star stuff

three

"Do you want to come with us after we leave? We're going to the bar for drinks." Emma leans against my desk and I resist the urge to snap at her and tell her to get off.

My nerves and patience are frayed after a day of angry calls and emails. I wish I could say that I have the patience of a saint, but I don't. Sitting in a room next to Sagan where I just want to ask why he left and why he never picked up my hundreds of calls doesn't help my irritation.

"I don't drink," I say, and a shudder goes through me when I remember the last time I drank. I think it was the night of Jasper's funeral. All I remember was hands pressing where they should not have been and Ian Kelly's leering face as he told me that he would make me feel safe even though I didn't feel safe at all.

Emma's voice brings me back to Earth. "Hey, are you okay? You don't have to go if you don't want to, but the invitation's open."

Why are you being so nice to me?

"I'm not going to go with you guys, so really, you don't need to keep the invitation open."

She shrugs, her effervescent smile never leaving her face. "Alright. What did Mr. Cantor-Lam want with you, anyway?"

I wonder if she is oblivious to my closed off posture or just ignoring the signals.

"We used to know each other," I say, hoping that she doesn't press about it. Thankfully, she doesn't and just nods, but I don't like the smile on her face, as if she's suggesting something.

"Well, if you ever need anything, just tell me, alright?"

I'm pretty sure that even if I do, I won't ask you. The last few years have been enough to teach me self sufficiency.

Once she's gone, I slump down into my seat, casting my eyes at the sterile white ceiling.

This morning feels like eons ago. Could it really have been a few hours ago that I was an intern nervous for her first day, debating on what to wear?

I was so complacent. Not happy, but complacent. I was going to have an internship position to put on my resume. I was going to have a busy, predictable summer.

But then Sagan had to come in and throw a monkey wrench in my plan. He has always been kind--from when he helped me build train tracks for my mechanical trains to when he took me, a sophomore, to prom--and maybe that kindness will melt the layers of ice.

I can't let that happen, though. For his good as well as mine.

"How did he die?"

The shiver that runs down my spine at the low timbre of his voice is involuntary, but I remind myself that I fell out of love with him years ago. I've tried to search my heart for the love I once had for him, but if it's there, it's buried under the mountains of bottled up resentment.

He looks no better than he did the afternoon. If anything, he looks worse.

What he's asking sinks in and I try to push down the overwhelming feeling of wanting to burst into tears. Ice princess, June. Ice princess. I haven't cried since that day and I don't intend to start now.

"Chronic myelogenous Leukemia. Stage four when it was diagnosed. Jasper never had a chance."

He doesn't frown, he doesn't scream it's not fair that Jasper didn't get to go down fighting when there are people out there who don't deserve to live, and he doesn't say anything. He just stands there, absorbing every word like it is a lifeline.

But his next question makes my eyes widen and my throat constrict in my throat. Maybe it's because it's so out of left field, or maybe because I've never considered it as a possibility.

"Are you unhappy June?"

As I mindlessly fill a Styrofoam cup with boiling water to cook my cup noodles, Sagan's words play over and over and over again.

Are you unhappy?

Because I have never asked that to myself before. It's always been are you happy? and every time, the answer has been no, definitely not.

But it's different to fully acknowledge that I'm not only not happy, but I'm also miserable. Dissatisfied with life. Angry at the world for its unfairness, that tragedy has to strike me--no, my family time and time and time again. And furious that Sagan couldn't be with me when it did.

In the moment, I replied with a scoff Of course I'm not unhappy. I'm in a good major at a good university. I don't go to sleep wondering if I'm going to eat the next day. I have a good life.

But although his lips remained still, his eyes said those aren't the things that make you happy.

He was right. But I don't want to admit that those things don't make me happy, because if I did, I would be faced with the question then what does make you happy?

And I don't know. A cure, maybe. Or something that brings people back from the dead. Or traveling to all the places that I have marked on the map that hangs above my bed that I know I must go to before I die.

It all really boils down to the fact that Sagan is threatening to melt the walls of ice that I've erected to protect myself and others, too. In one day, he's gotten closer than anybody else has gotten in years, and that only makes me hate him more.

But it stops here. He cannot, will not get any farther. Emotions are peculiar things--they can be shut off, ignored with the flick of a switch.

I have done it many times and this time will not be the last.

I wince when a few drops of steaming hot water leak onto my fingers. They always do. I'm a terrible cook. I think it's because I'm bad at things that require actual critical thinking--I majored in computer science because it's methodical. I liked math because the solution is always the same, no need for deep thinking. 

Surprise hits me when I hear a sound and it registers that it is my phone ringing. I don't get many calls and I really don't remember my ringtone.

The phone lights up with a name. Jerald Cattaneo.

Without hesitation, I press decline. He doesn't call again, but he probably will next week. It's been years, and I wonder why he and Monica don't just give up. 

Isn't this the same thing Sagan did to you years ago a voice inside my head asks. When you called and called and called him and he never picked up?

"Shut up," I say out loud, and I thank God for the umpteenth time that I have no roommates. That, and the fact that I hate interacting with people. 

a/n: hey friendos! i think the latter scene was more of filler scene, as it's more to help you get into the thought process of juno, which i find very interesting, because she's kind of like me but she's also not like me, yk? 

anyway, thanks for reading, and don't forget to vote/comment/add to library because those all make me very happy and increase my motivation :)) love, 

-isadora