Some spots with the stars were clean, and the air smelled like sunscreen and coconut, with the palm trees as an accent to the backdrop of tourism. Other corners were covered with graffiti or had makeshift tents set up between doorways and alleys. All mashed up together, it didn’t make sense.
That was life, wasn’t it? You had it or you didn’t, and when you didn’t, people pretended you didn’t exist even if you were right in their face. He swallowed the lump in his throat because he’d been there—he’d been the one who was forgotten.
"You okay?" Darla asked as they passed another touristy trinket shop and she stopped to check out their selection of T-shirts on a rack out on the sidewalk.
He nodded.
"You’re not okay," Darla said, and she pulled his arm, so he’d come closer.
"It’s just crazy to see how obvious the differences in experiences are like this. It’s like you see what you want to see and ignore the rest," Mach said, tilting his head toward one of the makeshift encampments.
"There’s definitely a contrast in what people have," Darla agreed. "But people are people. That’s the thing you can’t forget. I mean, I see people come into the hospital all day long from all parts of life and the one thing they have in common is their humanity when they’re hurting. It’s why I do what I do, you know?"
She moved her hand along his forearm to his palm, linking their hands together.
He nodded. "I...uh…"
He ached to tell her where he came from, but he stopped because he couldn’t. No matter what she’d said before, most people looked at you different when they realized you came from nothing.
"You gave that guy back there a fifty. I bet it totally made his day," Darla said. "And you’ve been making my day for two days straight."
"I guess I’ve started a streak," he murmured.
She nodded, and they continued down the boulevard where so many greats had walked before. When she had every reason to be mad that he left so quick last night, here was Darla, not holding his screw-up against him like she should’ve. The batshit part was that he was starting to trust these parts of himself with her.
"Whatcha thinking about now?" Darla asked, her hand still linked with his as they moseyed down the sidewalk, checking out the names on each star.
"That you make the best pancakes I’ve ever eaten in my life," he said, since that was a safer thing to say than anything else in his brain.
"It’s the sour cream," she said with a half-smile. "My not-so-secret ingredient."
Nah, he was pretty sure it was her company that made breakfast so fantastic.
And what scared the shit out of him was how natural it was to just be in the same place with her like this. Not talking or arguing, just ready for her arms to wrap around him so they could race off to the next adventure.
"I bet someday you’ll get your own star, can you even imagine?" she said, studying one of the older ones for an obscure celebrity he wasn’t familiar with.
"Nah, no one wants to give me something like this," he said.
Her face fell. "Why would you say that?"
"It’s who I am." No sense being upset about it.
"Who is that, Mach? Who are you?"
He swallowed hard and wanted to tell her all about him.
But if he did that, then it’d be over before they even made it to Alfred Hitchcock’s star.
"I’m the backup guy. The one in the periphery," he said. "They don’t give us stars. Maybe Dimefront the band, someday. But not Mach Powers the guy."
"Nope." She shook her head, adamantly, and started talking with her hands. Practically painting the picture for him. "I can see it now. You’ll get a whole ceremony and Dimefront will all be here to celebrateyou. Hans and Courtney will have it all planned out and I’ll bring my paparazzi friends because they’ll want to eat," she said, grinning and gesturing to where everything would happen. "I bet your parents will even come. And brothers and sisters? Do you have any? I feel like I know you so well, but I don’t really know anything about you." Her eyebrows fell together.
His heart felt like lead, but this was his reality and he’d accepted it a long time ago. "I don't remember my mom and dad, they died when I was little. They won’t be able to make it to any imaginary ceremonies, no matter how awesome you pretend them to be. But I’ve got Dan—he’s my foster dad. He’ll wanna be there at your pretend ceremony. The only brother I’ve got is Tanner and he was my foster brother, so, not quite the real deal." In the blood relation sense, at least.
Darla’s expression went soft. He hated that, because he didn’t need sympathy. This was just how it was in his reality, no big deal.
"I’m so sorry," she said—the same thing everybody said when the topic came up.
