How to Align the Stars

Chapter Thirteen

Bea

Moving Ben’s poker night to Bea’s house had been a practical decision. She had a larger, more comfortable space and as it turned out, Ben’s friend Marcus lived around the corner from Bea, which meant he could sit one hand out to run home and read a bedtime story to his kids. A person would have to be completely dead inside not to find that endearing.

Bea was always at the Venerable Grape’s live music night with Sarah on Thursdays, so it worked out nicely. She felt a little sheepish about how fond she’d grown of coming home while Ben was cleaning up the card table, sharing a few stories about their respective evenings, and going to bed together. According to Ben, Herschel seemed to like the activity around the table so much—the slap of the cards and the occasional fallen potato chip—they’d started pulling up a chair just for him.

Tomorrow, however, Sarah had a mandatory all-hands meeting at work. Bea wouldn’t have minded going to the Grape by herself, but this week’s performer wasn’t one she cared for; a guy from Spokane whose set was eighty percent yacht rock covers.

“We’re not going to kick you out of your own house, Bea.” They were on their morning coffee run. Ben rummaged in his backpack until he found his reusable mug. “We’ll just do it at my place. Kevin prefers it. He says it reminds him of when he was ‘single and free.’”

“Don’t worry about it. I’ll see if Toni wants to go to a movie or something,” Bea said. She craned her neck toward the front of the line. She had twenty minutes to get to the science building and tee up her slides before her nine o’clock class and at the rate this morning’s baristas were going it was going to be a close call.

Finally, they reached the front of the line. Bea ordered her latte and Ben’s mocha and bagel. They’d fallen into a steady rhythm of taking turns paying for things. Bea always got the morning coffee and pastries, Ben got lunches, which they usually managed every other day.

Ben re-shouldered his bag. “Why don’t you join us?”

Bea responded with only a laugh.

“No, really,” Ben said, “we’ll be down to three because John’s going to be at the Sunset Home meeting with Sarah, Marcus thinks you’re great, and we all put up with Kevin, so Kevin can suck it up and have a lady in his game.”

“Oh my, what an irresistible offer,” Bea said, but she thought about it. She should have realized John, Sarah’s coworker at the nursing home, would be busy. Bea liked Marcus. It turned out they’d been neighbors for years, but she hadn’t gotten to know him until she started seeing Ben. She’d had his kids over to peer through her backyard telescope, and his wife Nicole, bless her heart, kept giving Bea pothos cuttings which she promptly killed.

“Come on, please? To be honest it’ll be more fun for me if you’re there. I miss you when we’re not together, you know.”

Bea rolled her eyes. But hadn’t this been what she wanted? Ben, enthusiastic about spending time with her in front of other people. Maybe even wanting to show her off a little bit to his friends? She used the moment it took to pick their order up from the end of the bar to deliberate.

“Fine,” she said, handing Ben his mug and the hot paper bag containing his bagel. “But I’m not letting anyone win.”

“I’d be disappointed if you did.”

Heron

Heron changed from her jeans and sweatshirt into dress pants and a blazer—one of Toni’s from the nineties that had come back into style—and made her way across the street to the SOD house. Tonight’s chapter meeting had been replaced with an open session, a guest speaker on resumes and cover letters. It was meant to be a low-key member recruitment event, something serious to balance out the party image of the fraternity. Women were allowed to attend, too, and Charlie had asked Heron to come. “You make me look good,” he’d said, and how could she turn that down?

Bryant, Jason, and a few other guys were in the living room when she entered the house. “Ah, the first lady of SOD has arrived,” Jason said with a smirk.

Bryant told her Charlie was on a video call with his parents. Not eager to speak to the Brewsters, she took her time on the stairs, easing Charlie’s door open when she got to his room. Sure enough, he sat in front of his laptop. On the screen, Charlie’s parents sat in front of the bookcases in their study, formally positioned as if they were being interviewed on TV.

Charlie turned around and beamed at her, giving her the gumption she needed to fully enter, saying, “Hi, Mr. and Mrs. Brewster. It’s nice to see you.” She pulled a chair over so she could squeeze into the frame behind Charlie.

“Nice to see you, too, dear,” Mrs. Brewster said. She had long since stopped asking Heron to call her Julia. “Thank you again for the flowers. I hope your mother is faring better.”

Heron still didn’t know exactly what Charlie had told his parents at New Year’s. She’d sent flowers and a vague but gracious note thanking them for the visit and apologizing for her hasty departure. She’d hoped when Charlie changed his ticket and LSAT testing location, and insisted on holding the wedding in Millet he had come totally clean about why she’d gone home so early, but apparently he hadn’t.

“She’s fine, thank you.” Technically true, Felicia had been fine all year.

“So, I have some news,” Charlie said, cockiness tugging the corners of his mouth up, “and I wanted to tell you all at the same time. Although it may not be much of a surprise. I got my Columbia Law acceptance letter this morning.”

“Charlie!” Heron forgot his parents for a moment and threw her arms around him. “I knew you could do it. You worked so hard on your last LSAT.” After all the studying they’d done over winter break, Charlie had gotten a 166 on his second test.

“Good work, son. It was touch-and-go for a bit there, but you are a legacy, after all.”

“We’ll start getting the apartment ready for you. Heron, I assume you don’t have any color preferences?” Mrs. Brewster peered down her nose into the camera.

“Gosh, don’t change on our account. I’m sure whatever is there will be fine.” What was the point of asking for blue drapes instead of green if she wasn’t really going to be able to make the space her own?

“Nonsense. We haven’t redecorated since Will started law school and it’s past time for a change.” She pursed her lips. “On second thought I should wait for you to get here. I can introduce you to some of the decorators I’ve worked with and you can start getting a feel for putting an elegant space together.”

A space designed by a professional decorator could never feel like home to Heron. “I think I will probably be pretty busy with work or school. Maybe both.” Now that she knew she’d be in New York, she wanted to start looking for entry-level job openings and graduate school options. She’d considered Parsons but wasn’t sure she wanted to do something creative professionally. Somewhat to her surprise, the research and construction of intellectual arguments for her thesis had turned out to be much more satisfying than her creative projects, as much as she loved them, and that had led her to think maybe she’d prefer to keep art as a hobby and pursue a more cerebral career path.

“Darling, you don’t have to work.” Mrs. Brewster laughed, a titter that brought Heron right back to feeling frozen on the back stairs of the house in Darien, listening to Charlie’s mother and sister-in-law verbally eviscerate her on Christmas.

“Our deal with Charlie, my dear,” explained Mr. Brewster, “is that we will cover his expenses while he is in school. And of course, that extends to expenses for his wife. You’ll be part of the household.”

“And your family has already been so sweet to save us so much money on the wedding,” Mrs. Brewster added, “with the charming little backyard party.”

Heron glanced sideways at Charlie for guidance, but he seemed blasé. If anything, he was a little surprised at her surprise, furrowing his brow at her before returning his attention to his parents.

“Oh,” she said to the screen, “thank you, but I’ll want to keep busy.”

“You’ll be busy, darling. There are several philanthropic organizations I’ve been involved with for many years, and Andrea has graciously offered to take you under her wing. Brewster women give back, dear, instead of working for compensation.” She said “compensation” like it was a dirty word. How did Emma’s medical studies fit into the Brewsters’ idea of appropriate work for women? “There are lots of options. Would you like to volunteer at a museum or an arts program for underprivileged children?”

The whole socialite philanthropist thing wasn’t for her, but it might be nice to do a little volunteer work. Something she could do in addition to a job. Maybe something that could eventually lead to a career path. Maggie was planning to teach; maybe working with kids a bit would help Heron figure out if that was something she should pursue as well.

She was about to say as much when Mr. Brewster added, “The main thing, of course, my dear, is that you be a help to Charlie and not a hindrance. I don’t want to see any more flops like his first LSAT score.”

He said this more to Charlie than to her, she thought—it was hard to tell through the screen—but Heron flushed with indignation. She hadn’t done anything different to help Charlie study for the LSAT the second time around. If anything, the difference was Charlie taking it more seriously. But one look at Mr. Brewster’s stern face told her a contradiction would be pointless.

Charlie answered before she had a chance. “Yes, sir.” He put his hand on her knee and squeezed, a gesture Heron imagined to be saying: Don’t worry, I’m only telling them what I must to get them off our backs.

Bryant tapped on the door and popped his head into the room. “The guy from the career center is here.”

Heron glanced at the clock. It was ten minutes until meeting’s scheduled start time. She saw her escape. “I’ll go make sure he has what he needs to get his slides set up,” she said, kissing Charlie on the cheek before she stood. “You finish your call.”

As she exited the room, she heard Mr. Brewster say, “Already doing her job so well.”

And from Mrs. Brewster, a derisive sniff.

She was never going to win that woman over or to live up to their expectations. But it didn’t matter. She and Charlie were a great team, no matter what, and as long as they both knew that everything was going to be great.

Bea

Bea focused on keeping her hand steady as she looked down at her cards, then back up to meet Kevin’s eye. It was down to the two of them; Ben had folded early in this hand and Marcus was down the street, putting his kids to bed. She’d been dealt the queen of clubs and ten of diamonds. There was some potential, but it wasn’t great. Kevin was a good player. His expression was unreadable, but he slid a tall stack of chips into the pot, making her think either he had something, or he thought he could play her. Maybe she should cut her losses and wait for Marcus to come back, for the others to be dealt into the next hand.

She hated to admit to feeling a little off balance at her own dining room table. Kevin had claimed the chair nearest the kitchen, her habitual spot. She was at the other end of the table, in a chair she never used. Behind Kevin’s head she could see that the landscape print on the kitchen wall behind him was hung slightly off center. Why hadn’t Heron or Ben ever mentioned that to her? Kevin caught her staring past his head and glanced over his shoulder; maybe she was keeping the home-court advantage after all.

Ben sat to her left, inscrutable. They both avoided eye contact. She didn’t want his help and he was trying to avoid any appearance of unfairness. He played the role of impartial dealer well.

When the flop revealed the nine of spades, Bea decided to stay in. It was a long shot, but she might have something. She had a hard time keeping her cool when the turn was a jack—clubs again, but she pushed another stack of chips toward the pot, smiling politely at Kevin. “Might as well see what we’ve got, don’t you think?”

Ben turned the final card. “Ah, the king of hearts.”

Kevin pushed the rest of his chips into the pot. He said, “It’s cute how you’ve been bluffing me, but really, honey, I don’t need to take any more of your money tonight.”

Bea matched his bet. “I think I’ll stay in. Honey.”

Kevin hummed the first bar of “We Three Kings” and laid his cards on the table. “Two kings in the hole. Sorry, sweetheart. You did a good job for a novice, though.”

Bea turned her cards over, widening her eyes into her best ingenue impression. “I know I’m only a novice, but…doesn’t a straight beat three of a kind?”

Kevin flung his kings down on the table and Bea tried not to smirk as she pulled the pot toward herself. This wasn’t a high stakes game, but she’d end the night up forty dollars, a good amount to replenish the stash of snacks she kept in her office for students.

Kevin turned to Ben. “I thought you said she didn’t play.”

“She doesn’t. Or, at least, she said she doesn’t.” He clapped a hand to his heart in a parody of shock. “My god, Beatrice, have you been hustling us? Is that what I’ve been to you this whole time? A mark?”

Bea looked up from counting her chips and winked at him. “I guess the jig is up.” She straightened her face before telling Kevin, “I read the Wikipedia page. Knowing to bet aggressively on a possible straight isn’t exactly rocket science.”

“Research is one of her hidden talents,” Ben said, leaning over to kiss her on the cheek.

“Yeah, I guess she probably has a lot of hidden talents,” Kevin grumbled. “Well hidden.”

Hot, embarrassed anger flooded Bea’s veins. “I beg your pardon?” she said, taking care to keep her tone cool and even.

Ben stood, his chair making a horrible scraping sound on Bea’s hardwood. “Dude,” he said. A casual word, but this time it contained a bundle of warnings and no friendliness.

“Come on, Ben,” Kevin said, “this is what you’re settling for? If I wanted to be emasculated by a dumpy chick I would stay home with my wife.”

Frankly, Bea was shocked he knew the word “emasculated” and had used it correctly, which threw her off for a second and gave Ben time to respond before she could begin unleashing a tirade that would leave Kevin with little doubt about what being emasculated felt like.

“You should do that from now on, then,” Ben walked to the door and pulled Kevin’s jacket off the coat rack, tossing it to him. “You need to go.”

“Bitch wiped me out anyway,” Kevin muttered, gathering his things.

Ben yanked the door open. “Out. Now.”

Before he walked away from the table, Kevin gave Bea an up and down look that made her feel like she was sitting there naked. He whispered, so quietly she would never know whether Ben heard, “Fat bitch.”

Oh, very creative. She didn’t respond, but she held his eye contact, unwilling to let him think he’d gotten the better of her.

Kevin’s desire to slam the door behind him was palpable, but Ben retained a firm grasp on the knob, closing it behind him with a soft click. They could hear him taking his frustrations out on his truck door, then peeling away down the quiet neighborhood block.

Ben said, “I’m sorry—”

Bea held a palm up to cut him off. She was determined not to cry, and if they talked about this right now, she would. She forced a smile. “At least I got forty bucks out of it.”

Ben’s expression remained fretful.

“Leave it alone, Ben. Please.”

The kicker of the whole thing was…she’d been having fun. She was nervous about this, after what Ben had said about his poker buddies and that night at the Grape last fall, but once they started playing, she’d been laughing along with them as they ribbed each other about their bad bluffs.

When Marcus came back, Bea and Ben were sitting silently at either end of the couch, Bea’s fingers buried in Herschel’s fur.

“Ah, man, did Kev go home? Sorry guys, I got sucked into a repeat performance of Stellaluna.”

“I cleaned him out and he went crying home to his wife,” she said, hoping she was hitting the brassy, casual tone she was going for. “Want to be next?”

“Do your worst,” Marcus said, his hearty laugh filling the room.

They played a few more hands, but Bea’s head wasn’t in it for bluffing, and she kept folding early. It wasn’t very late when Marcus went home, but by the time he did all she wanted was sleep. She should feel glad Ben had stood up for her so immediately and without being asked to, but she only felt sad and empty.

On the nights Ben played poker while Bea was out, they usually couldn’t wait for the guys to be out the door before they both got handsy and scampered up to the bedroom. Tonight, by mutual, unspoken agreement, they were reserved as they got ready for bed, brushing their teeth without any of the usual bedtime banter.

Bea was beyond grateful to Ben for not saying anything else about Kevin. She could not have handled a conversation where he apologized or made excuses for his friend. She hated that she was embarrassed, she should be long past letting things like this get to her. When they slid into bed, Ben settled his hand over her hip and she placed her fingers over his, holding on until they both fell asleep.

Heron

Charlie called as Heron was on her way out the door to meet him. Ever since he and Ben had both become regular Sunday dinner attendees, they’d been driving separately. Charlie said riding in the backseat of Bea’s car made him feel like a kid being driven around by a carpool mom.

“Hey,” Charlie said, “is it too late for you to catch a ride with Bea?”

She paused on the entryway stairs, checking the time. “Probably not.” Bea and Ben usually left a little later than they did, since Heron and Charlie often had a wedding detail or two to discuss with Toni and Len.

“Why, is everything okay?” She was careful to keep disappointment out of her voice, giving Charlie a fair chance to explain his reason for the last-minute change of plans.

“Oh, yeah, sure.” Now she could detect a beery blur in his voice. “It’s Jason’s birthday and we’re still”—he was drowned out by a burst of laughter and shouting—“from last night.”

“Okay.” She tried hard to keep her tone patient. Charlie had been so good to her ever since winter break. “We were supposed to finalize the menu with Toni tonight.”

“Pick whatever you want, babe, I’m sure it’ll be great.”

She’d been looking forward to making the decision together, but she could probably guess what Charlie would want. “Okay.”

“See you later.” He hung up before she could say goodbye.

Heron called Bea. Normally, she would have texted, but she wanted to be sure she caught her before she left.

Ben picked up. “Hi, Heron, Bea’s driving. What’s up?”

“Darn, did you guys already leave? Charlie can’t make it and I was hoping I could catch a ride.”

“No worries. We’re still close. See you soon.”

Heron waited for them on the porch of her apartment building so she could hop into the car quickly and wouldn’t be inconveniencing them any more than she already was. Across the street, thudding bass and the occasional shout came from the SOD house.

Bea’s car glided to the curb in front of her and as soon as she got in, Bea tilted her head toward the frat house. “Obviously Charlie’s very busy.”

Heron felt a flash of irritation. Now she had to defend Charlie, even though she was annoyed with him, too. “He’s just blowing off some steam. He’s been under a lot of pressure lately.”

“Uh huh,” Bea said. The car seemed filled with the static of tension. Maybe she was imagining it, but Heron thought it had been there before she got in, a rigid set to Bea’s shoulders, the way they both had been looking straight ahead when they arrived.

It was Ben who broke it, saying, “So I hear you’ll definitely be in New York next year. You must be excited.”

“Yes.” Heron waited for Bea to say something about applying to grad school or looking for a job, but her cousin remained silent.

Ben said, “I have a friend who runs a gallery in Greenpoint; you should look her up. Her operation is small, but she might know someone looking for an assistant.”

“Really? Thanks.” She knew Bea thought she should continue school, but it seemed sensible to spend some time gathering her thoughts. She definitely needed to do something, though. Surely there was a happy medium between immediately starting graduate school and Mrs. Brewster’s life of philanthropic leisure.

Going over the sample menus with Toni was fine, despite her disappointment that Charlie wasn’t there to help, but there was an awkwardness around the dinner table. Heron felt like the odd one out, sitting next to the empty chair where Charlie would have been across from Bea and Ben. To make matters worse, Toni had prepared individual shepherd’s pies, so there was an entire entree intended for Charlie, sitting lonely in its ramekin.

Toni insisted on sending it home with Heron. “He can eat it as a late-night snack,” she said.

Toni’s pies were always delicious, but the mashed potatoes clumped like paste in Heron’s mouth. She noticed Bea also pushing more food around with her fork than she was eating.

As Heron’s dad refilled Bea’s wine glass, he said to her, “So, I heard you crashed Ben’s poker night. How’d you do?”

Bea took a long drink, bringing the level of her glass back down to half empty. “Not bad,” she said, “but I think my card shark career is going to be short.”

“Ah, that’s too bad. I used to like playing but got out of the habit when Heron was born. Maybe we should start playing a hand or two on Sundays.”

Toni laughed. “I’d be terrible. My face is an open book.”

“Mine, too,” said Heron.

“I know, sweetie. I’ve played Uno with you. And you”—he leaned over to kiss Toni on the cheek—“never could keep a secret.”

Ben said, “Actually, Len, if you want to join my game, you’re more than welcome. We’re down a player.”

Bea looked at him sharply. “You are?”

Ben’s look back at her was level, serious, and a little confused, his brows drawn together. There was definitely something weird between them. Heron felt panic flare, an adrenaline surge that heated her cheeks and sent a quick flush of sweat down her spine. Bea and Ben had been so happy together these past two months. If it ended, Bea would feel more alone than she had before, and it would be Heron’s fault.

“Yeah.” Ben’s tone was clipped. “You know that.”

He said it quietly, but he sounded frustrated. There was a blink-and-you’ll-miss-it flash of consternation across Bea’s face.

Toni must have picked up on the strangeness between them, too, because she changed the subject to bright chatter about preparing the vineyard for spring and the upcoming seasonal changes to the tasting room menu. Despite her efforts, the meal continued to lack the usual cheery mood.

Bea

It had become Bea and Ben’s habit to take a stroll through the vineyard on Sunday nights. Next week, after daylight savings time kicked in, they’d be taking this walk at sunset. It was dark now, but only the brightest stars were visible; Sirius and Procyon twinkled near the horizon as they walked south, Capella was over their heads. In her mind’s eye, Bea filled in the gaps of the constellations. If it were darker, the positions of the stars wouldn’t look so very different now than they had at midnight on New Year’s Eve. Months passing brought this configuration closer to daylight and made the fainter stars more difficult to see, but it was a comfort to know they were always there, a constant, even when they were invisible.

She and Ben had been mostly normal with each other since Friday morning, falling back into what had become their routine over the past two months: Friday morning coffee at the cafe; a movie and dinner date yesterday; a lazy Sunday spent reading and catching up on work before going to the vineyard for dinner.

They hadn’t talked about what happened with Kevin and Bea wished they could forget it, but the incident chafed between them like a grain of sand. The last time some jerk’s potshot at Bea had caught Ben in the crossfire, the wound festered and she’d ended up hating Ben for fifteen years. They were both edgy and needed to clear the air of the undercurrent of tension between them. She wondered if he had asked Len about joining the poker game tonight as a way of sending up a flare, opening the issue. Until he had, she hadn’t been certain he truly meant to permanently kick Kevin out of the standing game.

She told the flutter of butterflies in her stomach to cool it and started the conversation. “So, you are totally done with Kevin, then?”

Ben stopped walking. “You know I am. You were there.”

“I didn’t know that was for good.”

“Bea,” Ben’s tone was patient but there was an edge to it. “Of course.”

“You’re telling me you got Marcus and John to agree to booting Kevin from your longstanding poker game.” She was agitated now and heard the tone of skeptical accusation in her voice but couldn’t filter it out. “Permanently?”

“Yeah. Marcus could tell something was up when he got back and all I needed to say was that he’d been shitty to you. John was a little annoyed—he brought Kevin in—they were high school friends—but he’ll come around if we can fill out the game with a fourth player.”

“So, you told them what he said.” To her. About her. Bea’s cheeks flushed hot.

“I told them he was disrespectful to you, and either Kevin was out, or I was.” Ben’s voice grew a little louder.

Bea could tell he was getting defensive, frustrated, but she wasn’t ready to let it go. They kept walking and she said more to the naked winter grapevines than to him, “So much for bros before hoes, am I right?”

“Is that what you think, Bea? Really? Grown men can’t wait to get time alone together so they can talk shit about women? We think stuff like that is okay as long as we don’t get caught?”

A few steps ahead of him, she turned and threw her arms up. “I’m a scientist, Ben, I make evidence-based determinations, and to be totally frank with you, that’s the logical conclusion of what I’ve seen. You’ve practically said as much yourself.”

Ben stopped short and opened his mouth to speak but she cut him off, continuing, “This is the thing—I don’t know where I stand when it comes down to you choosing me over other things. Other people.” This was humiliating. She didn’t know whether to feel worse that she was such an insecure mess, or that she had a valid reason not to be completely sure Ben would stand up for her.

“I’m always going to pick you, Bea,” he said, quietly now, as if her tirade had exhausted him, too.

“Oh.” Bea turned around and kept moving down the row. Behind her, she heard Ben take a few quick steps to catch up, grabbing her hand and squeezing it. It was cold, but neither of them wore gloves and the skin-to-skin contact was an immediate balm to her chilled fingers.

“Bea.” Ben stopped again, using his grasp on her hand to stop her and pull her around to face him. He wrapped his arms around her waist. The fabric of their winter jackets rustled as their bodies drew together, releasing a little puff of Ben’s warm evergreen scent. “You win, every time. Got it?”

“Okay,” she answered.

He was staring hard into her eyes as if willing her to believe him. To temper the intensity of the moment, Bea tipped her head back and found Polaris, fainter than the other early stars but always there, orienting travelers for millennia.

Gently, Ben touched the side of her face and moved her gaze back to him. From the intensity in his expression, she expected a kiss, but instead he pulled her head toward his shoulder and then closed his arms around her in a hug. He held her like that for a long time, and she believed Ben meant what he said. She wanted to believe it was true, too, but at the back of her mind she held a fear she could barely admit, even to herself. What if he decided she wasn’t worth it?

Heron

Through the window of the family room, where she sipped peppermint tea with her dad, Heron was just able to make out Bea and Ben in the vineyard, shadows moving through the darkness in fits and starts. Even under those conditions, she could tell her cousin was agitated from the way she was waving her arms.

The cloud that had been hovering over them seemed to have lifted by the time they said goodnight to Len and Toni. Walking to the car behind them, Heron saw Bea reach for Ben’s hand and lace her fingers through his. Ben caressed Bea’s shoulder as she settled into the driver’s seat. Heron felt like she was intruding on them as she slipped into the backseat behind Bea. She looked out the window, the darkness broken by the occasional pair of headlights headed out of town.

The silence was comfortable, companionable, but a few miles down the road Ben twisted around to ask, “So Heron, how’s the thesis going? I haven’t seen you in your writing spot for a while.”

“I’m all done with my rough draft and pretty happy with it. Now I have to polish it up and prepare for my defense.”

“You’ll do fine.” Ben gave her a reassuring smile before turning back.

“I hope so.” She needed to make sure she had defenses prepared for any of her statements that might be challenged, but there always seemed to be something else to do. Ever since Charlie had blown her away by choosing to spend the rest of winter break with her, she hadn’t felt right about saying no to spending time with him.

Her relief that Bea and Ben seemed to be back on track didn’t last long. Thinking about the work ahead made her heart pound, and her palms sweaty. She should be preparing more. Maybe she could make some headway tonight. It was still early and her reading for tomorrow’s classes was already done. Then she would feel more relaxed.

When they dropped Heron off in front of her building, the SOD house had quieted down, although the strains of someone picking through “Wonderwall” on an out-of-tune guitar drifted over the lawn. As soon as the car pulled away, Heron saw Charlie jogging across the street toward her. He caught her around the waist from behind and buried his face in the back of her hair, his lips finding the juncture of her neck and shoulder.

“Hey,” he mumbled. There was beer on his breath and he had the sharp, sweaty smell of someone who’d spent a lot of the past twenty-four hours drinking and none of them showering.

With a pang of guilt, she shrugged out of his embrace and unlocked the door of the building.

“I’ve got to get some studying done, Charlie.”

He followed her inside, shoulders set in a petulant slump. “Aw, but I missed you.” He reached for her again, but she was headed up the stairs and his fingers only grazed her hips.

“Okay, then come in and drink some water. I have leftovers for you, too. But you have to be quiet and let me work.”

He traipsed up the stairs behind her. Maggie wasn’t home yet. Good—at least Charlie wouldn’t be disrupting her studies, too.

Charlie dutifully drank the glass of water Heron gave him. She microwaved the shepherd’s pie and handed it to him, along with a fork and a napkin. He set it on the counter and followed her into her room, where she sat in front of her laptop to pull up her thesis. Leaning heavily on the back of the chair behind her, Charlie flipped the computer closed and put his mouth on her neck again. Pushing him off, Heron stood.

“Really, babe. I need to study. Let me get an hour or two, okay?”

“I’m sleepy, though. Just come to bed for a little bit. Then you can do your homework.”

If she did that, she’d be up far too late to be rested enough for her Monday morning class.

“Charlie, no.”

He flung himself down on her pillows, releasing a puff of beery body odor. Heron wrinkled her nose.

“Why don’t you head home and I’ll see you tomorrow? We’ll do something nice tomorrow night, okay?”

He made a dismissive grunt and nestled into her pillows. “I’ve been there all weekend. I want to spend time with you now.”

“And I need to spend time on my thesis. I haven’t been doing enough and it’s kind of freaking me out.” Charlie would understand. He knew how she got when she was stressed about school.

He burrowed more deeply into her bed. “But I haven’t seen you since Friday.”

Heron’s temper flared hot enough for her to forget herself. She snapped, “Whose choice was that? I was supposed to see you hours ago, remember? And then you blew off dinner with my family.”

He snorted. “You literally ran away from my family, baby. I think I’m entitled to skip one round of good old Len going on about pruning his vines.”

Did he have a point? Charlie had always said he liked her family but maybe all the Sunday dinners and wedding planning had been too much to ask. But no, Heron escaping his mother’s unrelenting barbs was totally different from Charlie deciding to party with his boys instead of spending a few hours with her family.

“That was different, and you know it.”

Charlie sat up, and when he spoke, his tone was more sober and pointed. “Yeah, it was different, Heron. I bet Len and Toni didn’t mind me being gone at all. Meanwhile I’ve spent the past two months defending you to my parents and I’m sick of it.”

“I never asked you to defend me.” How could he fling that back in her face? He had promised that he understood.

“But you expected me to.”

She supposed she had. Wasn’t that part of loving someone? She’d been so happy when Charlie had chosen her at New Year’s, but now she wondered if the cost had been too high. Heron’s head swam with the pressure of figuring out how to make this right, on top of the ripples of anxiety about her thesis. She needed time alone to think, to do something concrete. Continuing this conversation wasn’t going to do either of them any good.

“You should go home, Charlie. We’ll talk about this tomorrow.”

“Fine.”

He slammed the door to her bedroom as he left, and she heard the apartment door slam, too. Heron flinched. It was unlikely that any of the other building residents, all fellow students, would be sleeping yet, but she tried to be a considerate neighbor. From her window, she watched him stride across the street and considered going after him, but they weren’t likely to get anywhere constructive tonight. She’d leave it for a better time.

A light came on in the window below Charlie’s. Jason’s room. Heron could see him standing at the window and could have sworn he was looking straight at her. He was statue-still, and his hand rested on the neck of the lamp as if he’d been there a long time, watching, and only revealed himself with a flick of the switch when he wanted her to know he was there. Her upper arms erupted in goosebumps. She reached over to close her blinds, pulling the cord with such force that they came loose from the window frame and crashed onto her bed. She hardly dared to sneak a glance at Jason’s window, hoping he hadn’t seen her be so rattled. The light was off, as if she’d imagined the whole thing.

Leaving the mess for another time, Heron pulled her fluffy cardigan off the back of her chair and shrugged into it, grabbed her laptop, and went out to the living room table get some work done.

The words of Heron’s thesis jumbled in front of her eyes. It seemed like a document she’d never seen before, rather than one she’d been painstakingly crafting for months. She gave up and took a blanket to the couch, where she failed at sleep, too, tossing and turning until dawn.