Wish Upon a Star Read Online Free Page B

me that no guy was worth being that upset. Amy, who just didn’t understand. Who would never understand. Amy, who had probably never lost herself in the crazy, dizzy excitement of a new crush. My sister was far too practical for that. She’d married Derek, her high school sweetheart, and I was pretty sure she couldn’t even remember what it was like to be head-over-heels crazy about a new guy.
    Saturday morning, I woke up on Sam’s couch, curled into a tight knot, tangled in a crocheted afghan. At first, I thought the ache in my belly was from my awkward position. I soon realized, though, that I had an old-fashioned case of cramps. Two weeks late, but cramps all the same. Aunt Flo had returned, and she was a bad-tempered bitch. I must have been late because I’d been so stressed about the Mamet audition. Mamet, and my entire nonexistent future as an actress.
    After I showered, I dry-swallowed a couple of Motrin, staring at Sam’s masculine clutter in the bathroom. Shaving cream, a dirty razor, a toothbrush that should have been replaced months before. I shuffled into the bedroom and saw his dirty clothes piled in a corner—one scruffy mound for the Laundromat and another for the dry cleaner. I tugged on my rattiest sweatshirt, completing my glamorous outfit with bleach-stained sweatpants.
    I shuffled into the kitchen and put on water for tea. As I waited for the kettle to shriek, I looked around the room. Dirty dishes were stacked in the sink. A packet of Pop-Tarts was ripped open, the uneaten pastry left to petrify. A banana was well on its way to turning black.
    What was I doing here? What had I possibly been thinking when I spun out my June Cleaver/Donna Reed fantasy of becoming a happy housewife, a loving stay-at-home mom? Why had I been so quick to trade in my future acting career?
    Embarrassed by the fantasy I’d spun out the very first second I thought that I was pregnant, I took my time pouring boiling water into a mug. I brewed my Irish Breakfast strong enough to strip the paint from our tiny kitchen’s walls and forced myself to think about the past few months with Sam.
    When was the last time that we’d really talked to each other? We’d become like a pair of toddlers, playing next to each other in some elaborate gameroom. And, like a toddler, when Sam had felt threatened by my announcement, he’d thrown a tantrum. And, like a toddler, he hadn’t apologized. Hadn’t even made an effort to apologize. Wasn’t, I was now pretty sure, ever going to apologize.
    And that was the guy I’d been ready to base my entire future life on? When had I lost so much faith in myself? When had I decided that my own happiness was worth so little?
    I sipped my tea and was shocked to realize that it had gone stone cold. How long had I been sitting here at the counter, replaying Sam’s rejection?
    Enough.
    I headed back to the bedroom and excavated my suitcase and a duffel bag from the back of the closet. I scooped my things out of the tallboy dresser, tossed in my dresses, a couple of skirts, my blouses. Shoes. Socks and underwear. It took me five minutes to collect my stuff from the bathroom, to circle back to the kitchen for my favorite mug.
    That was it.
    Did I really have so few possessions? I’d been an idiot to give away my college standbys when I moved in with Sam. I thought I’d been so clever to escape from my blocky futon, my chipped dishes and featherweight silverware, my two-seater kitchen table with the permanently splayed legs.
    Well, they were long gone now. And I still had to get a roof over my head. I picked up my phone and punched in Amy’s number. “Hey,” I said, when she answered. “Want some company?”
    * * *
    Amy was wonderful about everything. She literally greeted me with open arms. Justin whined that I was turning him out of his bedroom, but Justin whined about everything, so I didn’t worry too much.
    It had taken me over two hours to get to Amy’s place. She lived in New Brunswick, in