The Starfish Sisters: A Novel(69)

“So why did you?”

“I thought I should.”

“But neither of us has had another child,” I say quietly. “That breaks my heart.”

“Mine too. Who did she look like?”

“You. She looked just like you. Such dark hair.”

He raises his eyes, showing a deep expression of grief. “I wish I could have held her.”

“Me too,” I whisper, and lean into him, hiding my face in his shoulder. “I bet she’s tall.”

“I wonder if she draws or paints or acts.” He strokes my hair. “I wonder if she’s ever seen you on TV or something and wondered if you seemed familiar.”

A pain stabs my gut. “Oh, that’s a terrible thought.”

“I’m sorry.”

We sit in the quiet, and it feels exactly right, that we should be here so many years later, in this very space where we made love so long ago. Impulsively, I say, “I missed you, Joel. Like, always. Is that weird?”

“Same.” I feel him take a lock of hair into his fingers and thread it around his knuckles. “I tried to see you once.”

I lift my head. “When?”

“I don’t know exactly. I knew you were going to be onstage with a movie premiere in Seattle.”

“Because you stalked me?”

His grin is swift and sexy. “Yes. I did.”

“So what happened?”

“I mean, I went to the premiere and I was in the audience, like right up front. I kept hoping you’d see me and then we’d have this big reunion and”—a shrug—“I don’t know. You didn’t. And your life was clearly so good.”

A little shattering sensation moves across my heart. “You were in the audience? I hate that I didn’t see you. It’s so bright that it’s hard to see anything. I wish you would have sent me a note.”

“I didn’t think you wanted to talk to me.”

“I called your mom once,” I say, running my hand over his chest. “She told me you were married and I should leave you alone.”

“So many missed chances,” he says.

“Not this one.”

He brings my hand up and takes my index finger into his mouth. I’ve never thought I would like this, but heat rushes through me. His eyes are molten dark and I can feel the wet give of his inner lip. I bend in and kiss him, and this time we take each other with a kind of starved brutality, leaving bruises and banging teeth, joining in a kind of frenzy. I collapse on his chest, his hands on my bare back and think, How will I ever survive this?





Chapter Nineteen


Phoebe


“Nana,” Jasmine says as I’m getting supper ready. “I need to talk to you.”

“Of course.” I slide a cookie sheet of soy “fish” sticks and Tater Tots into the oven. It’s a horrible meal, but I have to admit I like it, too. I sit down across from her. “What’s up, darling girl?”

“I don’t want to move to England.” She pulls out her notebook. “I made a list of my reasons. I want to read them to you.”

She’s so young and so old in the same body. Her hair is pulled back into a ponytail that puffs out like the head of a dandelion, and her big gray eyes are serious. There is no face on this planet that I love better. Tears prick the back of my eyes, and I have to blink to keep them where they belong. “Of course. I’m glad to listen.”

“Number one—I don’t want to be so far away from my nana.” She looks at me, raises her second finger. “Two, I like living by the ocean, not in the city. Three, my mom can fly back and forth a lot easier than you can. Four, it’s healthier for kids to live in nature. Five, I can have pets here and my mom won’t have to deal with them.” She moves to her left hand. “Six, London has a lot of crime. Seven, England has a monarch and I don’t agree with that. Eight, they won’t like my American accent and might make fun of me, and that would really hurt my feelings. Nine—well, that’s all.” She closes the notebook. “I am still working on it.” As if she’s the CEO of a small corporation, she folds her hands on top of the notebook. “But you and my mom need to listen to me. I’m not just being a kid. This affects my life, too, and I should have a say.”

I nod, folding my own hands over hers, and let my gut settle. Of course she’s right about a lot, but she’s also wrong, and she doesn’t know the good things. Also, it’s nonnegotiable, no matter what she thinks or how persuasive her arguments are. I remember wanting so desperately to live with Beryl instead of my parents, and it would have broken my father’s heart. And it would break Stephanie right in two. “That is a great list. I’m proud of you for being so logical.”

She yanks her hands from beneath mine. “But you’re still not going to listen, are you?”

“Jasmine, you know I love you and I want you to be happy. But this is not my decision. It’s your mother’s. And you know what else?”

“What?”

“I know you love her and want to be with her.”

She blinks away tears. “I do love her. I miss her.” She steadies herself. “But I still don’t want to go.”

“It’s going to be okay, Jazzie. I promise.”