Page 73 of Until the Last Star Fades

“His assumption that you’d just blindly take a job you had no interest in like a good girl? That shows exactly how much he didn’t get you!” A river of dark ice cream crept down Piper’s hand as she leaned in.

“Pip, you’re like a four-year-old with that cone.” Casey’s free hand rooted around in his messenger bag and reappeared with hand wipes. “You’re a germy, gooey clusterfuck.” A wipe sailed over Riley’s lap, landing on Piper’s thigh. She quickly mopped up the sticky dessert.

“I wanted to help Mom so badly…but sitting in that fancy restaurant, I couldn’t block it out anymore. I was using him, and it made me sick to my stomach.”

“Don’t beat yourself up. It’s not like you were doing it for selfish reasons,” said Casey.

“If Mom knew what I’d been thinking, she’d be livid. I had to let him go, even if I hurt him—and I really didn’t want to hurt him.” Riley’s nose began to tickle. Don’t cry! You’ve held it together this long. She pulled a tissue from her tote. “Ah, God, I feel even more lost now.”

Piper sighed. “Breakups suck.”

“I have to live with it: I stomped on Josh’s heart and I’ve destroyed the only financial lifeline we had. The medical bills aren’t going to stop just because I did the right thing.” She shook her head. “I came this close to buying a lottery ticket on my way here. Can you say ‘desperate’?”

“Where’s Josh now?” asked Casey.

“Headed to his parents. He’ll stay with them until he flies back Sunday night. He’s got an interview with Sports Illustrated first—”

“Does he now? Well, someone won’t be sitting in his old bedroom crying all weekend, then.” Casey sneered. “Privileged prick. I hate jocks.”

Riley glanced at Piper, ice cream trickling over her cone’s edge again, eyes scrunched in thought. “Hey, we’re dissing Josh, your fave pastime—why so quiet?”

“A crowdfunding page, that’s still an option,” said Piper.

“Asking strangers for money is so…I’m not sure Mom would like me advertising her illness or money problems on the internet. Plus there’s that study I found—ninety percent of campaigns don’t meet their goal. Lots don’t receive any donations. If Mom’s page had a big fat zero, it would break my heart.”

Casey crunched through his cone. “I’ve seen lots of pages racking up donations.”

“Yeah, from the arts crowd—for your friends’ documentaries,” said Riley.

“Not just that. A friend of a friend’s dad”—he chewed quickly—“he needed money for stroke therapy and raised thirty thousand dollars. It’s possible, you know. What do you have to lose?”

She shrugged.

“You don’t ask, you don’t get.” Casey popped the last chunk of cone into his mouth.

“I guess. What would I have to do? Will you guys help me?”

Her friends spoke simultaneously. “Yes!” “Shit, yeah.” Piper flung her ice cream into the bin beside the bench.

Casey pouted. “There’s half left!”

“One word: diabetes,” said Piper.

“God, you’re not becoming diabetic.” Casey scoffed under his breath. “Delusional, yes. Diabetic, no.”

Riley’s phone vibrated in her lap with a text from Maggie.

Sweetheart, come home. I’ve got hugs & smiley face potatoes. x

“I should go. I’m staying at Mom’s.”

“All weekend?” Piper licked her fingers.

“Just tonight. I’m supposed to visit Ben at work tomorrow.”

Casey’s eyes darted between Riley and Piper. “So, when do I get to meet the mysterious Ben?”

“When you stop pretending to be British,” said Piper. “Us Brits find it irritating.”