Page 60 of When Stars Collide
“If this is what you want, what you truly want, then I guess this is it, then.” I sighed, struggling to hold back my tears. “But for what it’s worth, I still love you. I always will.”
He sucked in a breath, taking a moment to regain his composure. “Good-bye, Mena.”
I sat on the bed in silence, waiting for him to tell me that he was kidding, that this was all some sort of sick joke. Minutes later, with my arm seemingly made of lead and the other end of the line still silent, I removed my phone from my ear and looked down at the screen. He’d hung up. Just like that, he was gone. And it was within that realization, that slap in the face from reality, that the tears began to fall. A trickle at first and then a cascade. I threw my phone on the bed and collapsed onto my pillow, hoping that it would muffle my sobbing and the sharp gasps of air I took between sobs.
For as long as I could remember, I had always had an interest in astronomy, reading anything I could get my hands on about the formation of the planets and the discovery of new ones. In particular, I remember reading an article describing the aftermath that transpired after two stars collided with each other in the vastness of space. The result of the impact was often catastrophic, either completely obliterating the celestial bodies forever, or in the case of neutron stars, forming a black hole. In some rare cases, however, the two stars would merge together upon impact, becoming an entity greater than themselves. That was how I would have described Peter and me. Two individuals becoming a single, greater entity when we were together. Somehow, in the wide expanse of this planet, we’d found each other, and despite our differences, our faults, and our emotional baggage, we’d managed to coalesce into a force capable of conquering the universe. I guess I’d been wrong about us. But that’s what happens when stars collide—you never quite know whether the impact will transform you or destroy you.
My phone rang from where it had landed on the other side of my bed. Believing it to be Peter, I moved quickly to snatch it up, only to be disappointed when I saw that it was Elle calling.
“Wordtravels fast,” I said, trying my best not to sound like I was falling apart piece by piece.
“What are you talking about?” she asked, not at all trying to mask the fact that she was crying, too. “Wait, are you crying?” She sniffed so loudly, I had to move my phone away from my ear.
“I’m not crying, you’re crying.”
“No, seriously, Mena, what’s wrong?”
“Peter just broke up with me.”
“What? No! But he adores you. Why?”
“In a nutshell, we’re two different people in two different worlds.”
“That sounds like a bunch of bullshit. Do you want me to have Luke talk to him?”
“That’s the last thing I want you to do. If he doesn’t want me, he doesn’t want me.” I closed my eyes and pinched the bridge of my nose to try to keep the tears at bay. “Enough about Peter and me. What’s wrong with you? Receive the wrong doilies for your reception? Do I, as your maid of honor, need to bust some kneecaps?”
“No, I actually don’t know why I’m crying. Maybe out of relief, or even excitement. I received the results of the DNA test. Mena, Mark Damsky is my father.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
I readjusted myself in my seat right as the plane began making its descent, preparing for its arrival at the Evansville Indiana Regional Airport. My sudden movement brought about a throbbing ache in my lower back where my mole had been removed by a dermatology office near my apartment. For a relatively small lesion, the dermatologist had removed a large chunk of skin, which resulted in a wound that required three stitches to close. If it turned out to be a false alarm after the biopsy results were read, I was going to have real a bone to pick with Daffodil.
On the bright side, at least the discomfort provided me with a momentary reprieve from my thoughts of Peter and the fact that I hadn’t received so much as a text from him since our breakup over three weeks ago. After talking to him every day for over a year, I had been forced to quit Peter Monroe cold turkey, and the withdrawal was brutal.
Elle and Luke were awaiting my arrival at the airport, having arrived an hour earlier. Knowing Luke, he’d probably already secured the rental car for our trip to Jasper, Indiana, Elle’s hometown. Knowing Elle, she’dprobably already had a handful of anxiety attacks brought about by the reality that she was about to meet Mark Damsky. Since discovering that the mysterious Mr. Damsky was definitely Elle’s father, I caught myself wondering what it was about him that had kept Betsy Sloan, a hardcore alcoholic and shitshow of a mother, away from him. Surely, had he been the saint he projected himself as being, Betsy would have seen it fit to include him in Elle’s life? If anything, it would have been easier than being a single mother. But, curiously, she hadn’t. And there had to have been a reason why.
“Let’s plan a trip to Indiana. It’ll be fun, said no one ever in the history of evers,” I greeted Elle, who was waiting for me by the baggage claim.She turned when she heard my voice, her eyes cloaked in sadness as she took me in.“No,” I admonished her, pointing at her. “You aren’t doing that here.”
“Aren’t doing what?” she asked.
“You aren’t going to give me your big, sad puppy dog eyes. Just put them away. Close your eyes if you have to.”
Before I could stop her, she flung her arms around me in a tight hug. “How are you holding up?”
“I’m still standing,” I answered, glad she couldn’t see my face and the tears I was fighting to hold back.
“Thanks for coming.”
“Are you kidding me? Like I was going to let you meet your bio daddy without your best friend. Hell, I would have paid you to let me tag along to meet the brave man who knocked up Betsy Sloan.”
She released me from her grip. Her face and the dark circles etched underneath each of her eyes confirmed my suspicion that her anxiety had been in full force since receiving the results of the paternity test. Her nose was red, rubbed raw from a tissue. She hadn’t been sick, so it could only have been from the tears I knew she’d shed. Proof positive that even from beyond the grave, Betsy Sloan was still toying with Elle’s emotions.
“Is that Mena I hear?” I looked over Elle’s shoulder to see Luke approaching us, smiling.
“The one and only.” I met Luke’s outstretched arms. Growing up, my parents had never been much for hugging—or any other form of affection, for that matter. When I became an adult, and anyone would try to hug me, I would just awkwardly stare at their outstretched arms, confused. It took some time for me to get used to the idea that hugging was a way in which normal people greeted each other.
“Thank God,” Luke said, releasing me from his grasp.
