The Sun Is Also a Star(52)

“You’ve been looking for me?” Her voice is shy.

“Will you forgive me for being such a jerk earlier?”

“It’s okay. I should’ve told you.”

“It wasn’t my business.”

“Yes it was,” she says.

It’s not the three words I want to hear from her, but it’s damn close.





HE’S SITTING ON ONE OF THE BENCHES that face the fountain and writing in his notebook. I knew I’d be happy to see him, but I didn’t expect to feel gleeful. I have to stop myself from jumping up and down and clapping my hands and maybe doing a twirl.

Gleeful.

Which is not like me.

So I don’t do it.

But the smile on my face needs to be measured in miles instead of inches.

I slide onto the bench and bump his shoulder with mine. He pulls the notebook up to his face, covering his mouth, and then turns to face me. His eyes are wide and dancing. I don’t think anyone’s ever been as happy to see anyone as Daniel is to see me.

“Hey,” he says from behind the notebook.

I reach out to lower the book, but he shifts his body back from me.

“What’s wrong?” I ask.



“I might have gotten into a small fight,” he says.

“You got into a small fight and now I can’t see your face?”

“I just wanted to warn you first.”

I reach out again. This time he lets me lower the book. The right side of his lip is swollen and bruised. He looks like he’s been in a boxing match.

“You fought with your brother,” I say, making the connection.

“He had it coming.” He keeps his face neutral, downplaying his feelings for my benefit.

“I didn’t think poets fought.”

“Are you kidding? We’re the worst.” He smiles at me, but then flinches in pain. “I’m fine,” he says, watching my face. “It looks worse than it is.”

“Why did you fight?” I ask.

“It doesn’t matter.”

“Yes it does—”

“No it doesn’t.” His lips are firm and straight. Whatever happened, he’s not going to tell me.

“Was it about me?” I ask, even though I know the answer.

He nods.

I decide to let it go. It’s enough to know that he thinks I’m worth fighting for.

“I was pretty mad at you before,” I say. I need to say it before we go any further.

“I know. I’m sorry. I just couldn’t believe it.”

“That I didn’t tell you?” I ask.

“No. That after all the things that had to happen to get us to meet today, something else was gonna tear us apart.”



“You really are hopeless.”

“It’s possible,” he says.

I rest my head on his shoulder and tell him about going to the museum and Ahnighito and all the things that had to go right for our solar system, galaxy, and universe to form. I tell him compared to that, falling in love just seems like small coincidences. He doesn’t agree, and I’m glad for it. I reach out again and touch his lip. He captures my hand and turns his face in to my palm and kisses the center. I’ve never really understood the phrase they have chemistry before now. After all, everything is chemistry. Everything is combination and reaction.

The atoms in my body align themselves with the atoms in his. It’s the way I knew he was still in the lobby earlier today.

He kisses the center of my palm again, and I sigh. Touching him is order and chaos, like being assembled and disassembled at the same time.

“You said you had good news,” he says. I read the hope on his wide-open face. What if it hadn’t worked out? How would we have survived being torn apart? Because it feels impossible now, the idea that we don’t belong together. But then, I think, of course we would’ve survived. Separation is not fatal.

Still, I’m glad we don’t have to find out. “The lawyer says he thinks he can figure it out. He thinks I’ll get to stay,” I say.

“How sure is he?” he asks. Surprisingly, he’s more skeptical than I am.

“Don’t worry. He seemed pretty sure,” I say, and let my happy tears fall. For once, I’m not embarrassed to be crying.



“You see?” he says. “We’re meant to be. Let’s go celebrate.”

He pulls me in close. I tug the tie out of his hair and run my fingers through it. He buries his hands in mine and leans in to kiss me, but I put my finger against his lips to stop him. “Hold that kiss,” I say.

It occurs to me that there’s one call I want to make. It’s a silly impulse, but Daniel’s almost got me believing in meant-to-be.

This entire chain of events was started by the security guard who delayed me this morning. If it weren’t for her fondling my stuff, then I wouldn’t have been late. There’d have been no Lester Barnes, no Attorney Fitzgerald. No Daniel.

I dig around my backpack and pull out Lester Barnes’s business card. My call goes straight to voice mail. I leave a rambling message thanking him for helping me and asking him to thank the security guard for me.

“She has long brown hair and sad eyes and she touches everyone’s stuff,” I say as a way to describe her. Just before I hang up, I remember her name. “I think her name is Irene. Please tell her thanks for me.”