The Brightest Star in a Constellation

36: Impermanent Places

"If you have space for me." I didn't expect that he would actually think about it.

"And you have to think about what you're leaving behind. Evan, when you were little, I wanted to spend time with you. I wanted to stay in this town. I didn't plan on moving away. But I couldn't bargain with your mother. She knew anything I said was an empty threat. What was I going to do? I couldn't take her to court. She moved on without me."

I shovel a handful of strawberries into my mouth while I listen. But I don't believe that. I don't think he tried to fight it. It's not as if I can have both. Maybe it's like a door that fully closes. Carolyn wouldn't reserve a place for me, in case I ever come back to her. Leaving is a final motion.

There's no blank space in that canvas. For as long as I stay in her grasp, I have a room. A place that belongs to me. And when I leave, it would no longer be mine. The boxes would be packed up and thrown out.

"It would be better to move in with you than to start fresh," I say. "If it doesn't work out, that doesn't matter either. I won't force it. If that's what I end up doing, I'd be fine with that. If it's a burden, well..."

The unsaid word hangs in the air. If I am a burden. In the universe Adrian currently inhabits, his main concerns are working and whoever he's dating at the moment, and neither of which I will be asking about.

As far as you are concerned, I do not exist. It's not as if my father has ever lied about that. He can bluff about it all he wants, but the truth was intertwined with that voicemail message.

"I didn't say that," Adrian replies, a bit too quiet. "What I was trying to get at is that if you leave, it's not the end. It's not a connection you can sever and be done with. You leave your friendships behind, too."

I cross my arms over my chest. "It's not the same."

"No? You risked your place on the hockey team for a friend." He moves into the living room, searching for the TV remote. It takes him a minute to find it, and when the screen turns on, a message pops up reading, No signal. He changes the channel to a static buzz. "Is it a friend?"

A light chuckle froths out of me before I can stop it. I told him about Claire breaking up with me only recently, and I guess he's already moved past that. "Yeah, no, we're friends."

Soon enough, it's time for me to head to work. I double back home to grab the car, and then I'm on my way. Since my bruise has yet to fade, I get stuck stocking shelves in the back room.

But my mind can't leave it alone. After all, before the hockey game, Lucas seemed to think the same about Peter and me. (It's the way you look at each other, he'd said. It's in the shared glances. I just assumed there was something there.)

(Yeah, right.)

I get to work, opening boxes and unpacking new products. The box cutter fits between my fingers like a knife, and it slices through the tape. Over and over. The repetition takes my focus, and for a few hours, I allow myself to forget about the twenty-four-seven chaos of my life.

☆ ☽ ☆

When I get back home, I nearly run into Randall and Elaine in the entryway. A waning light above head cuts out and returns, cleansing the apartment in a volatile lemon-yellow.

It smells like cinnamon, or maybe burnt toast. I itch the bandage on my hand.

"What's wrong?" I say.

Elaine shakes her head. Her eyes stray away from me, pinging between the floor and tugging at Randall's sleeve. Pointing to her phone, she says, "You didn't tell me before."