The Starfish Sisters: A Novel(89)

Just as you are.



“Phoebe,” says a voice. Ben’s voice. I’m sleeping so deeply that my brain spins a dream out of the single word, and we’re off on an adventure, rambling around Europe together. Maybe even the pyramids. I’d love to see the pyramids. How would that influence my work?

My brain registers his warm hand on my arm, and with a sense of swimming back to earth from another planet, I struggle to open my eyes. It’s dark with only moonlight or cloud light coming through the window. It falls on his face, a face that’s become so important to me even if I didn’t want it to. “Hi,” I manage. “What time is it?”

“Nearly seven. You’ve been here all day. Stephanie sent me down here to see if you want dinner.”

I test my stomach and realize it is dead empty. “That might be good.” Rolling to a sitting position, I brush my hair out of my face. “I was really sleeping.”

He sits next to me, brushes a lock of hair behind my ear. “You were. You needed it.”

A swift longing moves through me, for this to come to something, to be something. I’m lonely and I have been for a long time. I want a partner, as we all do. Maybe it’s really okay to want things. Want this. “I’m really glad to see you.”

“Me too.” He lifts my hand and kisses the palm, and a shiver moves through me.

If I’m going to be a better version of me, I have to start here. “You know that I’m hoping for something real here. I really like you.”

“I really like you, too,” he says.

My throat feels raw from crying. “I did something terrible, a long time ago.”

“Did you?”

“I was in love with Joel. He was always in love with Suze.”

He nods. “They were the couple everybody envied in school.”

I look at him, my vision of the world shifting to accommodate this version of life, a version I would never have seen, obviously. “Really?”

“Oh yeah.”

“I wasn’t in school with all of you, so I never saw that.”

He smiles gently. “I’m sorry you had a crush on him. That must have sucked.”

“It did.” I brush a fingertip over his broad thumbnail. “Realizing that they were a thing back then makes me feel even worse.” I take a breath. “Because he gave me a letter for her, and I never gave it to her. I only did it this morning.”

He says lightly, “Better late than never, huh?”

“I’m so ashamed of myself.” I bend into his shoulder, and he strokes my hair. “It had real consequences, and I can never make it right.”

“We’ve all done terrible things, Phoebe. Sometimes you just have to live with them.”

I take a breath and straighten. “I guess. But I’d like to make amends somehow if I can.”

“It’s cold in here,” he says. “Let’s go get some dinner, shall we?”

“Yes. Let’s do that.”

Then he kisses me. It’s gentle at first, and then it isn’t. “Would you want to go to London for a while?” I ask. “Maybe we could explore a little.”

“I might like that.”

“Good,” I murmur, standing up on my toes. Kiss him again.

“Hey,” he says, taking my hand. He’s looking over my shoulder. “There’s something going on at Suze’s place.”

A cold squeeze steals the air from my lungs as I follow his gaze and see flashing lights. Police lights or maybe ambulance. Emergency lights, red and blue. My heart squeezes so hard I’m afraid it’s going to explode. “Oh my God.”





Chapter Twenty-Eight


Suze


I’m soaked by the time I get back to the house. I lock the door behind me and disrobe in the foyer, shivering, then dash through the kitchen into the master bath, where I turn the shower on hot. It’s a glorious shower, with a rain head and all the bells and whistles. A window of glass brick allows a row of plants to grow in the humid light.

As I shampoo my hair, I wonder what to do about Phoebe. At first, her withholding the letter infuriated me, but I know it wasn’t the current-day Phoebe who did it. And yet, some of what I said was true—she’s riddled with little jealousies and her expectations are purely exhausting. We can’t keep having fights like this, fights that erupt over nothing and turn bitter within moments. How do we fix it? And if we can’t, how can I walk away?

When I’m dried and dressed in warm clothes, I pad into the kitchen, texting Joel. Will I see you tonight?

Nothing comes back immediately. Vaguely hungry, vaguely restless, I peer into the fridge. A fridge that has not been magically restocked by someone who knows my tastes and knows what I want in there. I’m going to have to figure out how to do my own shopping, or maybe I can find someone to help with some of these tasks. Do I really have to cook? Although I liked cooking during the pandemic, I’m not interested in cooking everyday meals. If I have someone to do the shopping and maybe make a few meals every week, I can probably do the rest.

I shake my head, laughing. So spoiled. But so what? I earned it, and it employs others and I’m not going to start feeling guilty just because I’m not living in the hothouse of Hollywood. I choose an apple—