Page 58 of When Stars Collide
“Piano lessons and equestrianism.”
“Those would be the very ones.” I gestured at Phineas using my finger gun. “My parents never asked me what I wanted, nor did they care. Melissa, though, anything she wanted to do, she was able to do. Anything she didn’t want to do, she didn’t have to do. Not me, though. And the more I resisted them, the more they pushed, until I hit my breaking point at thirteen. I started sneaking out of the house to meet friends. I began smoking on occasion.”
“I bet that didn’t go over very well.”
“That’s an understatement. When my parents found out, they, of course, freaked out, sending me to counseling and a private school away from all the bad influences. After they’d isolated me, broken me down just enough, I resigned myself to becoming that perfect daughter they wanted—for a while, anyway. There were a lot of things I allowed them to control, but my dreams weren’t one of them. They were resistant to me attending college at Cogsworth. Why on earth would I want to go into the publishing industry? After all, they wanted their daughter to be in a profession they could brag about to their friends at the country club. They even threatened not to pay for my tuition. I told them not to worry about that because I would pay for it myself, and I did, with scholarships.”
“That’s quite impressive.” Phineas, seeming genuinely interested in my crap fest of a childhood, hadn’t taken his eyes off me since I began talking. “What I don’t understand is, why aren’t you and your sister closer now that you’re both adults? I get there being a sense of resentment with the way your parents treated you versus the way they treated her, but I know you understand that wasn’t her fault.”
“I do, but she always seemed to relish the extra attention they gave her and the freedom to make the choices I couldn’t. Strangely, now that we’re grown, she seems to think life is a competition. She went to the university our parents chose for her, becoming an accomplished flautist and marrying her investment banker husband. Every time I go back to Ohio—which isn’t often—I’m forced to endure a barrage of passive-aggressive comments about my mundane life in New York, helping others succeed in life while I remain unmarried, returning home to my lesbian roommate. That’s why I don’t readily offer information about my parents, and why I’ve told people I was an only child. I just don’t want to think about them anymore.”
“Of course, you know I would beg to differ with them on your level of success. Success isn’t measured by who knows your name or the amount of applause a person receives when they enter a room.”
“Says the burgeoning celebrity of the publishing industry and the man who has people eating from the palm of his hand every time he walks out on stage.”
A throng of additional people appeared from nowhere on the dance floor, which was now full to capacity. I often watched people in crowds, wondering what their lives were like compared to my own, whether we shared similar experiences. Odds were a few of them had shitty parents, too.
Next to me, Phineas’s attention remained focused on me, like he was expecting me to expand on my thoughts.
“You know, the worst part is that I never once—not even for a second—felt like I was loved by my own parents. If you were to ask them, they would say that was ridiculous and, of course, they loved me. They would say they did the best that they could, that they only had my best interests at heart. But you know what?I think that’s bullshit, because that feeling of inadequacy has stayed with me through the years, making me second guess the actions of others. Since my own parents didn’t love me, then why should anyone else? Then I met Elle and, later,Luke and Peter, and I realized that I am worthy and deserving of love, after all.”
“I understand that scenario all too well.” At some point during our conversation, Phineas had leaned in closer to hear me over the music. He was probably no more than a foot away from me now, close enough for me to catch a whiff of his signature cologne, La Nuit De L’homme by Yves Saint Laurent. The smell that drove all the women in the office absolutely batshit crazy. “I hope that, aside from the love and acceptance you found with your friends, that you yourself have also come to the conclusion that you are in fact worthy of that love and acceptance, because you are, Mena.”
It was like someone had hit pause and I was stuck, unable to react, unable to move, unable to think, unable to do anything but look into Phineas’s eyes while acutely aware of just how close twelve inches really was. And as the gap between us was closed inch by inch by the both of us, I willed my mouth to say something, but by that point, my brain had abandoned me. Thankfully, my stomach stepped in.
“Are you okay?” he asked as I suddenly threw my hands over my mouth.
I shook my head, feeling the bile steadily rising toward my throat. I had, at most, ten seconds to decide where it was going to go, and since over the side of the building wasn’t an option, I found the next best solution. In the nick of time I threw my head into a potted plant and relieved myself of a night’s worth of alcohol.
“Oh, Mena.” Phineas knelt beside me, keeping my hair away from my face and remaining there until I finished. “Come on, I think we should get you to bed.”
*****
I awoke the next morning with only a vague recollection of how I ended up in the huge, king-sized bed in the equally as large guest bedroom of Phineas’s penthouse. When the memories all came flooding back, I let out a moan, covering my head with my hands.
Oh, Mena, you aren’t twenty-one anymore.
The familiar sound of pots and pans banging together alerted me to the presence of Phineas in the kitchen. As I crawled out of bed, I was thankful to see that my clothes were still on, save for Phineas’s suit coat, which I hoped had remained vomit-free. On the floor, my heels rested next to the bed. I couldn’t even remember having removed them, but I know damn well that if I had, they wouldn’t have been coupled neatly together in such a convenient location. With the noise escalating in the kitchen, I grabbed my shoes and padded my way in the direction of the commotion.
Phineas’s back was to me as he worked over the stove. The unmistakable crackle and the smell hugging my nose told me he was cooking bacon. His face lit up into a smile when he turned around and saw me watching him. “Good morning. Did you sleep well?”
“Better than I should have, considering I murdered an evergreen with my stomach contents.”
He chuckled, setting down a plate of bacon with a fried egg and a piece of burnt toast on the quartz island in front of me. “I wouldn’t worry about the fate of that tree. If regurgitated alcohol could kill it, it would have been dead months ago.” His eyes wandered down to the plate and back up at me again. “I don’t cook much.”
“It looks … edible.”
“Exactly what I was going for.” He filled his own plate and sat across from me.
“Thank you for everything you did for me last night. It’s not often that I go out, and even less so that I allow myself to get as …”
“Inebriated.”
“I was going to say shit-faced, but if I have to keep it classy, then we’ll go with inebriated. In all seriousness, though, I owe you one.”
“You owe me nothing,” he answered stubbornly. “If anything, it should be me offering you my gratitude.”
“For what? Making you babysit me last night?”
