heard from her in over a year and yet there is still this pull. I feel the wound she inflicted, the one that had just started to mend, break open again. She releases my mom and her eyes immediately fall on me. I’m flooded with emotions as we stand with our eyes locked on each other. The love that I still feel for her causes my heart rate to pick up at the same time that the heartbreak she dealt me works to dismantle the newly assembled pieces again. I feel anger bubbling to the surface. Rage for what she did to me, the way she broke my heart without reason or explanation. But the rage melts away into a puddle of compassion when I see how much she’s hurting in her eyes. Pain that I never wanted to see there, etched so deeply in those blue eyes that I thought I might wake up next to forever. As badly as I want answers, this isn’t the time or place. I take the first tentative step, wondering if she’ll turn and walk away from me. Her mouth gapes slightly open revealing her shock at my move. I watch as she takes a step towards me, erasing any remaining hesitation on either of our parts. Within seconds we’re in each other’s arms, the familiar warmth of her embrace and her alluring scent immediately making me feel like after more than a year away, I’m finally home.

  “Jordan,” Olivia whispers as she clutches me tightly. I swallow a sob elicited by the emotions surging through me and the sorrow I hear in Olivia’s voice.

  “Liv,” I murmur when I feel one of her tears splash onto my cheek.

  “I’ve missed you,” she confides. You’ve missed me? I’ve been right here, for the last year dreaming that I’d hear those words again, that I’d find myself in your arms again, that you still loved me. You’re the one who disappeared! I pull out of the embrace and open my mouth to deliver those very thoughts when I see my mom barely shake her head. I sigh instead, knowing that she’s right.

  “Yeah,” I mumble as I swallow my feelings. We gaze at one another, the silence between us quickly becoming uncomfortable. There are so many things I want to say, explanations that I feel she owes me, yet I’m forced to remain silent due to current circumstances.

  “Jordan,” I hear Jim’s familiar voice save me from the situation with Olivia. He quickly glances between the two of us before pulling me into a hug. My eyes reconnect with Olivia’s, her expression indecipherable, until her attention is drawn away by another mourner.

  *****

  “Are you sure you don’t want me to call in sick?” mom asks as she sits down next to me on the couch. We attended the funeral and gathering earlier this afternoon. Now she is preparing to head into work, her concern for my wellbeing extremely evident.

  “I’ll be fine. No need to worry about me,” I assure her with a faint smile. She brushes a strand of hair out of my face before leaning down to put on her shoes. “What about you? Are you going to make it through your shift? You must be exhausted.” Because Mrs. O’Connor wasn’t immediate family, my mom was only given one day off to mourn her loss. She used that day to bring me home.

  “Me? I’m an old pro at this,” she assures me with a weary smile. “Plus coffee,” she adds as she glances at the travel mug she sat on the table. We both chuckle knowing full well neither of us can survive without our coffee.

  “I’m worried about Olivia,” I blurt out the thought streaming through my mind. Mom abandons tying her shoe and sits up to look at me, her appraising eyes filled with concern.

  “I am too.” I watch her brown eyes examining me, and take in the all too familiar look of a question she seems hesitant to ask. “You’re still in love with her, aren’t you?”

  “I know I shouldn’t be, but yeah, I’m still in love with her.” I release a heavy sigh as mom pulls me in for a hug. “I’ve tried mom, but I can’t get over her.”

  “Do you want to know what my mother told me the first time I had my heart broken?” she asks as she releases me. I nod that I do, hoping for some divine secret passed on from mother to daughter to deal with this sort of thing. “Well, she told me that the secret is time. And that it takes twice as long to get over someone as you were with them.”

  “That’s horrible,” I utter with a scowl. “So you’re saying it’s going to take eight years for me to get over Olivia?”

  “It was horrible,” she says with a chuckle. “I wasn’t with him for anywhere near as long as you were with Olivia,” she says as she shakes her head. “I don’t think it will take you eight years, but unfortunately time is the likely solution.”

  “I suppose so,” I mumble.

  “Jordan my dear, you have a beautiful heart. You’ve always kept it in a cage, you’ve been so highly selective of who you’ve allowed near it. That used to worry me, but now, with everything you have coming on the horizon, it may serve you well.” I flash a look of utter confusion at her as she takes a sip of her coffee. “You’re already a best selling author, and now you’ve sold the rights for the movies. A lot of people are going to want things from you. Just be careful,” she warns as she pulls me into another hug. “All of that aside, I have no doubt that you’ll fall in love again,” she whispers before letting me go.

  “Thanks, mom. I love you,” I answer. If the last few days have taught me anything, it’s that I need to make sure I tell her this as often as I should.

  “I love you too. I’ve gotta get going, or I’ll be late,” she says as she releases me.

  Half an hour later I sit curled up in the armchair with a borrowed paperback, repeatedly rereading the same paragraph. Thoughts of Olivia persist in pushing to the forefront of my consciousness. I switch on the television, but after another 15 minutes of not being distracted by the potential entertainment, I switch it off. Just go over there and see her, my heart demands. Why? my mind wonders. Am I obligated to take the first step, given the way she dropped out of my life? What is my real motivation if I do make the trip? Am I looking to comfort a grieving friend? To feed nourishment in some way to my masochistic heart that won’t let her go? To unleash the anger I feel, not knowing why she abandoned me the way that she did? Maybe it’s some twisted combination of the three. Fuck it, I think, as I extract myself from the chair. I don’t want my last memory of Olivia to be of her at the post-funeral gathering. I quickly jog upstairs to change into something clean before I can change my mind. Grabbing the spare set of keys from the kitchen, I wrench open the door to find Olivia there with her hand poised to knock.

  “You were on your way out. I won’t keep you,” she dejectedly mutters before turning to retreat down the porch steps.

  “I was coming to see you,” I call to her, watching as she pauses on the second riser.

  “I brought beer,” she informs me, lifting the case of Blue Moon for me to see.

  “We have oranges,” I lamely reply as I step aside. “Come in.” I watch as she crosses the threshold, closing my eyes to inhale deeply as she passes by. The absence of her footfalls pulls me out of my reverie in her scent, and I open my eyes to see her watching me, patiently waiting for me to close the door and show her to the kitchen.

  “Have you forgotten your way around already?” I ask and immediately cringe at the semi-harsh tone my voice unintentionally took on. “Sorry,” I manage as I reach out to take the case of beer from her.

  “I remember,” she answers, refusing to pass the beer to me. Instead, she turns for the kitchen, not bothering to see if I’m following her. Of course she isn’t checking for that, she’s the one who left you, my mind screams at me. I catch up to her to find her grabbing two glasses from the cupboard. I open the case and remove two bottles before depositing the rest in the refrigerator while grabbing an orange. Together we make short work of preparing our drinks, neither of us saying a word.

  “So,” I say as I lean against the counter and take Olivia in. Despite looking quite put together earlier today, the wear of the last few days is evident.
Dark circles surround her puffy eyes, her hair is disheveled, and her clothes are slightly rumpled. My heart summersaults with emotions and breaks for her all at once.

  “So,” she echoes as she assesses me, her blue eyes betraying none of her emotions. If she has any. “This is awkward, isn’t it?” she practically whispers.

  “Yeah. Maybe we should sit,” I offer, not knowing how to proceed. She nods before heading into the living room, electing to sit on one end of the couch.

  “Were you really coming to see me?” she asks as I settle myself on the opposite end of the sofa. The gulf between us feels unnatural. I ache to pull her into my arms, for her to know that I still care, despite everything she put me through. I watch her as she stares down into her beer, the sorrow in her beautiful eyes piercing my heart. I won’t be getting the answers I desire tonight. There is no way I can ask her all of the questions I have, seeing how badly she needs a friend right now.

  “I was,” I finally answer. “I’ve been worried about you.”

  “Worried that I’ll…” she trails off, not finishing the thought.

  “Not that you would hurt yourself, just worried. Do I need to be concerned about that?” She looks up from her beer and meets my eyes, not bothering to answer my question. The seconds tick by as I wait for her to respond, dread starting to slowly trickle through my body.

  “No,” she whispers. I nearly sigh in relief at her words, but restrain myself, hiding my reaction behind another sip of beer. I can feel her eyes studying me as I make a show of looking at anything but her. “Did you know or suspect anything?” she asks, her voice somewhat softer. I turn to face her, lifting my eyebrows slightly. “My mom…did you—?”

  “No,” I firmly answer, cutting her off. “I would have tried to tell you if I had,” I add. I hear her sharp exhale as I look away, finding the dark window easier to focus on than Olivia.

  “I deserved that,” she meekly whispers.

  “I didn’t mean it like that,” I quickly assure her when I realize what I said and wonder if I should stop drinking now before alcohol overrides any sense and filter I might have.

  “I still deserved it, and a lot worse,” she admits. I can see her looking directly at me in my peripheral view but fight the urge to face her. All the questions I have are pushing against my firmly pressed lips, begging to be let out. I bite my tongue to quell the urge as Olivia continues to stare at me. “Mom read me the riot act for months after Thanksgiving. I want you to know it wasn’t you and there is not now, nor has there ever been anyone else.” I open my mouth to ask why, but the word dies in my throat as hot tears begin slowly rolling down my face. “Please don’t cry,” she quietly pleads as she slides closer to me. I feel the gentle pull of her fingers against my chin as she turns my face to her before cradling it in her hands as she brushes away my tears with her thumbs. For a few seconds, I swear I see the old Olivia in her eyes. The one who loved me and would never have broken my heart the way that she did. But she disappears just as quickly, leaving me to question whether she was ever really there. I quickly avert my gaze before the verbal diarrhea pushes past my filter and I beg her to give us another chance.

  “You need another beer,” I stammer as I remove my face from her hands. I catch the slight inward crinkling of Olivia’s eyebrows and the faintest twitch of her lips, but she stops herself from saying something. I rise from my seat and grab both our glasses, heading to the kitchen under the pretense of getting refills, when I really just need a moment to myself. Despite how deep the wound Olivia inflicted on my heart goes, her presence is throwing my emotions in so many different directions I feel like I’m suffering from some form of emotional whiplash. I lean against the counter and finish my beer, waiting to see if Olivia will come after me. The old Liv would have. She would never have let me get off of the couch if she knew I was upset. But now, this Olivia, do I even know her? Is the Olivia I’m still in love with buried beneath the melancholy that clouds her eyes or has the year seen her change so much that I no longer recognize her? I finish my beer and sigh as I open the refrigerator and retrieve two more bottles, popping the tops and replenishing our drinks. I take a couple of deep breaths before returning to the living room to find Olivia leaning forward, with her elbows resting on her knees and her palms supporting her forehead. She turns to look at me when I deposit her beer on her coaster and gives me a weak smile. “How is Paris?” I ask as I take my seat, somehow managing to keep the sarcasm out of my tone.

  “Chaotic, exhausting, thrilling, educational…lonely,” she finishes in a defeated tone. “I’m at work for at least 12 hours a day, six days a week. By the time I get a day off I’m so exhausted all I do is sleep.”

  “I’m…sorry?” I answer as I raise my eyebrows and shrug, not really sure how I’m supposed to respond. Olivia shakes her head and chuckles, but I manage to catch the smallest of smiles on her lips.

  “You don’t have to be sorry. I made the choice to be there,” she replies, but I can’t tell if she is actually happy there or if she regrets her decision. I reach over and place a supportive hand on her shoulder, remaining silent so I don’t encourage her to come home. I’m surprised when she reaches up and laces her fingers with mine, the intimate contact enough to send a mild heat wave through my body. “I guess I don’t have to ask how life is going for you,” she utters before taking another long pull of her beer.

  “Well, I’m starting my last year at school, so I’m not really sure what happens after that. I still live with Kira, who is doing pretty well. Zeke is still a handsome little cuddle bug. Other than that, there isn’t much to report,” I finish before knocking back a large portion of my beer.

  “Not much to report? Yeah, no need to tell me what it’s like being a best selling author,” she sarcastically quips with a wave of her free hand. I’m not sure when it happened, but my hand now rests on the couch, with Olivia’s hand over the top of it, our fingers still entwined. Olivia relaxes against the back of the sofa, her beer clutched in the hand resting in her lap as I try to figure out what is happening.

  “Is that all that defines me now?” I ask, intending it to be a rhetorical question.

  “Of course not,” she answers and squeezes my fingers. “Is that how it feels?”

  “Some—,” I open my mouth to respond, but the sensation of Olivia softly stroking her thumb along the side of my hand causes my voice to catch. The gentle caress causes me to remember what it felt like to have her thumb brushing against the most sensitive parts of me. I clear my throat and try again, focusing on my answer and not what Olivia’s thumb is doing. “Sometimes. Most of the people at school are all right, but sometimes I feel this resentment from some of my classmates. Maybe I’m just being paranoid. I’m not some A-list celebrity, so I can still go about my life fairly normally, but there’s an increasing frequency to how often I get stopped for pictures and an autograph. I want to be accommodating, I do, but there are times I just want to get a cup of coffee and not be disturbed. God, listen to me,” I add before nearly finishing my beer. “I doubt it’s going to get better though, not after holiday break.”

  “Holiday break?” Olivia asks, utilizing her patented head tilt.

  “They’re making a movie. I have to do some press over the break to announce it and build up some hype for the next book.”

  “Oh my god! Jordan that’s amazing,” she answers, her voice increasing in volume, making me flinch. “You should be happy. Why aren’t you happy?”

  “I am. I know it’s amazing, I’m just tired of being pulled in so many different directions. School is insanely busy. Then I’m writing on top of what I have to do for school. I don’t always sleep well and the one break I thought I was going to have, isn’t really going to be a break.” I sigh before finishing my beer. I want another one but don’t want to take my hand away from Olivia’s. “I shouldn’t be complaining. I have no right to.”

  “Of course you have a right. You have so much going on, and you feel like you’re losing you
r privacy. I promise you’ll always be the girl in the Tori Amos shirt to me,” she says and squeezes my hand again before getting up and grabbing our glasses.

  “The one that you used to love?” I mumble under my breath, with no intention of Olivia hearing me.

  “Used to?” Olivia asks, tilting her head at me again, her eyebrows raised. She walks away without waiting for my response. My heart flutters as it wonders if there’s a chance she still loves me and if she does what the hell happened.