Page 46 of If the Stars Align
“You know what I just realized? We’ve been together almosta year, and you’ve never told me about your past relationships,” Asher says.
The muscles in my stomach tighten like I’m bracing for a punch. I knew this would come up eventually. Asher’s told me about girls he’s dated in casual conversation, but I’ve been careful not to do the same because Ireallydon’t want to get into the details of what happened between me and Dex. I don’t think I’m capable of discussing him without getting emotional. We have too much history. Plus, I’ve been through this before with Chris—he dumped me because I still had feelings for my ex—and I’m not ready for things to end with Asher. If there’s anyone who can break this spell that Dex has over me, it’s him. He’s such an amazing boyfriend. What if all I need is a little more time?
“Well, I didn’t date in high school, so my first relationship was freshman year of college. We weren’t together long. Then I started dating someone I met at a party in Beachwood,” I explain, fudging the details. “He goes to school in California, and we were on-and-off for about a year. And then there was you,” I say smiling. I kiss him on the shoulder, hoping it will distract him and stave off further questioning.
Asher’s quiet for several seconds, then clears his throat. “So, the long-distance one…is that why it ended? The distance?”
I squint at the ceiling, as if the answer were hiding somewhere between the cracks in the paint. “Maybe,” I say with a shrug. “The distance definitely didn’t help. It was tough. I wouldn’t do it again.”
I glance at the frosty window. At the snowflakes dancing outside. It takes a minute of silence before I realize the significance of whatI just said. And why Asher asked me in the first place.
He’s worried about next year.
I feel terrible, but, before I get a chance to say anything, my cell phone rings.
It’s my mom. Luis is moving in, and they’re getting married.
“Oh my gosh!” I exclaim, turning to Asher. “My mom’s engaged!” His eyes widen, and he smiles. I know he’s genuinely happy for me and my family, because that’s the kind of person he is. But I can also tell he’s hurt. He doesn’t say as much, but I see it in his eyes. When I get off the phone, he tells me he has a headache and turns off the light. Before long, he’s asleep.
To add insult to injury, when Asher drops me off at my dorm the next morning, there’s a letter from Northwestern waiting for me. It’s in a small envelope—unlike the thick welcome packets I’ve received from every other law school I applied to.
“Do you think you and Asher will stay together?” Sam asks me. She and Claire are on their couch, and I’m sitting on a meditation cushion on the floor. We’re having a girls’ night, eating popcorn and watching primetime TV.
I decided a few weeks ago that I’ll be attending Indiana University School of Law in Bloomington. As soon as I laid eyes on the campus, which is nestled in a charming college town, I was sold. I still can’t believe I didn’t get into Northwestern, though. What if this is the Universe telling me I shouldn’t be going into law? That I picked the wrong career and should havestudied creative writing instead? If I’d been true to myself, and not worried so much about what everyoneelsewants me to be, maybe I’d be in LA right now with Dex. Writing steamy romance novels and having steamy sex.
There I go again. I shouldnotbe thinking about steamy sex with Dex when I have a boyfriend. But that’s a lot easier said than done.
I let out a deep sigh before I answer Sam’s question about Asher. “I don’t know what we’re going to do about the distance. We haven’t discussed logistics yet. I think we’re both trying to ignore the problem until…we can’t.”
Asher hasn’t brought up the long-distance issue since my completely thoughtless comment on that snowy winter day, and I’m grateful—especially now that I know we’ll be apart. But I can’t help also feeling anxious. My faux pas is palpable, like an irreparable snag in a favorite sweater. You know it’s there, and you know you can’t fix it, but you wear the sweater anyway because you need the comfort. Because you’re not ready to toss it away. Deep down, I know we’re delaying the inevitable. Eventually, one of us will pull the thread.
“I’m sorry, Sunny,” Claire says with a hefty sigh. “I know exactly how you feel.” Claire’s boyfriend got into med school in Boston, and she’ll be staying at Northwestern for business school. They found out a week ago, and she’s been miserable.
“This is why I keep things casual,” Sam says with a sympathetic frown. “I’m going to refill our popcorn. Want anything else? I made some hummus earlier today…”
Claire’s eyes light up. “Are youfinallyletting your mom teachyou how to make Middle Eastern food? I vote for falafel next!”
Sam aggressively shakes her head. “Absolutely not. My Lebanese mother would love nothing more than for me to quit school, find myself a husband, and spend all day cooking and cleaning for him and our litter of children,” she says with a shudder. “Nothank you. I only asked for her hummus recipe because chickpeas are cheap, and I’m broke.”
Claire frowns. “Bummer. Ireallylove falafel.”
“So…no hummus?” Sam asks.
“I love hummus,” I chime in. “I’ll take some.”
“Coming right up,” Sam replies, hopping off the couch. With all the angst swirling inside me—feeling uncertain about law school, and where things are headed for Asher and me—I haven’t been paying much attention to the TV. But while Sam is in the kitchen, something draws me in. It’s a commercial for an acne-fighting cleanser. It cuts from one attractive young person to the next as they each pump the product into their palms and wash their faces in splashes of water that seem to appear from nowhere. Imagine my shock when I realize that one of the attractive young people is none other than Oliver Dexter.
He's looking right at me through the TV screen. The same, devastatingly handsome Dex I used to know, just a little bit older. His eyelashes are dripping wet, like the night we got caught in the rain. He grabs a towel and dries his face. Then he half-smiles.
And it destroys me.
The floor beneath me starts crumbling. The walls I’ve built are caving in. I break into a cold sweat.Every muscle in my body contracts, as though braced for cataclysmic danger. I look back at Claire, who’s flipping through a magazine. How can she flip through a magazine at a time like this? The world is ending.
I need to get out of here.
I stand just as Sam comes back from the kitchen.
“You know what?” I say, shoving my shaky hands into my pockets. “I have terrible cramps. They just came on. I think I’m going to call it a night.”
