Page 16 of With Stars in Her Eyes

Courtney

When the chatty customer left the store, I spent at least three minutes hyperventilating about the almost-kissing-Thea moment.

Migrainey day or not, had that customer not come in, I probably would have ended up making out with Thea in the romance section without giving the smallest shit about who might have seen us.

By the time Sam came out of the back, I had mostly pulled myself together. “When did Thea leave?”

“About ten minutes ago. I think something’s going on with Marshall, so she’s worried about him. But I have to tell you what hap—”

“Oh, right. I bet Marshall’s a wreck.” Sam shuffled a few titles around on the front table.

“My grandpa said he was cut from the practice squad—he’s had a news alert for him set up since his rookie season.

Grandpa and Abbott think he’s going to retire for real this time.

I bet Marshall isn’t happy about it. But sometimes bodies just can’t do the thing anymore. Football is brutal.”

“Oh.” My grip slipped on the scanner in my hand. It took me back to the moment when I couldn’t hold my bow. “Yeah. Damn .”

I know exactly how you feel, dude, I said to an imaginary Marshall in my mind.

After fixing a sticker error at the register, Sam elbowed me. “Did Thea find the gays—I mean gay books in the romance section?”

“We found a couple.” I clamped the side of my mouth between my molars to keep from smirking. “I’m going to go by next week to loan her a stack of some of the books you sent me. I guess she’s out of town this weekend.”

“Ooooh… loaning her books. Fairly intimate for someone you’ve only known for…” Sam checked her watch. “A week?”

I shrugged. “Eight days… or I guess nine depending on how you count it…”

Sam chuckled. “And I guess you have technically already slept with her.”

“I slept three feet away from her with a potbellied pig in between us.”

“When you go by Squid next week, ask her if she’s busy on June thirteenth.”

“… That’s like two and a half months away. That’s a little too long to wait for a first date— oh . You’re talking about the book fair.”

Sam’s head bowed as she snickered. “Yep. But interesting that your mind went there so quickly, isn’t it?”

“Shut up.”

“Ask her what her rates are for her photo booth thing.”

“Photo booth thing?”

“Marshall says she’s a really creative hobby photographer on the side and has this special camera booth thing that she’s rented out for events. I’ve been brainstorming ways to change things up this year. Fifth year is when things start to get stale if you don’t keep changing it up.”

“She’s a photographer?”

“I’m surprised you don’t already know that.”

Something deep inside me beneath my ribs felt oddly sullen because I didn’t know that. I wanted to know everything about Thea, and I hated I knew so little about her after so many conversations.

Why did I go to sleep so quickly when we were snowed in? Why didn’t I ask her a million questions about herself? Why had I been so involved in my own misery that I hadn’t made the slightest real effort beyond my pathetic attempts at flirting?

I rubbed a tingling spot at my temple. Unfortunately, this was not the crush-on-a-girl type of tingling.

“So excited you’ll be here in person for the book fair this year instead of me just bombarding you with pics after. I will say that’s people-watching gold since it’s become a hot spot for a last date night for the university kids right before their exams ramp up…”

I forced a chuckle and then rubbed at the side of my head. “Can’t wait.”

“Okay, so I was kidding before, but now you actually don’t look great.”

I grimaced. I needed to get better at hiding this shit again—not from Sam, but if I ever decided to perform again.

Whoa .

Where did that thought come from?

Even the impending migraine did not churn my stomach as much as the idea of walking out on a stage again did.

“Was there an obvious trigger this time?” Sam asked.

I rubbed the worst areas of tension on my forehead. “That group of tween girls was in here earlier and they sprayed a bunch of perfume in the bathroom. Every now and then I get a whiff of it, and it’s just… it’s super strong. I was hoping I could just work through it.”

Sam frowned at the bathroom door. “This is the third time. Christ , now I smell it too.” Her nose wrinkled. “Will you let me put up a sign at this point?”

“I don’t want to be high maintenance about it.”

“It’s not high maintenance. It makes you sick, and you work here. I mean, you’re my best friend, but for the record, it’s a pretty reasonable workplace accommodation too. Even if asshole music managers disagree and do whatever the fuck they want no matter what the consequences are to—”

“I really don’t think the label exec fully understood why…” I trailed off with a frustrated growl as the words tangled up in my mouth. This hadn’t happened for a while. “Gah… fuck .”

Understanding what was happening immediately, Sam reached down and handed me a satchel she insisted we kept behind the counter.

All of Sam’s emergency diabetes medications were in there as well as my medication.

“Fuck that label exec guy. Fuck all of them. They better not step a toe inside Kansas or I’m going to kick their asses.

” She nodded toward the hall to the office.

“Honestly, that smells disgusting. If I ever get pregnant it’ll be good if I’ve already banned gross perfume. Go lie down.”

I grabbed the satchel and my water and headed down the hall, thoughts traveling back to the last time I had borrowed a couch and a dark office. That couch had smelled like scotch, cigarettes, and the staticky smell I associated with all the recording cables.

Since I had started so many new treatments the past couple months, I had absolutely no idea what actually worked.

But something must be. I had gone from twenty migraine days a month to three.

There were predictable patterns, and if I preemptively treated them the second I felt symptoms, I didn’t have clusters of multiple bad days in a row.

I should be ecstatic by that type of progress, not feeling panicked from the threat of old memories.

“Fuck,” I said again, this time in a whisper. No matter how bad my speech got with these migraines, there were still certain words I could say without stammering.

And certain memories drove me right to all the profanity.

I downed the pills and rummaged in my bag for the tiny neurostimulator device to put on my head.

I grabbed the cold pack stashed in the small office fridge.

After flipping off the light, I lay down on the little couch and took a deep inhale.

I was safe here. Sam’s office smelled like old brick, books, tea, and the lingering odor of tomatoes and onions from whatever she had warmed up to eat for lunch.

The boredom was the worst part. I couldn’t listen to anything.

I couldn’t read. The boredom meant nothing buoying me from sinking into bitter memories.

As I shut my eyes and covered my face with the cold pack, my mind drifted again back to that office in London on the day of the last session working on my record.

The soundboard dials cast clawlike shadows on the other side of the room as the last few bars of a song played. I was half-reclined with my legs draped over the arm of the couch.

We had just finished the final listen before sending it off to mastering. I had made it through, but the pain made it impossible for me to tolerate the normally bright fluorescents or being vertical.

Demetrius sat on the floor in front of me, sipping his favorite beer.

God, I miss beer. The ability to get comfortably drunk was yet another thing the migraines had taken from me.

He crumpled his can in his fist and tossed it into a recycling bin. “Seriously though, you said you’d tell me if the headaches were getting worse. My father has a good friend who’s a neurologist in Harley Street. I’m sure he could fit you in before we fly out if you need—”

“Nah. I’m fine. Don’t worry about me.” Luckily, he probably couldn’t see my gritted teeth in the dim light.

The lies rolled off the tongue so quickly I barely registered them. When I wasn’t wearing my drapey stage dresses, I hid my weight loss from the nausea under sweatshirts, so the band wouldn’t see. Demetrius noticed the changes, but he also trusted me enough to believe me when I was lying.

He twisted off a water bottle cap. “It’s going to be a hit. People are going to think I was hiding you in the back all these years.”

I poked him between the shoulder blades. “You mean they’re going to say it’s only good because you produced it.”

“You should come with me to do the late nights this round. Even if we save ‘Astrolabe’ for your first single later, it will be good to have you onstage with me for the lead-up.” His hands steepled over his knees.

“People have already started asking questions about you. Richard says no one can keep their eyes off you when you play your solo on Golden Hour . It’ll be the same with this. ”

“Richard hates me, so I bet he said that more like ‘you need to put that blue-haired trollop in the back because she’s a distraction.’”

“You know Richard too well for me to bullshit you about it, I see. But I’m fairly sure he’s never called you a trollop.” He turned the record back to relisten to the bridge on the last track. “But I still think you should come.”

“Let’s see what they say in LA.”

His nod was an acceptance of my noncommittal answer. “So are you excited to be going home again?”

“LA isn’t home.” My tone was too harsh, and I tried to walk it back with a wobbly smile.

“I think you know as well as anyone that I didn’t grow up having a home home.

LA is basically the opposite.” An unexpected laugh escaped me in spite of all my worries about being in Los Angeles again.

Maybe it was because I had finally recorded the songs about my years there, but I had begun to feel cleansed of something that had festered inside me for so many years.

“I meant the US, but point taken.” His voice assumed a dreamlike air. “Alas, maybe it’s better for birds not to be tethered… Starlings and Kestrels… Doves .”

I snatched the pillow from beneath my head and smacked him with it. “Oh, shut up.”

But I was smiling.

And not just in the memory.

I was smiling now while still in pain, lying on Sam’s office couch.

There were so many happy memories of that part of my life. Maybe… no matter how my career had ended… if it had really ended… maybe those memories of what it was didn’t have to feel bitter.