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satans-helper · 3 months

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Reaching for Stardust - Part XX

Read Looking for Space here / Playlists / Read RFS on wattpad or read previous parts here

Word Count: ~3800

Warnings: none <3

A/N: Well, my friends, we've made it--the final chapter. I'm so sorry it took me so long to get to. I started it weeks ago but kept faltering. Ending stories is always the most difficult part for me, and letting Josh and Darling go again does hurt my heart a bit. I love these characters and this story and thank you to every one of you who asked me to write this sequel <3 Thank you to all who have taken the time to read it too! <3 I had so much of this mapped out in my head and in various notes that writing most of it felt easy--this last chapter, though I had planned most of it, didn't feel so easy. But I'm happy to say that I'm satisfied with it. I hope you are too <3

---

Nothing at all really changed after we were married. The sun still rose each morning, though not always visible through winter skies. But when it was there, it cast its warm, stunning light through our small but cozy apartment; it threw golden rays across Josh’s serene, pretty face as he slept in our bed and it warmed our sheets as the cold days trickled on.

I still watched Josh whenever I woke up first, same as always–I watched the shallow, even breaths that made his chest move slightly, the gentle twitch of his eyebrows as he dreamed. I watched the stretching of his limbs when he first began to stir, and the slow blinking with long lashes as he began to open his eyes into the morning light. Then the light would catch in his bronze irises and create a kaleidoscope of diamonds and color, leaving me bewitched and smitten just as I had been years ago.

And still, with rings on both of our fingers, the smile that graced his sleepy face, on those perfect lips as soft as rose petals, shined even brighter than the sun outside and each morning it looked brand new to my eyes.

Winter carried on. January staggered on by us in shades of gray and what would normally be a constant state of agonizing monotony wavered into a brighter couple of weeks, even if the sky really was pale and devoid of sunshine past the dawn.

February came on fast and our little world, our little home, was splattered with bold colors–pink, red and purple everywhere, because we’d decided to lean into the commercial capitalism of Valentine’s Day with loads of decorations and frivolity. We went out to dinner, sat beneath artificial warm bulbs and drank wine and talked about the past and the future, but it all felt less painful and less daunting then–I could only explain that emotional relief existing because of our union and because at least this part of our future was solidified.

But when March came around and we were in the dregs of another Michigan winter–the slow, muddy, wet and snowy days that dragged on and on–and more talk of the future commenced when the boys called a “meeting” of sorts. My heart raced even at hearing the invitation, and the days leading up felt like their own individual eons until I was practically unraveling with nerves and questions about this mystery they were about to lay out.

Because, after all, was it entirely a mystery? I asked myself when I thought about Danny’s gentle warning from a few months prior–things were happening. Big things. Big changes.

So when Josh and I were officially told that the boys had landed themselves new management and a record deal and were moving to Nashville in May, the two of us silently decided the course of our future was going to change along with theirs. Because, also after all, we were all family and we couldn’t imagine our lives being torn apart like that. It was just that simple.

Maybe some would call our dynamic codependent, and maybe it wouldn’t be entirely wrong, but I didn’t care. Neither did Josh, who had far more of an incentive to trail along–these were his actual brothers, the guys who had been in his life for forever, and though no one asked anything explicit, it was apparent that his clan wanted him to join them on the journey. I wanted the same thing–I had learned over the years, and especially this past one, that I truly wanted to be with Josh wherever he went, and I wanted us to all be a family no matter what. And, to me, part of being a family meant being together.

Our drive back home was quiet, but not tense–just contemplative. Even with our shared silence, I felt that I could hear the gears moving in Josh’s mind while my own did the same, an endless stream of questions and fears and wishes. And when we were indeed back home, our apartment felt suddenly so stifling to me, and Josh and I moved quickly to begin setting things in motion, beginning with foregoing our entire honeymoon.

“We’ll take another trip sometime,” he assured me as I opened my laptop and went to cancel our flights to Vegas. “After we’re settled in Nashville.”

“There’s no rush,” I said, giving him my own reassuring smile. It really didn’t bother me. As enticing as Vegas and the desert was, Tennessee had an even more prolific call to it, like it was beckoning us forward. I’d looked at so many pictures of different cities in the state, of course I knew how big the music scene was in Nashville, and I’d never been opposed to visiting–I just never imagined it in this context no matter how many signs had been there leading the way. I was happy–truly. No honeymoon was worth losing the people we loved the most. “Besides, the move is kind of the trip. It’s a whole new adventure.”

“We’ve never even been there before,” Josh said, settling back next to me on the couch, tipping his head up in thought. “Does that make you nervous? It actually makes me a little nervous.”

“Yeah. But we’ll love it. The boys assured us of that.”

“It’s a big change. It’s a big city.”

“Maybe we need a big change.” After successfully canceling our flights, I shut the laptop and pivoted to face Josh. “I’ve been so afraid of any changes, Josh, and you’ve always been so patient with me. Getting married felt like a huge change but it was the best decision ever and what did it really change? I mean, there’s been good changes. Small ones. Nothing bad.” I laid down on my back, putting my head in his lap. “I’m going to believe that it’s totally possible this move, this big change, will have nothing bad attached to it.”

“That’s a profoundly new and brave outlook to have on it, darling,” Josh said, running his fingers through my hair. “One thing I am worried about is telling the other members of our family. What will your sister say? My parents? Your parents? Our friends?”

I sighed. “I know. That’s the hardest part. The only bad part I can see right now.”

“Also…” Josh began, twirling a lock of my hair around his finger. “Where are we going to live? Jake, Sam and Danny have their situation figured out. We do not.”

“We can start looking tonight. We can find an apartment–”

“We should get a house,” Josh said, those words profound.

I paused, smirking a bit, before I said, “In this economy? In a city that big? I’m not sure we’re that lucky.”

“We could do it! Both of our parents agreed to let us use their contributions to the honeymoon for a house if that’s what we wanted instead. And now we know that’s what we want.”

“Yeah. Maybe…” I trailed off, the daunting numbers of houses for sale, even more daunting in such a large city, already permeating my mind. Nevertheless, I concluded, wanting to stay on the road of positivity and optimism, “We’ll look at those too. Who knows? Maybe we’ll get lucky and find a cheap gem we can bid on.”

Josh hummed. “It’ll be strange to do that without actually being inside the house first.”

“Well, wouldn’t it have been the same thing with Savannah?”

“Not necessarily. I had imagined we would have traveled back to look for a place to live there.”

“You had it all planned out. Secretly,” I said, reaching up to touch his face. “Now we have to scramble a bit. But you’re good at that. You’re the spontaneous, adventurous one.”

Josh smiled proudly. “That I am. Thank you for the reminder.” He grabbed my hand and held it to his cheek. “And I always need my adventure partner.”

—

As I gathered with my friends and family to share the news, I was met with a reasonable amount of initial excitement, questioning trepidation, then slight resistance before people warmed up to the idea. The plan, actually, because no matter what anyone said, it was happening. Josh and I had begun packing up the apartment and getting the other logistics ready–all of it was daunting, even suffocating at times, but just being able to share what was going on with one person after the other felt like a weight off my chest each time.

Well, I told my parents together and, unsurprisingly, they gave me the most anxiety. So many questions–many that I’d already thought of myself, but some that felt unnecessary. But I knew it was because they cared, and they worried, and neither of their children had ever made a big move like this before.

After a discussion that felt like it went on forever, the three of us sitting on the patio in the backyard I’d grown up in, my parents eventually softened, and their approval and slow-growing excitement was something I hadn’t realized I’d even needed so badly.

Bev was tough–she had half as many questions as my parents but she scrutinized each of my answers with far more intensity. I could tell that her hardened facial expression while we talked, sitting in her apartment that I knew I would miss so much, was a mask over a deep sadness and grief that I felt in my own heart too.

When her questions and my answers stopped and there was a long minute of silence hanging around us, she sighed and the mask dropped, and I saw tears well in her eyes, something that I’d maybe seen two or three times during the entire course of our friendship. I cried too, wishing that the exciting parts of life like this didn’t involve what felt like cutting a limb off.

I’d already been given the intel from Jake about his prior discussion with Jane about the move, so I could go to her prepared–I didn’t feel prepared enough though. I didn’t know how to approach it with her even though Jake had told me he and Jane weren’t splitting up and everything was fine, or as fine as it could be. Emotions were strange and jilted for everyone in our circle and I didn’t doubt Jane’s might be far more inflamed by comparison, with her friend AND boyfriend both moving so far away.

But she was as tender and kind as ever when she came over. We sipped on cheap wine and shared a huge takeout box of french fries on the balcony while the bright blue sky of the spring evening melted into mesmerizing waves of raspberry and lavender. Jane’s affirmations and empathy were as sweet as the sky in my eyes, and I had to blink away more tears while I tried to hide my quivering lips behind the wine glass. But she knew, she saw, she felt it all too, and we wept quietly together. And though I knew she wouldn’t say it, I told her that I knew she’d end up down there with Jake–and all of us–if wanted to in the future. It was only a matter of time.

That’s all any of it was–time. And time was dwindling, each grain in an invisible but still looming, gigantic hourglass slipping away so quickly as Josh and I went through the motions of checking in with our people, working, packing, making logistical moves and trying not to worry too much.

What I was most worried about was my relationship with my sister. It hadn’t been long since it had felt repaired and whole again–we were close. We were back to being each other’s rocks no matter what other rocks were also there to keep us stable and not drift away. But now I was going to be leaving, and I was terrified she’d resent me for that.

“What? I could never,” Kirsti said when I’d expressed that very same concern. Her face was tight with insulted shock, horrified that her own sister could ever use the word “resentment” in reference to our relationship.

“Well, I’m glad to hear it. Because even though I know that, I was still worried,” I told her. We were in her backyard, as I’d been insisting on spending as much time outside as possible–I wasn’t sure when I’d next get to experience this much of the serene Michigan springs I’d come to love so deeply. Each drift of the afternoon breeze wafted over the scent of newly blooming peonies and unearthed daffodils in its own soft, clean scent. I’d miss everything our hometown had to offer–the subdued natural beauty surrounding us, the fresh air of spring just when the warmer days finally break through the cold, the quaint village and the slow, easy way of living that the entire town shared, the strong sense of community. All of it. But I’d miss my people the very most.

Kirsti sighed as she leaned back in her deck chair, face turned up toward the cloud-shielded sun. “It was bound to happen eventually. Josh already had the itch to leave, right? Then his own brothers actually decide to take off...” She turned to look at me. “Yeah. It’s understandable. Those boys are all as thick as thieves. You know that better than anyone. Like, they’re not going to go anywhere without the others.”

“Not anywhere that far, no,” I agreed. Detroit was one thing–Nashville was definitely another. “I didn’t envision this happening though. Not completely. I think my brain tried to block it out all the time even though, yeah, it was always a very real possibility. Very likely, actually.”

A robin flitted across the grass, stealing my attention, and I watched it land on the edge of Kirsti’s side garden, where dark dirt sprouting flowers and greenery pressed against the worn out fence. Two squirrels chased each other down a tree, shaking the tender leaves that had recently begun unfurling and bringing shiny green life to the world of us and to all the animals, then a blue jay swooped down from a different tree, sending the robin away.

“You should get a bird bath,” I remarked.

“Maybe I will. But what about you?” Kirsti asked, sitting forward and twisting to face me again. “You said you hadn’t found a place yet, so where are you guys going to put your bird bath?”

“We’re gonna be staying with the boys until we find a place of our own. I’m not sure we’ll have a bird bath anytime soon.” I look into the yard once again, my eyes following a chipmunk that was scampering across the top of the fence. “Moving in and of itself is so expensive, it’s unlikely we’ll be able to get a house. But that’s okay. We’re just excited to be going and we know we’ll get settled eventually.”

Another silent moment passed, only intercepted by the birds chirping and the next door neighbor starting up their car in their driveway, then my sister said, “Don’t take this the wrong way but…it’s interesting that you’re not just like, freaking out about this.” She laughed a little. “You guys have come a long way together.”

I smiled, gazing up at the sky. “You know, we really have.”

—

For what seemed like the first time ever, Josh had more to figure out than I did. I didn’t have to find a new job, but he did, and watching the evolution of emotions in him when he prepared and subsequently sent in his resignation was difficult. At first, the excitement of what was to come overshadowed the anxiety and trepidation–but soon enough, I could see those feelings written on his face, echoed in his body that spent days unusually tense and withdrawn.

“It’s like starting over in more ways than my mind could comprehend before,” he explained during one of our very last evenings at home. “And you know I already thought about leaving this job before, but I planned to just hop into another teaching job. Now I’m not sure what I’m going to do. There hasn’t been enough time to plan. But more than that, I haven’t had enough mental space to figure out what I even want to plan.”

We were packing, as had become the usual post-work activity, this time focusing our efforts in the kitchen. There were also a lot of boxes and bags for donation scattered throughout the apartment too, full of things that didn’t hold enough sentimental value or usefulness to justify bringing on the long drive to our new city.

I prowled through our spice and baking supply cabinet, pausing with an ancient canister of bay leaves in my hand. “I know, baby. It’s hard. You really liked teaching here. It was a good gig.”

Josh sighed, looking crestfallen. Then he plucked a shot glass from a prior trip to Toronto and held it up, his face brightening: “Remember this?”

“Sure do,” I said, taking it from him as he handed it over to be packed up. “That was a good time. I guess I’ll miss being close to Canada.”

A sigh. “There are a lot of things I’ll miss. More than I realized before.”

The missing didn’t stop us. We hit the road, with more help from our parents, and were in Nashville in just under ten hours. Exhausted and sore, we stepped out into this new place, this new world, and blinked rapidly to move the dryness of our eyes away and to take in the unfamiliar sights.

The air felt different–warmer, more humid. It smelled different too, not as clear and not as green, but we were surrounded by trees and greenery nonetheless, parked outside the boy’s new house in a southern neighborhood that was so foreign that, when I came to my full senses, I felt like I’d been hit with whiplash.

Hauling his backpack over his shoulder, Josh said to me, “We’re not in Michigan anymore.”

No, we really weren’t.

I stayed, compelled to be frozen amongst the new trees and in the foreign air, casting my focus from one thing to another. From the small round window in the attic of the house to the second floor, briefly wondering what the bedrooms looked like until a breeze wafted over me and I smelled the faint sweetness of lilies. I spotted them–bright orange daylilies juxtaposed with smaller, dripping vines of pink bleeding hearts–and shook my head slightly, trying to compute everything that had happened within the past 24 hours and where the next 24 would take us.

I looked at the front of the house, my brow furrowing a little at the unfamiliarity of it juxtaposed with the dire need to “go home” after such a long journey. Home would be here for a while, in this house with the hunter green door and gray siding–it was no longer the weathered white four-story building with the white door to our little apartment and the balcony hanging over our small town, jutting into the sky. Looking up, I saw no balcony, only that same little round window and the four squares below, the curtains drawn, the creeping darkness of the evening penetrating the glass.

A light turned on in one of the rooms below and I could see Josh moving through what looked like the living room. My heart skipped as I watched, still frozen in that one spot, frozen despite the incessant demand of time dwindling and shoving me forward–he pulled his water bottle out of his backpack and took a long drink. His profile caught my gaze–the smoothness of his skin, all of him glowing in that yellow light, the straight arrow of his nose, his brows tightening as he swallowed and his Adam’s apple bobbing, too.

My gaze dropped down to my own hands. They felt dry from repeat use of hand sanitizer and thruway rest stop soap, my nails bitten and shredded in such an unattractive way. I’d been anxious the entire drive, an unwavering bundle of prickly nerves in the passenger seat, so much more anxious than during any flight I’d ever been on. It had felt like a betrayal from my entire physical body, even more so when not even Josh’s reassuring hand on my leg or on my wrist made the edginess disappear.

When I looked up, Josh was in front of me, shadowed from the porch lights. He placed his hands on my wrists again, drifting them down to tangle our fingers together, his eyes soft and his lips pursed a little as he asked, “Are you alright, mama?”

I hadn’t felt it during our drive but I felt it then–the complete relief that came with Josh’s touch.

I held our hands properly, pulling him closer, my thumbs brushing over his knuckles. He smiled and instead of jumping with anxiety, my heart pitter-pattered in my chest with overwhelming love. So overwhelming I felt like I was going to choke on it, like whatever I was going to say would come out strangled and unintelligible.

“Now I am,” I said, breaking away from his sparkling eyes to look up at the sky. It didn’t sparkle the same at home–there was too much light from the city and the brilliant, deep midnight blue that would be overhead at home was a dull wash. It was like the sky was beckoning for me to find the stars, to look harder, search longer, and finally, as I’d always wanted to, pluck one straight from between the whispered clouds and place it in Josh’s palm.

Then I saw the moon, hidden behind those tendrils of clouds until another breeze brushed them away. Her brilliance remained the same–huge and cold, safe and comforting, her celestial presence gave me a familiar sense of belonging. I might not belong in this city–yet. I might not have a home that was just Josh’s and mine–yet. But I belonged in his arms, he belonged in mine, and we belonged to the entire universe no matter where we ended up. Our souls would always be up there, floating among the silver stars and whirling around the moon.

“Yeah,” I said, looking back at Josh, smiling; he smiled back and wrapped his arms around my waist, pressing our torsos together. I reached one hand up and brushed my fingers over his curls, down over the shell of his ears, landing to rest on his cheek. “I’m good. How are you, Starshine?”

“I’m brilliant,” Josh said, smiling bigger, white teeth gleaming. “Now that we’re finally here.”

He pressed a soft, sweet kiss to my lips, letting his mouth linger on mine for a few seconds, and I sighed. When he pulled back, his eyes turned upward too, tilting his head back to look at the sky–but this time, I didn’t search for missing stars or stare at the moon. I just stared at him.

---

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