The Brightest Star in a Constellati... - Chapter 58: Chapter 58

☽ Peter ☽
"What flavour of ice cream do you want?" I ask as I open the freezer door, peering into its contents. A misty cloud of air spins out, cooling me off like the opposite of an exhale of breath on a wintery day. "We have strawberry and vanilla."
Leaning with his hands behind his neck, Evan answers, "It doesn't matter. Strawberry, I guess."
"Really?" I grab the tub. "Why?"
He opens it, his eyes glazing over. As he gives me a weak smile, I prepare to duck if he launches the tub at me. "No particular reason. Is this like how picking a certain planet affects my personality?"
"It's nothing like that," I say, pausing for a moment. Evan shoots me a smile, effortlessly rendering me useless. "Okay... maybe it's a bit like that, but only because strawberry is the worst ice cream flavour ever. At least vanilla tastes good."
"But it's so plain!" Evan places one scoop of both flavours into a bowl and sticks the tub back into the freezer, brushing his arm against my chest. I wrap my arms around his waist, and my stomach flips. "Put some chocolate in there, or something."
He searches through the cupboards, guiding me behind him. Filling the bowl with sprinkles and chocolate sauce, he drags me back to the couch and flips backwards onto it.
"Ah, merde," I mutter, reaching for it. "It's already melting."
Evan intertwines his legs with mine. Beside me, the breeze billows through the curtains and a calm warmth sticks to the air. He grabs a spoon and digs into the bowl. "Did you just swear?"
"Huh? Yeah, I did."
"I've never heard you swear before," Evan says, taking another bite. A splotch of fudge sauce dyes his upper lip black. "Am I influencing you?"
"Of course not." I reach over the bowl to wipe the chocolate residue from his mouth. He lifts an eyebrow at me, lowering his legs so that they cradle my sides. "What are you doing?"
"Moving over." He slides closer, broaching the space, and his fingers splay across my arms. The hair on my neck raises and my heartbeat increases as he pulls me down to meet his height.
He slides over the couch cushions and squishes his body next to mine. His lips brush my cheek, and he holds me like it's the first time again.
As he's about to speak, the door opens. My mother returns from outside, and Evan pulls back from me. He's stuck against the leather of the couch, though, and doesn't get far.
My mother slips her gardening gloves in her pocket and heads to the kitchen for a drink of lemonade. "How are you both doing?" she asks.
"Fine," I answer.
Evan shifts uncomfortably against my side and scratches his neck. "Um," he says, stumbling over it, "I'm good."
"Glad to hear it," Mom says. "Want some lemonade? It's fresh."
"I'm good, thanks."
She smiles and heads back outside. The door shuts.
Evan exhales heavily, and his cheeks are flushed bright pink. "Fucking shit."
"Come on," I say, a bit teasingly. "My parents don't care."
He sets the bowl on the table and stretches, cracking his knuckles. An oscillating fan near the living room sweeps across the room and a blast of air intermittently floats in our direction.
"I know, I know." His eyebrows draw together. "I'm getting there."
We pull apart. Evan grabs his notebook with his free hand and flips to a blank page near the end. His pencil taps against the back cover. He focuses on the view of the outside, his head bobbing back and forth. He asks if I want to draw with him, but I'm content with observing. The way he translates the surroundings to paper and recreates it like studying existence.
After working his shift, my dad comes home. He reads the newspaper in the seat next to the couch. "C'est un dessin?" (It's a drawing?) he asks Evan. For the past few months, he's been testing Evan's language skills.
"It's not very good." Evan turns the paper around to show him. Tiny flowers poking through the grey-shaded grass frame the outer edges of the water.
"I think it is," I say lightly.
Dad looks between us, then back to the newspaper. "It's your birthday soon, isn't it?" he says to Evan.
"Oh, yeah. It's not a big deal, though. I don't need a party... or anything like that."
"Are you sure? We could—"
Evan shakes his head. "No, really. It doesn't need to be a celebration."
And he returns to his doodling. I watch him, and my eyes flicker back to the window. Despite the warmth, Evan's body nestles into me, and I rest my arm around his shoulder.
☆ ☽ ☆
"Do you have gum?" Evan asks Nicole as we stand in front of the GSA club room.
The sign says, Everyone is welcome. Nicole hates it, (on the account that the graphic design was made with unreadable neon font and a speech bubble slapped over it). Evan also hates it, (on the account that the slogan doesn't rhyme).
I think it's not that bad. Even though I've always been certain of my sexuality, I don't entirely think I belong here. I wanted to be a part of this club, but joining meant coming out to the whole school. It meant I would have to keep coming out for the rest of my life.
"Uh... probably?" Nicole overturns the pockets of her overalls as her rectangular, blue-tinted glasses fall down her nose. She locates a package of hard candies restaurants give away for free with the bill, along with a never-ending stream of wadded paper. "Yeah... I have candy. Do you want that instead?"
"How long has that been in your pocket?" Evan replies skeptically, unmoving from his position in front of the door. Lexa was planning to meet us here, but I'm not sure where they are. "And what flavour is it?"
"Cinnamon." She pauses. "I think?" She flattens the piece of paper that has gotten stuck to it. "This is a parking ticket," she says, blinking at it, "from a year ago."
"Jesus." Evan sighs and takes the candy from her. "Please never start driving again."
"I second that," I say weakly.
Nicole shrugs. "The drivers in Toronto are just as bad. I'll fit right in. You don't have to go all married-couple on me."
"Not a married couple," Evan refutes, stupidly. He chews on the cinnamon candy, tapping his foot against the floor. "He still has to divorce you first."
"Not happening. I'm suing for emotional distress if you divorce me." Nicole stares at me, halfheartedly scuffing her sandals against my ankle.
"Look—" I start, but Lexa comes strolling down the hallway, bringing my sentence to a halt. This is probably for the best, considering I have no idea what I was planning to say.
"Hey." Lexa comes over, standing next to Nicole. "You could have gone in without me, you know."
The four of us stay silent.
"I don't know what the hell to say," Evan admits, turning to them. "Like, do I introduce myself? Do I give my name? You know, like how they do it in Alcoholics Anonymous. 'Hi, I'm Evan. I'm probably not straight.'"
Lexa stares at him. "No, it's nothing like that." The look on their face darkens. "Probably not straight? I think it's pretty certain, but what do I know? You're overthinking this, all three of you. This doesn't need to be so complicated. If you don't want to go in... that's fine. You're not breaking any laws."
They step around the corner, heading into the room. Nicole peeks around it before straightening her stance and moving forward like a toy soldier with the key wound too tight. I follow close behind her.
The clubroom belongs to an English class, judging by the bookshelf to the side. There are three students inside besides Lexa, and my eyes fall upon them at the same time they notice me.
"Nicole!" Willow rushes past Lucas and the other member, Jake, who I met when I was here last. "You're just in time. This is our last club meeting before the summer break."
"Yeah, that was why she agreed to it," Lexa says from behind Willow. "I had to assure them that the yearbook was already printed."
Willow waves her hand dismissively. "Oh, it is. Unless somebody here can turn back time, you'll be safe."
"That would be an awesome superpower!" Nicole chirps, beaming at her. She skips around the room, evaluating the chairs. Wedging her nail into a crack in the desk closest to me, which is etched with eraser marks, she finds a dried wad of gum. "Well, Evie, now I have some if you want it."
"Stop it," Evan says. "You're pure evil."
She winks. "I'm so glad you finally noticed."
Willow giggles as she stacks her textbooks into a tower. Helping her is Lucas, who is using the dry-erase markers as a foundation for their makeshift building. She says, "I don't think you're evil."
"That's what she wants you to think," Lucas points out. "It's all part of the master plan."
"Funny that you think I have a plan for anything I do." Nicole steps towards the books and slaps another into the pile.
It wobbles, and Willow gasps as they watch it nearly topple over. Lucas and Jake hold on to the sides to keep it upright.
"I'm sure you have a bet going for that," Evan says. He smiles at me, his eyes lingering on my face.
"Something like that," Jake replies, combing a hand through his dark hair. A necklace dangles from his neck, resting on top of his graphic t-shirt with the classification of mushrooms and flowers listed on it.
I shoot a glance at Evan, as if asking him to explain. He shrugs and says, "Apparently, they've got bets for everything."
"We do," Lucas says. He's been avoiding my eyes for the past few minutes, but he looks at Evan and me. "If Evan ever bakes something and totally burns it, you owe me."
"That sounds like something he would do," I say as my heart clenches. I've been trying not to think about it. But it's hard to forget—it's hard not to picture the version of me I could become if I recklessly, (selfishly) asked Evan to stay.
I can imagine what that would be like; it's what we've been doing since April. My dad has been slowly letting Evan help at the hotel. As soon as my shift is finished, we drive through the hidden streets and make pit stops at bakeries and places he's never visited before. It would continue to be my routine, and I could let everything else fade. But I crave for Evan to become more like himself.
I'm trying to figure him out, but his mother has crushed him for so long that I don't think he knows either.
I take a seat next to Jake. Softly, I say, "I'm sorry for leaving you here by yourself when I was here last."
"That was... a while ago," Jake replies, as if trying to remember it. "You weren't ready."
"I guess so. It's kind of past the time for that, though." I press my fingers against my leg repeatedly as I watch Evan and Willow chattering away.
"Not really. I don't think it could be too late to come to terms with it."
It's too much weight for me to carry. I glance at Evan, then back to my lap. In time, with my movements, he taps against his knee.
☆ ☽ ☆
The sunshine forms a half-smile through the clouds as I relax against the hardwood floor. My arm seeks a beam of light cast next to me. It forms the wave of a rainbow that distorts when I touch it.
My phone is open to my emails. My scholarships have come through, along with a response from the university accommodations. For as much as I hesitate when sending emails, I dislike reading them. Being in control over when to read it allows me to dwell on what it could contain.
The preview shows the first sentence: Glad to hear from you. Would you like to set up a meeting to discuss your...
I squeeze my eyes shut and click on it. Learning needs, it continues. Send me a copy of your schedule or provide me with a list of which classes you plan on taking come September. Hope to hear from you.
I smile, then sigh. My thoughts are mixed with hope and the unease I get when I worry I've accidentally entered the wrong classroom, as if it had decided to change locations since the last time I'd been there. I already talked about this with Suzanna. It's a new diagnosis—it isn't wrong to feel out of place. It takes time, and you get to decide what you need.
I've just sent the email with my class schedule when Evan comes into my bedroom. He lowers himself onto the floor next to me.
"Happy birthday," I say, reaching for the wrapped gift hiding behind my back. The gold-rimmed foil shines in the light, topped with a bow.
Evan takes the present, picking at the tape. "You didn't have—"
"I know," I say. "It's nothing much."
He made it clear that his birthday wasn't a huge celebration multiple times. I settled against buying decorations and party hats, although I wanted to.
Pulling back the wrapping, Evan reveals my handmade gift. It's a black leather-bound book that I decorated with photographs from the past year. Silently, he flips through the pages containing ephemera; receipts, sticky notes, portions of his homework filled with his scribbles, and the sheet of paper with the mirror image of his name that he used during the icebreakers of the first Astronomy Club meeting.
"It's nothing?" he repeats under his breath, shaking his head. "That's such a lie. You... you kept all this?"
"Do you like it?"
His index finger catches on the final few pages, which I have left blank. "You have no idea." Evan leans forward to kiss me. He lets out the tiniest sigh when my lips press against his, as if pleading for me to continue.
"The empty pages are for you," I whisper against his cheek. "You can fill them with the story that comes after this."
"Is that a metaphor?" He bends over me, and for a second, I don't even care that my door is ajar.
I say, "For what?"
"I don't know, Pierre," he teases, cupping my chin. "It's a bit romantic, isn't it?"
I shut my eyes again and sink into his touch. "Maybe I just didn't have anything else to put there."
He laughs, and it rings through the room. As his fingertips glide across the palm of my hand, following the lines along the seam of my thumb, I catch the sound of my parents coming towards my room.
My mother and father, carrying a small cake frosted with blue icing, hand each of us a plate.
Mom doesn't let Evan protest, and tells him, "I had to bake you a cake. It wouldn't be right if I didn't." And she lights the sparkler perched on top of it. It glows like a supernova, dancing in Evan's eyes. "Go on!"
He hesitates before taking it in his hands. Smiling a little, he shuts his eyes and makes a wish.