Like Seeing Stars

7.

The house looks different.

Jesse hates it. It doesn't look lived in anymore. All the clutter is gone. No more books sit stacked on the end tables, all shoes have been collected and stowed on a newly placed rack, and all the throw rugs have been freshly secured. In the upstairs bathroom, all his things have been placed in a wooden tray for him to 'find things easily' at the end of the week. Even the refrigerator wasn't spared in his mother's rampage.

Right now, his mother sorts his closet while he packs up his shelves. For the past three minutes, though, he's been on pause. He thumbs through crinkled pages, soaked, dried, sun-bleached. This book has been with him since he was ten years old, a book he found in his father's office, a book he read in secret, that he shouldn't have read at such a tender age. Lip lodged between teeth, he reads some of the notes he made over the years, with occasional symbols and emojis drawn in Jasmine's handwriting. He traces the shape of a heart drawn on a corner, that's been dog eared so many times it could fall off at any moment, and grins.

It doesn't matter to him if he can't physically read this book next week, there's no way in hell he's giving it up.

"Fight Club, huh," his mother's hand squeezes his shoulder from behind, "that used to be one of your father's favorite reads."

"Really," he asks coyly.

"Looks like it's one of your favorites, too," there's a hitch in her voice, he can't stand it, can't look at her, "Jesse, it's okay to keep some things. I—" she clears her throat, "I know we've been purging and cleaning and I—I haven't stopped to ask. How are you doing?"

A shake of his head, eyes fixed on his book, the words blur fast. She kneels on the floor behind him, pressure builds behind his ribs to the point of suffocation, he tries to control his breathing, but the room shrinks around him.

Her arms wrap around his chest and squeeze tight.

At last, the dam breaks.

Unable to stay in his house any longer, Jesse decided to run to the park after sending off a quick text. Now, sweat still fresh on his neck, he sits on a picnic bench as he watches kids crawl like ants over the playground. It's been months since he felt good enough to go for a run, were he not meeting someone he would've kept going. Yet, somehow, watching these kids play with abandon as the sun goes down elicits a strange but welcome emotion. Happiness, untouched by the future or the past, this moment for these kids exists out of time and this brings him peace.

"Hey, Jesse J."

The sound of her voice is enough to make his heart flutter. Even after months of directing his thoughts away from her, his body can't help but react. When he turns to her, her deep blue eyes swallow him whole. Images of past nights together light up like flares in his mind: her hair between his fingers like silk, her lips against his as soft as pillows, the curves of her body pressed against his chest and his hips...

"Aspen," he tries to smile, fails somewhere along the way.

"Thanks for meeting me," she says, her voice as soft as a whisper, "I didn't know if I'd hear from you—You look great."

Words escape him, not for the first time in these past three days. He can't help but get caught up in the way her hair glows beneath the dying light, like moonbeams in a bottle, or how supple her lips look when she speaks to him, and don't get him started on how creamy the skin of her abdomen looks as it peeks-out from beneath her cropped tie-dye t-shirt. He misses everything about her, down to the way she would randomly poke him with absolutely no explanation.

"Look, I have nothing to say but I'm sorry. I can't explain to you why I did what I did except that I got overwhelmed and didn't know how to tell you. I just—I'm sorry and I needed to tell you before everything changed," she wets her lips before she continues, a habit she's always had, a habit he's always loved, "and I say that because I want to be here for you, when—you know—"

"I don't know what to say," her words jolt him, the thought of history repeating itself makes him feel sick, "I don't know how to trust you anymore, because frankly, I don't have room in my life right now for someone who's going to flake on me. Again."

Her beautiful eyes drift to the ground as she picks at her nails. It pains him to make her feel this way, but he needs her to understand.

"Penny—I miss you. I do. And because I miss you this way, I can't go through that again. This is going to change my life in ways I don't even understand yet and—"

"I know, you're right," she comes closer, close enough to touch, "I know I have to earn it and I don't expect to be together again in that way, but I want to be part of your support system. I want you to know that you can call me or text me or—whatever. Just, let me earn it."

Tears build and he blinks against the emotion. He knows he's too vulnerable to form a logical argument against her request. If only Patrick or Noah was here to back him up. Hell, if only Nora was here to knock some sense into him.

Her hand slips into his and that's all it takes.

"Okay," he breathes.

He gives in. Arms wrap around his waist and he's helpless but to pull her tight against him. The smell of her alone makes him weak but he doesn't care. In this moment, he allows time to fall away, no future, no past, only the intoxicating comfort of now.

Emotion clogs his throat.

From the moment he crossed the threshold of Perpetual Motion Studio, he's found it hard to see. Since he was ten years old, he's come here at least once a week with his best friend: to cheer her on, to watch in wonder as she and her team performed impossible stunts, to assist with bake sales, car washes, you name it, he's done it. But today is different.

Today they welcomed him with open arms and a poster card signed by each team member in puffy paint. Today they guided him to their largest practice room, the one with a balcony, and performed a routine for him, conceptualized and choreographed, in the hopes of helping him to understand that he's not alone. Eyes fixed on Jasmine, he can't help but watch in awe as she spins across the floor or leaps so high, he's sure he could walk beneath her.

Words can't express how proud he is of her, how in awe of her he is after watching her grow in dance over the last seven years. There was a time she couldn't make one full rotation without falling, now look at her.

The studio director stands beside him, arm around his shoulders, tears building in her eyes, too. Ms. Sam has always been a vibrant source of happiness in Jasmine's life and for that he will always be grateful. He hopes she will be there for his best friend in times that he can't, that she will be gentle and understanding in these next few months as they allow life to alter them so completely. He knows she will.

As the music draws to a close, Jesse swipes at his eyes and gives them a round of applause. From the milieu down below, Jasmine looks up and the two lock eyes. Even at this distance, he can see the tears that fall off her cheeks, eyes rimmed red. The rest of her team files up the stairs to surround him.

All he can do is smile and laugh, embrace the hugs, and well wishes. His eyes search for her, finding her talking to Ms. Sam, her arms crossed, posture sunken into one hip. After a performance like that, she should be standing tall, proud. Sensing the weight of his gaze, she turns to give him a smile and a wink, which he gives back in turn.

When she turns away, he can't help but notice how her face drops.

"Jesse," Kai, Jasmine's long time dance partner and next-best friend, finally wades through the other girls to get to him. "Hey, good to see you, man."

"Kai, good to see you, too. I was hoping you'd be here today. I know you can't always get away from your house."

Kai carries on the conversation and Jesse does his best to pay attention, he just can't quite pull his thoughts away from the look on his best friend's face.

~~~

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