The Stars Will Shine (30 page)

“Why don’t you come join us outside? The water feels great…The beer is cold.”

“I’m seventeen.”

He lets out a puff of air and pokes me in the side. “Please, we both know you’ve probably had at least a few drinks in your time. Besides, it’s just beer.”

I don’t entertain him with an answer. Instead, I pick up the remote again and mindlessly flip through more channels.

Tommy reaches across my chest to move his beer from one hand to the other then pulls lightly at some tendrils of my hair. I glare harder at the television screen.

“You’re not much of a talker anymore, are you?” he observes.

Click. Click. Click.
The channels flash past. “I just don’t really know what to say to you, Tommy.”

“Well, shit, you could tell me you’ve missed me or something.” He unhooks his arm from around me and runs his hand through his hair. “It’s been three years for Christ’s sake. Remember all those good times we used to have?”

My blood runs cold; my hand clenches the remote control so hard my knuckles turn pale. Tommy shifts uncomfortably and clears his throat.

“You, me, and Dave, I mean,” he goes on coolly, like no other memories are running through his head, even though they’re overwhelming every inch of space in this room. “Like playing Frisbee in the monsoons when it was pouring down rain and the Frisbee would only fly like five feet? And ice-blocking down that one hill in Freestone park? The one that was actually kind of steep? And you fell off and went cartwheeling down, pretty much, and Dave and I thought you might’ve broken your arm, but then you stood up, all covered in grass, and raised both hands above your head like a champ.”

I swallow, breathe out, and try to relax. If he can pretend he never liked me, I can pretend I never loved him, can’t I? I can pretend there was nothing more to us than friendship? I have to because he’ll always be around.

I say quietly, “And then right afterward, the ice block came zooming down the rest of the way and took me out by my legs.”

Tommy laughs and squeezes my shoulder. “Yeah, see, those were great times.”

I smile a little too because, God, they really were. But as soon as I smile, it hurts so much that it fades almost immediately.

“Tommy?”
I remember saying, not quite believing he was there.
Tommy, shadowed by the night, slips into my room. It’s been a week and half since I last saw him, since I saw him at the mall with his girlfriend Anna. “What are you—what are…”

“Shh,” Tommy hushes as he climbs into the bed with me. He pulls the sheet over his body and slips his arm around me. Tucking his face into my neck, he says nothing more. When I think he might be asleep, I grow irritated at the thrill running through my nerves, at the way my heart beats too excitedly in its confusion. I shouldn’t feel this way. I should be angry with him.

“Tommy,” I start again. I roll away from him. “What about Anna?”

“What about her?” Tommy mumbles, digging into my neck again. This time, I feel his wet lips slide across my skin, and I close my eyes, savoring the feeling even though I know I shouldn’t. Something must be wrong with me—I must be screwed up inside to want this as much as I don’t, to love it as much as I hate it.

“It looked like you two are together now.” I want to cry at the memory of seeing her kiss him. Tommy runs his hands down my arms to soothe me then moves over me to look down into my eyes.

“She’s not you,” he whispers.

“Then why were you kissing her?”

“Delilah…” He ducks his head again, and I hear an exasperated sigh. “I can’t lose you,” he whispers. “But no one can know about us. It’s just…It’s not…”

He doesn’t finish that thought, and I’m left wondering what he was about to say. It’s not what? It’s not right?

Tommy presses his lips softly to mine then shifts to his knees and begins to take off his shirt.

My breath catches. “Tommy, I don’t know…”

“Delilah,” he pleads, casting his shirt aside. He brings my hands to his stomach, makes me feel the smooth ripples under his skin. “You know how attracted I am to you.”

“You’re with Anna now.”

“It’s not a big deal. She means nothing to me. There’s no one like you.”

And that’s all it takes to unravel me, to convince me that he really cares about me.

When Tommy is done, he collapses at my side, breathing hard.

“God, Delilah,” he says. “You have no idea how hot you are.”

I look at Tommy for a prolonged moment, my chest swelling at his words. And like a stupid little girl, I tell him again how I feel. “I love you, Tommy.”

But just like before, Tommy turns away. He pulls himself out of my bed and slowly puts his clothes back on.

“Good night, Delilah,” he says as he leaves my room. And I’m left again with the worst feeling in the world, with the realization that falling in love is just jumping off a cliff only to barrel hard into the earth. I cry, never having felt more disgusted with myself. And in the second before I fall asleep, I swear to never give someone my heart again.

That was the last time Tommy ever came to my room. I don’t know what I would’ve done if he came again. Probably, I would’ve given him another chance. Even now, my body reacts to him like it used to. But I know better now…Now, I’m revolted by the feeling. Back then, I saw in him what I wanted to see. Tommy was perfect…I was the imperfect one, the inadequate one; it was my fault he didn’t love me. I wasn’t pretty enough. I wasn’t experienced enough.

I don’t join my brother and Tommy outside. I don’t really do anything for the rest of the day but stay in my old bedroom, listening to music and reading more about colleges, imagining once more what it will be like to move far away. I check my phone every once in a while to see if anyone has texted me. I don’t know if I’m waiting for someone to, or wanting someone to, but I check frequently and find nothing.

My thoughts roam to Trevyn and Amber and Miles of Vinyls. I wonder what the turnout will be for their concert this Friday. I hope that one day Trevyn can forgive me for throwing everything—his relationship, our friendship—in his face.

My thoughts find their way to Aiden. No matter how hard I will them not to, that’s where they end up. Aiden. The boy who has only ever been good to me, in friendship and in love. The boy I don’t deserve. What is he doing now? Is he at baseball practice? Is he rehearsing his set list for the upcoming concert with Dylan? Does he hate me as much as I hate Tommy?

***

Dad’s birthday is the next day. I wake up late, only when Dave barges into my room and jumps on me. He throws himself under the sheet with me and snuggles close. I let out a long groan and flip to my other side so that my back is to him.

“Someone’s not a morning person anymore,” he remarks. He reaches over me to pinch my cheek, and I swat his hand away, hard. “I remember when you used to be the first one up in the mornings, waking me and Dad up with your pretty piano playing.”

“You never called it pretty back then.”

“That’s because it woke me up in the mornings.” Dave playfully nudges my back a few times. “C’mon, get up. It’s Dad’s birthday today, and we’re going out for brunch.”

“Go without me.”

“Delilah.” Dave’s voice acquires a more serious tone.

“What?” I snap. “He doesn’t really want me there anyway.” Dave pulls me by my shoulder so that I’m forced to roll toward him. He looks down at my face.

“You think Dad would’ve paid for your plane ticket home if he didn’t care whether you came out for his birthday or not?”

I’m silent.

“Exactly,” he says. “Now, let’s go.”

I stare daggers at his back as he slips from the bed and leaves the room. I’m not sure what’s gotten into Dave, but he’s acting more like a brother than he ever did growing up. I highly doubt it’s that he became more mature at college. Is it possible that he missed us—missed
me
even?

Brunch is a failure. Time and again, Dad tries to start some conversation with me, and Dave is forced to respond as if the questions are directed at him instead, to make up for my zipped lips.

“So, how has the weather been in California?” Dad asks.

A long silence at our table ensues, filled only by the sound of metal forks on ceramic plates and the distant hum of other diners’ chatter. I chew my food, as if I haven’t heard him.

Dave clears his throat. “I was looking online a couple weeks ago, and it seems they’ve been getting quite a few thunderstorms. Good for the drought, I bet. And Delilah’s probably been enjoying that, eh?” he teases. “She always did love the rain.”

“Tracked mud all through the house one day, I recollect,” Tommy adds in. “You remember that Dave? She refused to take off her tennis shoes because they were her ‘good luck Nikes,’ and she was waiting for her wish to come true.”

I stop eating for a second to stare down at my plate, my cheeks hot. Dad bought me those shoes when I joined a recreational basketball league in the fourth grade. I begged him and begged him for them when I saw them at the store, a brilliant blue color with neon green bottoms and white laces. When I was little, I swore they had magical powers. Every time I wore them, my wishes came true. But then again, I never wished for anything I knew was impossible, like my mother coming back to life.

That day, though—the one that Tommy’s talking about—it was when my crush on him was in its early stage. I was playing out in the rain when he and Dave came out to join me. We had a mud fight, and Tommy pinned me to the ground and smeared handfuls of it all over my face and neck. In that moment, I suddenly wished he would take my hand and hold it and tell me I was the cutest girl he’d ever seen. It was the biggest wish I’d ever placed on those shoes, and I wouldn’t take them off until it came true. I wore them through dinner; I wore them while we watched a movie, me at his side, covertly sneaking peeks at him; I wore them all the way up until I went to bed that night. But my wish never came true that day…or for many days after.

Not until three years later.

I spend the rest of brunch avoiding Tommy’s gaze. He keeps trying to catch my eye from across the table, and one time when he does, he winks at me. It’s the subtlest of winks, but it’s still a wink. I just can’t tell what kind of wink it is.

I feel a tap on my foot. With a glimpse under the table, I see the tip of Tommy’s shoe touching mine. I pull my foot away and stab a piece of sausage with my fork.

“You breaking hearts in California?” he asks, his smile lazy. But his tone belies his nonchalance; he’s truly curious.

Like you have a right to ask that, dickhead.

The thing is, as much as I want to play this game, to put Tommy in his place, tell him that yes I’m breaking hearts left and right and isn’t he so jealous of that, I can’t. It guts me every time I think of Aiden and how I hurt him. I try to tell myself that, in the end, I spared him so much more pain, but it doesn’t make me feel any better. Aiden is a piece of my life, a treasured memory, I’d rather not have tainted by Tommy.

I stare Tommy down, my grip on my fork like a dead man’s. He stares back, conceit in the crescent of his lips, a flash of something unholy in his eyes, and I know that, as much as he tries to pretend he hasn’t thought of it, he’s remembering me beneath him, unclothed and unbranded, staring up at him with a watery shine in my cerulean eyes, oblivious of all to come, just wanting him to love me.

“I seem to have lost my appetite,” I say, carefully setting my fork back to the table. A disconnect between my mind and body pushes me up in a tangle of limbs, and I nearly fall to the floor, if not for my dad catching me by my arm. I barely glance back at Dad as I walk out of the restaurant, the burn of suppressed tears in my eyes, but I catch an expression on his face he doesn’t even try to hide: a blend of sorrow and shame.

In the parking lot, I sit on the car’s back bumper, picking up pebbles and tossing them a few feet away. I hate Tommy. I hate him with a fiery passion. What was I ever to him? What am I now? Just a girl he can string along, suck dry for attention, just so he can feel better about himself? Eyes closed against the pain, I tilt my head back against the dusty rear window and bite my lip to still the trembling. What kind of sick fuck is he?

Dave, Tommy, and Dad exit the restaurant a little while later. Tommy tries to squeeze my shoulder as he passes, but I evade him and walk around the car to the other side.

Dave follows me and says in my ear before I climb in, “What’s going on with you? You’re acting like a bitch to Tommy.” He gets no answer from me. Not even a manifestation of emotion on my face.

That night, Dave and Tommy head to North Scottsdale with some of their old high school friends for a night out at the clubs, which just leaves me and Dad in a house of suffocating silence. I walk the shadowed place, run my hand over the wooden railing around the stairwell, make my way quietly to the library where hundreds of books are stacked in the shelves, most of them mystery series or literary fiction. I run my fingertips over their spines, making clear trails in the dust that has gathered while they’ve sat there, unread for years.

My dad used to read all the time; it was one of the things that not only took his mind off my mother’s pain and death, but helped him accept it. But then everything changed when he started putting more hours in at work. I think he felt guilty about moving on without her, enjoying life when she no longer had one. His work replaced the books. With books, he felt something; there was still a flicker of life inside of him. With his office job, it became all too easy for him to just exist, to distract himself from any sort of feelings by letting the monotonous routine leave him an empty shell of a man.