How to Align the Stars

Chapter Eight

Bea

Have you lost weight?” Bea’s mother bustled out of the kitchen of her parents’ Coral Springs bungalow, brushing her hands on her apron.

“Hi Mom,” Bea returned the one-armed hug, set her suitcase down on the tile floor of the entryway, and promptly changed the subject. “This is fun.” She inclined her head toward a seascape, children with their sandcastle silhouetted in front of a sherbet-colored sunset. “Is it new?”

“Oh, it is! I’ve been taking painting classes. Lots of the ladies are really only there for the wine, but I think I’m getting pretty good. I have a bunch of canvases in the guest room you can look through and take any you like home with you. I’m sure you could use something for the walls of that big empty house.”

Bea’s house was less than a thousand square feet, and the walls were already decorated, but she knew it would be futile to say so.

“Of course, I would love it if I had some actual grandchildren to paint. You know Sally Lombardi’s daughter froze her eggs when she was twenty-six and now she has a toddler and a partnership in a law firm. She was a year ahead of you in school, remember?”

“I remember. Good for her.” It actually sounded like Bea’s worst nightmare, and Bettina Lombardi had been insufferable back then, as she almost certainly still was. Bea recalled a playdate shortly after Bettina had gotten an Easy Bake Oven for her birthday, when Bettina allowed Bea to help mix the tiny packet of cake batter, but after they’d watched the lightbulb slowly bake it, Bettina said she’d heard her mother say Bea “didn’t need any more cake,” and ate the whole thing by herself while Bea watched.

Why was her father taking so long to come in from the garage? He was probably out there tinkering with something, as he would be most of the weekend. In the car, she’d explained to him once again what was going on with Pluto lately, which seemed to be the extent of his curiosity about her work. That would be the longest conversation they’d have until he took her back to the airport on Sunday. Bea knew her dad loved her, but he didn’t understand how to relate to her.

“Well, I suppose you still have a little time to do things the old-fashioned way, but you’d better hurry. Are you seeing anyone?”

“No, Mom.”

Dialing things back with Ben had been the right choice; she could answer this question honestly. Otherwise, she could hardly fathom the interrogation she’d be in for, and somehow her mother always seemed to know when she was being blatantly dishonest. For a moment, Bea indulged the dark fantasy of telling her parents she’d reconnected with an old classmate. Her mother would have the entire wedding planned by the time they’d finished their pumpkin pie. No. As tiresome as it was to brush off all the passive-aggressive comments about her singlehood, dealing with their reaction to news of a boyfriend would be a thousand times worse, not least because she’d always been so firm about not wanting one. It was a shame, though, because she couldn’t seem to stop thinking about Ben’s wrists.

As her mother sashayed back to the kitchen, Bea inhaled and exhaled deliberately. Visiting her parents was an endurance event requiring expert-level agility in subject-changing, barb-ignoring, and careful selection of which bickering-related hill to make a stand upon. She took another cleansing breath and followed. This bright, white-on-white space was so different from the warm wood and earth tones of her childhood home, but some things, like the cow-shaped cookie jar that mooed when someone lifted the lid, had made the move to Florida with her parents.

“Well, you know, Mom, I’m up for tenure this year. Achieving that before forty is a pretty big deal, especially these days.”

“Yes, I read an article online about how academic funding is drying up, and lots of people with doctorates are looking for jobs in private industry. Pharmaceutical companies and such. Of course, not much need to study space there. And you’re certainly not in astronaut shape. I suppose these private space companies are not an option for you.”

Len had sent Bea with wine for her parents, and he’d handed her an extra bottle of Merlot with a wink. “This one is for you. I know what a long weekend with my big sister can be like. Open in case of emergency.”

She wondered whether it was too soon to retreat to the guest room and sneak a glass. Or a few gulps directly from the bottle. Instead, she said, “Well, I worked hard to be where I am, and as I said, it’s going very well, so you don’t have to worry about whether I’m an astronaut candidate, I promise.”

Bea washed her hands, rolled her sleeves up, and joined her mother at the counter. She reached into the bread bag to help, tearing bits into the enormous stainless-steel bowl they’d made stuffing in every Thanksgiving of Bea’s life.

“Smaller, please,” her mother said. Bea could never seem to tear them small enough. “I have a hard time believing you’re happy in Millet, after all of the cosmopolitan experiences we worked so hard to give you in the city. I personally couldn’t wait to get out of that little hick town as soon as I turned eighteen.”

Her childhood home had been in the suburbs and Bea wasn’t sure what cosmopolitan experiences her mother meant. The strip mall weight loss center she’d been dropped off at once a week in junior high? The once-yearly trips out of their suburb to look at downtown Seattle holiday decorations? “Well, it’s changed a lot, Mom,” she said, “now people aspire to retire there. Besides, I think it’s a great little town and I love it. And it’s nice for me to be near Uncle Len and Heron, too.” There was nothing like visiting her parents to make Bea appreciate Len and Heron; at least she had some family who understood and loved her exactly as she was.

“That reminds me! You must tell me all about the wedding plans. This Charlie sounds like quite a catch. Good for Heron.”

While Heron’s impending nuptials were normally one of her least favorite subjects, talking about them prevented her mother from dissecting Bea’s own life, so for once she was happy to discuss every tiny detail.

Heron

Heron’s scissors hovered over the silk. She had already whipped a muslin test garment together by the time the fabric arrived, tissue-wrapped in a white box tied with periwinkle ribbon. The pattern was right. Now, all the paper pieces were pinned to the material and the next step was to start cutting. Toni and her dad were enthusiastic about the muslin. So were Bea and Maggie when she texted them photos. But none of these people knew anything about garment construction. Before she cut, Heron wanted the opinion of an expert. She knew the department store where her mother was a seamstress would open for Black Friday sales later this evening but was closed now. Felicia usually called at some point on holidays, anyway. Having a dress to discuss would make the conversation less awkward.

Heron inhaled deeply and blew the breath out, set down the scissors, picked up her phone, and opened video chat.

“Honey!” Heron could never get used to the way Felicia’s apartment looked on video calls. She’d never seen it in person. The time they had spent together since her mother’s abrupt departure six years ago was limited to short vacations in places where they could avoid serious conversation; Disneyland, an Alaska cruise, Las Vegas. Felicia lived in a studio apartment in an old brick building on Capitol Hill in Seattle, a neighborhood more popular with young people than middle-aged mothers. It seemed like it must be half the size of Heron and Maggie’s Millet apartment, and was furnished much the same way, with cobbled-together thrift store cast offs. But Felicia seemed happy, and over the years Heron had learned to be glad about that.

“Happy Thanksgiving, Mom,” she said.

“Happy Thanksgiving. I was going to call you later.”

“I figured. Can you talk now? I have some things to ask you about.”

“I’m going to brunch with some of the people from work in about twenty minutes, but sure.”

“Great.” Heron turned the phone to show Felicia the pattern pieces laid across the fabric, which draped over her bed and floor. Felicia asked several questions about the fabric weight and weave.

“No train?” she asked.

“No, it’ll be floor length. Hold on.” Heron set the phone down and described the bridesmaid dresses to her mother as she changed into the muslin.

“Lovely,” Felicia said. “I think that cut will work well for Bea’s problem areas.”

Heron bristled on Bea’s behalf. “Okay,” she said, propping the phone against her desk lamp and stepping back. “So, this is what I’m thinking, but in the silk it will be heavier. And of course, the whole thing will look better with tidier seams.” For a moment, she thought the call had dropped, but when she picked up the phone to look more closely at the miniature version of her mother on the screen, she could see Felicia blinking back tears.

“It’s perfect for you, Heron,” Felicia said. “You’ve done a lovely job.” With a tone Heron couldn’t quite place but hoped was pride, she said, “You’ll be a beautiful bride.”

Heron felt tears well up and she tipped her head back to contain them. She should have realized sooner that the gown was the way to get Felicia to engage with her about the wedding. But she’d better not push it; this was enough. It would have to be.

Heron made her voice businesslike. “So do you think I’m ready to start cutting?”

“Yes,” Felicia’s tone turned brisk. “But remember, that’s the point of no return. Go slowly, take your time pinning the pattern pieces down, and make sure your scissors are good and sharp. I’m working tomorrow, but text me if you have any questions.”

“Okay, thanks Mom. Happy Thanksgiving.”

“Happy Thanksgiving, sweetheart.”

Heron was about to hang up when Felicia said, “Hey Birdie?” Felicia hadn’t used her childhood nickname in years. “Make sure you know what you’re doing.”

“Oh, I am,” she said, “I’m taking my sweet time with this dress, don’t worry.”

“The dress.” A frown flashed across Felicia’s face, but it was replaced by a bright smile so quickly Heron wasn’t sure she’d seen it at all. “Yes, I know you know what you’re doing there. Enjoy your dinner. I’ve got to run.”

“Bye, Mom. Love you.”

“Me too.”

After she hung up, Heron began cutting, stacking, and organizing the pieces of silk in the order in which they’d be sewn. Unable to resist, she ran two panels of the skirt together through her sewing machine. The material slid under the needle like water, and when the seam was finished, she held the beginnings of her wedding gown against her waist and did a test swish, back and forth, listening to the delicious rustle of the silk.

Bea

True to her word, Layla showed up promptly on the science building rooftop by eight every Saturday night. Bea’s assignments for observation were flexible; the main point was simply to get the students to choose something they could watch in the sky over the course of the semester, to become used to tracking patterns and positions, learning the basics of operating the telescopes, and viewing celestial objects with an inquiring eye. Layla had chosen Jupiter and her excitement when she saw the red spot for the first time was worth Bea giving up a few hours of her Saturday nights.

Fall semester was always a little less enjoyable than spring because the nights started out warm but were bitingly cold by finals week. Bea was used to nights spent on windy mountaintops and had plenty of cold weather gear, but Layla had given up relying only on her coat and jeans. Tonight, she had a wool blanket tucked around her waist like a long Edwardian skirt. This would be their last night and Layla was sketching the storm patterns on the planet’s surface—above and beyond the assignment, but she seemed to be enjoying it and Bea had some room in her rubric to give a little extra credit.

Bea huddled near the stairwell entrance, reading a planetary science journal on her tablet. There was a knock on the door, which was locked from the outside. Thinking it might be students looking for a place to hang out, or who had missed the last telescope lab time on Thursday, she cracked it open, careful not to let too much light spill over to where Layla was working and peeked through the gap. Ben stood on the landing, holding a drink carrier from The Beanery containing four tall cups.

“It’s a cold night,” he said, “I thought the stargazers could use a warmer.”

She smiled and opened the door wider to let him out onto the roof.

“I got you a half-caff cappuccino,” he said, remembering her evening coffee order from their dinner in Portland. “Layla, I didn’t know what you liked so I have a peppermint hot chocolate, an almond milk latte, and a green tea.”

“Ooh, can I have the latte?” she asked. “I need all the caffeine I can get.”

“Sure thing,” he handed her the cup. “Did you find the articles on Beowulf you were looking for?”

“I did, thanks. I’m gonna start my paper tonight.”

“Great.” In answer to Bea’s raised eyebrow, he said, “I take a few Saturday reference desk shifts in the weeks before finals.” He removed the hot chocolate from the drink carrier and took a sip. “Do you want this green tea, too? I think it tastes like grass clippings.”

She wrinkled her nose. “Dishwater. Maybe Layla wants it.”

“Yes, please,” said Layla, accepting the cup with cheerful enthusiasm. She held one drink in each hand as she squinted into the eyepiece of the telescope.

Ben stepped deeper into the darkness to examine the lab space: four telescopes, tables, red-bulbed lanterns with downcast shades. The rooftop was six stories up, high enough to get above the safety lights illuminating the campus walkways.

“So, this is your ivory tower,” he said.

“Yes, only it’s not much of a tower and it’s brutalist brick instead of ivory, but what really matters is up there.” She swept her hand at the broad dome of sky, stars twinkling in the winter darkness, the faint reverse shadow of the Milky Way spanning the expanse.

Ben sat on one of the benches and craned his head back. After a few minutes, he straightened and rubbed his neck. “You must have one hell of a chiropractor bill.”

She laughed. “You get used to it. Also, most of the time one uses a telescope to do any real observation. Looking up? That’s just because I love it.” She’d kept her eyes fixed on the sky, and when she looked back down, she found his gaze intent on her face, although in the dark it was hard to interpret his expression. “Anyway, it’s better out of town a bit, where you can get away from the light. I take a blanket and lie down.”

“I’d love to see that sometime.” His voice was low, but she blushed and threw a glance toward Layla, who remained focused over her notebook.

Bea chuckled to cover the thrilled jolt of longing she felt at the idea of curling up with Ben on a blanket spread over the gentle swell of a starlit field.

“Maybe when the ground isn’t frozen,” she said with a louder laugh. It was a little too loud, a little too sharp, breaking the spell.

Layla turned her lamp up brighter and said, “I’m almost done, then you folks can get on with your date.”

Fantastic. Rumors would be across campus by the time classes started on Monday. She knew protesting would only make the situation worse, but instinct kicked in. She laughed again and said, “We’re only working on a project together.”

Layla and Ben both rolled their eyes, in a way that would have made Bea giggle if she hadn’t already put her complete lack of chill on display. Instead, she bit her lip.

Layla said, “Of course.” Then the little twerp winked at her. “Don’t worry, Dr. Hayes. I won’t tell anyone. I think it’s cute. Anyway, I’m all done. Thanks again. See you Monday.” She bundled her papers into her backpack and bounced through the stairwell door.

“Did you hear that?” Ben playacted a swoon. “We’re cute.”

“Shut up,” she said.

“Geez. Some thanks.”

“Oh yes, thank you very much for the warm beverage and irreparable damage to my professional reputation.”

“A wee bit overboard on the self-importance, don’t you think?”

He had a point. She was so unaccustomed to incorporating anything romantic into her life, she’d overreacted about the blending of personal and professional. Which, if she were going to date a colleague (was she going to date a colleague?), was something she would have to come to terms with.

“You’re right. This was very thoughtful, and I do appreciate it.”

“You’re welcome. I was curious to see what it was like up here.”

“You didn’t take astronomy?”

He shook his head. “Two semesters of geology.”

“Ah.” She had an idea. “Then you haven’t seen the planetarium either?”

“No.”

Bea smiled. “Come with me.”

Twenty minutes later, they were lying on the floor of the planetarium, southern hemisphere constellations whirling above them. It wasn’t as cold as the wheat fields would be, but a chill radiated from the cement under the thin carpet. Bea barely noticed it through her sweater, jeans, and long underwear, but she felt Ben shiver and found herself inching closer in an attempt to pool their warmth, until their hands touched, and he laced their fingers together.

“Wow,” he said.

“Yeah. I shouldn’t run the projector for fun. The bulbs are expensive, and it uses a lot of electricity, but sometimes I can’t resist.”

“I don’t blame you.” Ben raised himself on one arm and leaned down to kiss her.

For a moment, she felt torn between laughing because they must look like they were trying to reenact a Disney movie, awe that she was finally getting a princess moment, and annoyance at herself for noticing or caring. Then she gave up and gave in to the realness of Ben, lifting her hands to his head, his back, feeling the way he balanced his torso above her so carefully, matched the pressure of his lips to her response. She was starting to wonder whether she’d remembered to lock the planetarium door behind them, whether she should check, when he pulled away and rose to a crouch. She fumbled around for the remote and turned the dim footlights on so they could see each other better.

“Thank you for showing this to me,” he said. “It’s getting a little late. I don’t want to keep you out too long.”

He stood and reached a hand down to help her up, but instead of taking it, she lifted herself on her elbows and said, “Are you serious?”

“Completely. You said you wanted to start over, taking things more slowly, and one kiss to end an impromptu first date seems about right.”

“Oh.” Turning the lights up brighter, she could see Ben’s face bore a solemn expression, but there was laughter in the corners of his eyes.

“Yeah.” Fair enough. Well played, Addison. She straightened her sweater and got to her feet. “I did say that. Thank you very much for respecting it.”

“No problem,” he said, and now there was laughter in his voice, too. “Can I walk you to your car?”

“Thank you, that would be nice. Can I give you a ride home? If I recall you usually walk to campus.”

“Thank you, that would be nice.” He offered her his arm, and, their exaggerated propriety forming the bubble of a joke between them, they walked to her car.

They settled into the car, and she said, “I have one more trick up my sleeve.” She pushed the switches for both heated seats, knowing Ben’s backside was likely as chilled as hers.

“Oh,” he said, as the element warmed up, then he nestled into it with a little shimmy she had to admit was adorable. “Ooh, that’s nice. You know how to live, Beatrice Hayes.”

“You should see my electric blanket,” she said.

“Is that a promise?”

“Maybe if you play your cards right.” She pulled up in front of his building, and as she stopped the car, she turned to him and winked.

He pecked her on the cheek before he got out, and she could have sworn she detected a strut as he made his way up the walk.