Page 85 of Until the Last Star Fades

“You okay? Thinking about your dad?”

His eyes were soft, distant. “No. Cancer…” His fingers traced shapes on the rock. “My mum,” he said in a whisper.

No! Your mom has cancer? Riley’s hand shot to her mouth. “What?! Ben! How is—”

“No, no—it’s okay!” he answered quickly, laying his hand on her knee again. “She beat it—years ago. It was breast cancer. They caught it early.” He met her eyes with a soft smile.

“Oh, thank God!” She exhaled heavily, her relief palatable. He’s been through this. He knows what it’s like.

“And listen, Hope—your mom will beat it, too. You’ve got to believe that, okay?” He squeezed her knee. “She’s a fighter, right? She sounds strong, just like you, saving yourself from falling”—he patted the rock—“when you were a kid. If anyone can fight this thing, and pull herself back to the top, she can. Third time lucky, right?”

“Amen!” He’s been so kind, and a really good…friend.

“I’m not religious, but okay.” He chuckled. “Although I might need a prayer to help me get off this bloody thing.”

“You don’t need a prayer, you just need me. C’mon, gimme your hand, you big wuss.” Riley reached out, and Ben accepted.

Thirty-Seven

Three and a half weeks later

Riley’s door flew open to a flash of dark tartan. “Are my roots showing?” Cheek bulging with a lollipop, Piper skulked inside, her fingers crawling through her pixie cut.

“Only slightly. You’ll have your cap on, anyway.” Riley scrunched her nose, sunburnt from NYU’s all-university commencement ceremony at Yankee Stadium two days earlier. She clamped her hair straightener closed, ironing out a kink in the skirt of her blue wrap dress. In three hours, they would be wrapped in their graduation gowns again, taking part in Tisch’s “Salute” ceremony, a special send-off just for the School of the Arts.

“But what about the traditional cap toss? Wednesday, I was one of 9,000 so no one saw there, but at Radio City, there’s only—”

“One thousand four hundred graduates, Pip.” Dewy perspiration collected on Riley’s forehead, a souvenir from the hazy morning humidity. “The Salute will be packed too and the hall will be dark. No one will notice—everyone’s too exhausted to notice!”

“Yeah, I barely slept this week. Exams, final assignments, packing to move—I’m beat.” She pointed at the suitcases by her feet and widened her baby blues at Riley. “The bags under my eyes are just as big as these.”

“I think you look gorgeous, Piper!” Maggie beamed from the loveseat, which was doing double duty as Piper’s new bed. “That dress! What’s the tartan called?”

Piper perked up, posing in front of Riley’s overworked fan, its weary blades pointing down from its wall-mounted perch. “Royal Pride!” The breeze made her flirty short skirt surf over her thighs. “It was created to celebrate Will and Kate’s wedding—so Brit Twit tells me.”

“Casey probably just Googled it.” Riley smiled, smoothing her dress.

“I would’ve worn my Paisley family tartan, but the green and red would’ve clashed with the violet graduation gown.” Piper’s lips surrendered the yellow lollipop as she checked her phone. “Ah, Casey says his family is there and…YES! Grabbed seats on the orchestra level. Thank God! Can’t see my mom scaling the nosebleeds wearing five-inch heels.”

Riley’s eyes locked with Maggie’s, her lips mouthing, “Five inch?”

Tap, tap—tap. Something tiny and blue skipped across the hardwood floor and settled in the fuzzy area rug.

Riley unplugged the straightener, leaving it on her counter. “Drop an earring, Pip?”

Her friend stuck her lollipop in her mouth and grabbed one lobe then the other, shaking her head as a bright pink pebble clinked against the sill and fell by Maggie’s feet. “A stone—?” She leaned forward. “Candy hearts?!”

“Oh!” Riley squished past and stuck her head out the window.

Underneath a crooked bike helmet, Ben smiled up from the sidewalk. Tidy in a shirt, dress trousers, and polished shoes with a small gift bag swinging from his forearm, he straddled a red bicycle that looked like it was one flat tire away from the trash heap. “RESULT! Got two inside your flat, Hope. What do I win?”

“Since when do you ride a bike?”

“Since an hour ago.”

“Got a lock?”

“Er, no, not yet.”