Page 17 of Until the Last Star Fades

“It is—” Erika caught herself. “Well…socially.” She added two more boxes to the haul in Riley’s arms.

She stared at the lavish stash teetering in her arms. One careless nudge and her paycheck would be splattered across the floor. “Uh, want a basket?”

Pausing at a mirror, Erika flashed a gleaming smile, a perk of Scott’s endorsement deal with a teeth-whitening brand. “I’m one degree of separation from landing on the most coveted guest list. The Met Gala is THE big get, and with Leia working part-time at the Costume Institute—”

Riley rolled her eyes. “Kissing her butt so you can go to a celeb-filled party…”

“It might sound silly to you, but it’s everything to me.”

“I’d apologize to Leia if I’d done something wrong, but…” Riley curled her lip. “She acts like I slept with Tyler. Yuck—as if!”

“Honestly, who hasn’t slept with Tyler? Have you heard the latest?” Erika pulled Riley into a Leia-free corner. “You know that Fashion Week model, the one with the twin sister who dates that douche from SNL? Apparently, she’s the latest.”

“Ugh, I don’t get the attraction.” Riley frowned. “He’s so cocky—like he’s God’s gift, boasting about his blue line prowess at your Christmas party. Remember when I rattled off his embarrassing plus-minus stats? That shut him up.”

“Yeah, he looked like a puck hit him in the groin,” Erika snickered.

“The Pittsburgh scandal would’ve done it for me. I can’t stand cheaters—I can’t stand him.”

“And that’s the problem.” Erika exhaled heavily. “That’s why Leia is frosty. She knows you don’t like him—”

“That’s the reason?!” Riley flinched at her loud retort and settled into a whisper. “But I’m on her side! All I said was that she deserved better.”

“I know, but nobody’s allowed to diss Tyler, except her…”

“She’s being naïve: once a cheater, always a cheater. Why won’t she leave him? He slept with his teammate’s wife, for fuck’s sake!”

“Love makes you do crazy things, Rye. All she wants is Tyler and his babies, and if she has to break her vows to make him jealous, so be it. Personally, I think someone’s going to get hurt. I told her as much and she freaked out at me, said I wasn’t supportive and froze me out for a week. You being weird could set her off again…”

As much as Riley liked Erika, she didn’t like the melodrama that accompanied her pro hockey clique. Rumors of affairs, fickle friendships, the competition to have the best clothes, the biggest homes, and the most jaw-dropping parties was never ending and exhausting. Rich people’s problems—so foreign, so not her. The more she was exposed to it, the more Riley hated it, but with tomorrow looming, her fight was needed elsewhere…and Erika had kindly covered every night out since fall, so she owed her—literally. Hold your nose and just agree to it.

“I can’t have you relegated to the penalty box.” Riley gently kicked a shopping basket toward Erika, careful not to shift her perfume pyramid. “Fine, I’ll be extra nice to Leia—and Tyler—for you.”

“Babe, you’re the best!” Erika claimed her items, placing each one lovingly in the basket. “But speaking of the worst…guess what Mom called about this morning?” She didn’t allow Riley to answer. “Her dress. She hates it! I said, ‘Mom, it’s Gucci—deal with it!’ Then, she said a chocolate fountain mimicking the Stanley Cup was tacky…”

Riley zoned out. Mother-daughter arguments, weddings, hockey husbands…every bit of it soured her empty stomach.

Nine

Riley was battling a serious case of the Mondays.

Her ‘Directing the Camera’ workshop ran late, leaving her scrambling for the appointment in Brooklyn. She cursed the B train from Broadway-Lafayette for being so slow, the worn treads on her boots for hindering her progress on the slippery sidewalks, and God—if there was one—for being cruel and unfair.

Stomach growling, she weaved around people rushing past, their fluffy conversations and laughter in wild contrast to the fear squeezing her heart. These people—they don’t know how lucky they are. Everyone’s lives just go on while mine is tearing apart at the seams…

Large storefront windows topped with blue awnings signalled she’d arrived. Breathe, Riley. She pulled open the door and hurried inside the modern space, passing by crisp, white lab coats and slow-moving people—patients, family members? Her wet boots squeaked to a halt on the shiny floors in front of a simple yet stylish white desk, topped with a flourish of silk flowers.

“I’m sorry, I’m late—”

“It’s okay, Riley. Take a seat.” The woman gestured to the area behind a large white wall punctuated with cut-out square shapes, each one home to a colorful vase or piece of blown glass. “Your mom’s here.”

“Thank you.” Riley nodded and stepped around the wall.

Rooting around in her purse, Maggie Hope sat alone in the waiting room on a sky-blue couch. A lush indoor garden of non-fragrant flowers defied the gray coldness lingering outdoors. Riley’s heart surged into her throat. It had been a week since she’d seen her mom, but it felt like an eternity. So much had happened during the past seven days, and the first person she always turned to with good or bad news was only a few steps away. Sometimes you just need your mom.

Riley rushed over, unzipping her parka. “Sorry, Mom! Class ran long.” She plunked down on the cushions, dropped her tote and backpack, and wrapped her arms around her favorite person in the world. Maggie, still cozy in her winter coat, smelled of vanilla and coffee, of comfort and happy memories. Riley sank in and exhaled a halting breath, hesitant to pull away and let go, hesitant to face what was coming.

“Remind me again—why are you going to that fancy college if that’s your best excuse? I thought you were more creative than that.” Chin resting on Riley’s shoulder, Maggie laughed, trying to dampen her daughter’s worry. “Mind you, my excuse isn’t any better—construction on Staten Island. I got here two minutes ago.” Maggie leaned back, her expressive brown eyes full of warmth. “Sweetheart, it’s going to be fine.” She squeezed Riley’s cold hand. “We’ll get through this together like always. I love you.”