Little Universes

by Heather Demetrios

  I shake Buzz. “He serves a purpose. When you’re launching, everything is strapped down. But not the toy. You know you’ve reached zero gravity when it starts floating around. Cool, huh?”

  “Then I guess we’ll have to get you one of these, too.” She reaches down and pulls a bag from her purse. “Speaking of toys…”

  “Something else for Pearl?”

  Nah smiles. “For you.”

  I open the bag. Inside is a LEGO kit called Women of NASA. I stare at the two mini lady astronauts beside a shuttle.

  “It’s Mae!” she says.

  It has always been a delight to me that I share a name with Mae Jemison, who became the first black woman to go in space when she launched on the Endeavor in 1992. Dad swears he didn’t think about that when they named me, but I don’t know. I think he was planting a seed.

  “I love it,” I say. “It will be awesome in my dorm room.”

  “Right? It’s like the universe always knew you belonged up there,” Nah says. “Someday there’s gonna be a LEGO of you, I know it.” She reaches across the table. “Mae. I’m so sorry, so, so sorry, for breaking the ISS you made with Dad. And for all the horrible things I said and did these past few months. Thank you for never giving up on me.”

  “I’ll always love you to the moon and back.” I grin. “Maybe even as far as Mars and back, if you’re lucky.”

  I have forgiven Nah for that mean thing she said when she was on drugs. About wanting me to do the Mars mission. I think I forgave her the moment she said it. We both know she never meant it. That’s a really long time to be without your sister.

  She groans. “Please don’t do the Mars mission. I don’t think I could handle eight years without you.”

  “I suspect we’d both start failing our psych evals,” I agree. I run my hand over this box filled with women doing impossible things. “And there are good things about Earth, too.”

  Ben. Brownies. Hannah’s playlists. Nate’s ridiculous T-shirts. My new baby sister.

  I don’t want to see Rebecca. I don’t know how holding Pearl will affect Nah. And I don’t have a lot of time to help with the fallout, if there is any. We graduated three days ago, and I only have a few weeks before I head to Annapolis for Plebe Summer. She seems to be doing okay, but you never know. You just never know.

  “I’m fine,” Nah says.

  “Are you reading my MIND?”

  “Yes. I always read your mind.” She spins the globe and we watch it go round and round. “Obviously I don’t want to see Rebecca. And yesterday was … intense. But I really am okay.”

  Nah took a walk on the beach with Micah last night. I don’t know what they said, but when she came back to our hotel room, she seemed lighter.

  “Are you and Micah friends now?”

  “No, but we’re good. I was so mad at him for not coming to the clinic with me that day. But when we actually talked about it, I realized he’d been just as confused and sad and scared as me. He just didn’t know how to say any of that at the time.” Nah sighs. “And it sucks, I guess, that I couldn’t see that. I assumed it was because he didn’t give a shit. It’s so hard for guys. They’re not allowed to cry, always told to man up.”

  “It fucks with their serenity.”

  I am enjoying the occasional curse these days. It’s good to expand your vocabulary.

  “Yeah. Drew and Ben and Nate—they’re lucky. They’re in touch with that yin side of them. They’re not afraid to own their feminine energy.”

  I rest my hand on my chin, thinking. “I never thought about it that way. It’s an evolutionary advantage, that’s for sure.”

  “How so?”

  I smile. “Well, Drew got the girl, didn’t he? For a little while, anyway.”

  They broke up, and that was a good decision. But she still wears that necklace Drew gave her.

  Nah reaches toward the globe and traces her finger over Boston. “For a little while, yes, he did.”

  I spread my palm across the Atlantic. We are holding the world in our hands.

  “You know, if the fighter pilot thing doesn’t work out, there’s always submarines.”

  Nah stares at me. “After what happened … you would literally live under the ocean?”

  “Not under it. In it.” I lean forward. “This one astronaut candidate, she went to Annapolis, and part of why NASA dug her is because she’d proven she could thrive in an environment hostile to life—the ocean—by being one of the first female officers on a submarine. Plus, astronauts train in the ocean all the time because it mimics the microgravity climate of space. NASA has an undersea habitat on the bottom of the Atlantic called Aquarius—it’s a whole sim for living on the ISS or doing space walks. Instead of wearing a space suit, you wear diving equipment.”

  “Mae, that is fucking terrifying.”

  I grin. “Or effing awesome.”

  “Poor Ben. Usually it’s the dudes who become sailors and go to sea for months at a time.”

  “He knows who wears the oxygen tank in this relationship,” I say.

  Nah laughs, but then the sound dies on her lips. Her face goes pale.

  “They’re here,” she whispers.

  I follow her gaze. Rebecca Chen is standing a few feet away, hands gripping the bar of a stroller.

  The three of us stare at each other.

  There is hope in her eyes. I see the fantasy play out: connecting with the daughters of the man she loved. Being “there” for them.

  I wonder, briefly, if there is a multiverse in which Rebecca and Dad are together, and she is making him very happy and he is getting to know his new daughter. And I wonder, briefly, if I could be okay with that. With them being together, a different family, one that is not ours. Would she make Italian wedding soup for him?

  And I also wonder, briefly, if there is a multiverse in which Mom is happy, too.

  Dad thought the multiverse theory was bunk.

  This universe will have to do.

  “I can’t talk to her,” Nah whispers. “Oh my God, I can’t. I’m sorry.”

  “To Pearl?”

  “Rebecca.”

  “It’s okay. I’ll take over command.”

  I cross to Rebecca. She tries to smile. I do not.

  I still can’t see Pearl. The stroller shade is up. Just as well. I don’t want her to be traumatized by this conversation.

  “My sister’s boyfriend, Micah. They were together for over three years,” I say.

  She nods, confusion crossing her face. “Yes. I—”

  “After our parents died, he cheated on her. That’s part of why Hannah’s staying by the table over there.”

  Rebecca turns very, very pale.

  “I can’t imagine we’ll ever be friends,” I say. “Not because you loved our dad. He was easy to love. But because neither of you factored my mom or my sister or me into your equation.”

  Her eyes shine and I know she is trying not to cry and it really bothers me that I feel bad for her. But I do. My dad was her Ben, maybe. And I know exactly how lonely Earth is for her without him.

  “You’re right that we did the math all wrong,” Rebecca says. “But I want you to know that your father did take you into the equation— I think you know that a little, since you read the emails. You and Hannah were his whole life. I think part of why he didn’t tell you was because he knew that if you said he had to choose, he would choose you girls. Instantly. Without a thought.” Her lip begins to tremble, and she bites it. “I won’t tell you you’re too young to understand, because you’re not. Love isn’t rational. He and I—your whole family—learned that the hard way. And I will never stop being sorry for the hurt I’ve caused. I can promise you that.”

  I look at this woman, and I can’t stop thinking that when my dad looked at her, he loved her. He died loving her.

  Mom, help.

  When Nah made that funny villain playlist about Dad’s string theory nemesis from Harvard, Mom said something then that I only just now understand: “O
ur enemies are our best teachers—and sometimes, they become our closest friends.” After Dad died, the nemesis wrote a beautiful article about him in the Harvard Crimson.

  I didn’t know how much I’d miss him, the nemesis wrote. I didn’t know he was my friend.

  Dad said we can do impossible things, but forgiving Rebecca Chen feels more impossible than being selected as an astronaut candidate.

  “Was he happy?” I ask. “With you.”

  Her eyes widen a little. And the tears finally spill out. “Yes, Mae. I’m sorry, but yes.”

  “And did he know about Pearl?”

  Rebecca looks into the stroller, where my little sister is hiding. Her face turns soft. She nods. “We didn’t know we were having a girl, but he said he hoped we would. The last time we talked—the day before the wave—he said he liked the name Pearl. Because—”

  “The Three Sisters.”

  She smiles. “Yes.”

  I think of my dad, floating on the ocean by himself. With all that love in his heart.

  “I’m glad he knew,” I say.

  Tears fall down Rebecca’s face. “Me, too.”

  I don’t know if this is forgiveness, but it’s a start.

  There’s a soft gurgling noise from inside the stroller, and Rebecca steps away.

  “I think Pearl wants to meet her sisters.” She looks over to where Nah is sitting at the table, not looking at us. “Take all the time you want,” she says, then heads toward a shelf of picture books a few feet away.

  I put my hand on the stroller, and I don’t look down until I’m away from my new sister’s mother. This moment is for sisters only.

  I look down. There, nestled in a sea of pale green blankets, is Pearl. As if she knows I’m here, she opens her eyes and gives me a gummy grin.

  Good morning, Earth.

  “Do you want to hear something cool?” I whisper to her. “There is stardust raining down on us RIGHT NOW. And you’re made of stars. And named after one. When you’re a little bit older, I’ll show it to you. Then you can always find your way in the sky.”

  She giggles and kicks her hands and feet.

  I beam. “That is EXACTLY how I reacted when I learned that stuff, too. We’re obviously related.”

  Nah stands as we reach her, and when my sister looks inside the stroller, she stares and stares, her face turning Karalis red, like it always does whenever she feels anything intensely.

  “Do you think…” She swallows. “Do you think I can hold her?”

  “Of course you can,” I say. “She’s our sister.”

  Nah takes a breath. Reaches inside. Lifts Pearl out of the stroller.

  “Hello,” Nah breathes.

  Pearl reaches up with her little dimpled hand and rests it on Nah’s cheek. They stare at each other for a long, long time.

  Nah leans down and brushes her lips against Pearl’s forehead. “Thank you,” she whispers to her.

  I reach out and brush my fingers across Pearl’s dark hair. She has Dad’s eyes. I am so sad that my father doesn’t get to meet his daughter. That she doesn’t get to meet him.

  The anger I’d been holding inside me against my dad melts away. I guess babies do that. They melt things.

  Pearl is giving us back our dad. Bringing him back to life. I can feel him, can almost hear his soft laughter.

  I turn to Nah. “We have to let it go. For her sake. And his.”

  There is nothing more to say to Rebecca about what happened. And there is nothing we can do to change the past. My dad was a good dad. The best. And there is only now. Only love.

  “Okay.”

  “And. When Pearl’s old enough, we should eat it. The three of us. Don’t you think?”

  Hannah knows what I mean. The last of Dad’s egg bake. Uncle Tony had had it specially frozen so we could take it across the country. We thought it was the last thing he made. But it wasn’t. The last thing he made is lying in my sister’s arms.

  It’s time. To let him go. Wherever he is.

  Hannah’s face turns splotchier. I don’t think that is a word, but it’s what happens on her skin.

  “We’ll take pictures,” Nah says. “Get her a science nerd bib.”

  I squeeze Pearl’s fingers. “Something to look forward to,” I say to my baby sister. “Solids are awesome.”

  Hannah laughs.

  I take our gift for Pearl out of my bag, and Nah settles her on her lap as I open it up to the part our little star in the constellation of us needs to hear the most, the part that is about our dad:

  “I will live on one of those stars. I will laugh on one of them. And when you look up in the sky, it will seem to you that all the stars are laughing. Only you will have the stars that can laugh!”

  Pearl grins.

  We laugh.

  And the stars keep shining.

  An Ode To A Rose

  Let the tigers come with their claws!

  I am not afraid anymore

  And neither should you be

  You are loved

  You ARE love

  Don’t you know that, silly girl?

  Bedroom Wall

  The Pink House

  Cambridge, MA

  48

  Hannah

  The Pink House is unapologetically pink, a gorgeous Victorian three-story rambling place that looks like it could be a bordello, if it wanted to.

  The wide, wraparound porch is lined with wind chimes. Every different kind you could imagine. Mom would have loved it. There are huge honeysuckle bushes lining the porch, too, so that the air smells like a good day.

  I’ve never seen a house like this, where the kids are in charge. There’s graffiti on the actual walls, some of it very good, and crap everywhere: bicycle parts, abandoned craft projects, and the kind of random, busted-ass stuff you see in front of people’s homes on trash day, but lovingly or cheekily repurposed, such as the dog bowl that now serves as an ashtray on the porch. There’s an elaborate lamp with no lampshade near the stairs, and the scent of Nag Champa wafts from one of the rooms on the second floor, mingling with the scent of something spicy in the kitchen.

  Over the fireplace mantel in the living room is a sign from the universe that I have made the right choice to move here: Someone has painted a quote by Yoko in beautiful calligraphy.

  What is the most important thing? To love yourself and the world. In that order.

  Jo comes out from the kitchen, wiping her hands on a towel. She gives me a wild biker-girl grin.

  “Welcome home, Blue.”

  “Thanks. That sounds really nice.”

  Nate and Ben are coming by later with my boxes and some furniture, but I wanted to come here on my own first, to take this first step into the unknown by myself: Just Hannah.

  “Come on,” she says. “I’ll give you the tour.”

  Despite the thrift-store furniture and scribbling on the walls, the place is immaculately clean. There’s an order here, once you start looking. The books on the shelves are organized by color. Notes to housemates tacked neatly to a corkboard in the large dining room. Labeled bins: CLEANING SUPPLIES, THINGS FOR YOUR LADY PARTS, EMERGENCY CHOCOLATE.

  “So, this is the common room,” Jo says, waving a hand around the large, sunny living room. “This is where we hang for our daily meetings and other gatherings. You have to come to at least three meetings a week here. If you have Twelve-Step meetings somewhere else you also want to go to, that’s fine.”

  This is part of what being in a sober home is. I want this structure, this support, even though the rules make me feel like a kid again. I need people around me to stay on my ass so that I keep the promises I’ve made to myself. It’s too easy to stay at home and not go to a meeting.

  “If you have guests,” Jo continues, “they’re welcome to be in here or the dining room or your bedroom and they can use the downstairs bathrooms, but we ask that you respect the privacy of the rest of the house. Especially since this is an all-female-identifying space. Lots of trauma here,
you know?”

  I nod.

  I’ve heard too many sad stories in meetings—girls being hurt by their dealers, by guys taking advantage of them when they were out cold on drugs. Getting attacked. I still don’t know what happened with Sean from Harvard. Mae said my pants were on. But I don’t know. That alone might be enough to keep me sober for good.

  “I have a friend coming to help decorate my room tomorrow,” I say. “That girl I told you about from my meeting—the poet?”

  Jaipriya and I have hung out once already. There was a poetry reading at Grolier Poetry Book Shop, which my mom used to go to a bunch back in the day. It’s where she met Dad. The cashier asked if I was a writer, and I said yes.

  “Right on. Obviously no drugs or alcohol are allowed in the house—that includes your guests. I will kick your ass out if you use here or anywhere else. No exceptions. Okay?”

  “Okay. Yes.”

  “We drug test pretty regularly, and that’s also mandatory. They’re always done randomly, so you can’t fool us. We depend on one another to support our sobriety, so we have to be on top of this.” Jo leads me into a large dining room, with dark wood paneling and a pretty stained glass window. A rustic wooden table with mismatched chairs that seats at least twelve sits in the center. “We eat in here. We have group dinners a few times a week. I’ll show you the schedule later. We make the meal together, eat together, clean up. It’s really nice. The rest of the time, we all just do our own thing. But we often potluck it together. I’ve got a kick-ass curry on I’m gonna make you try. I call it Vicious Vegan Delight.”

  I grin. “Sounds awesome.”

  “We’ve got a cool garden out back. Gina will be thrilled to have you, if you like to do shit like that, which I don’t. She’s our resident green goddess.”

  “I’d love it. My mom and I gardened together a lot. I miss it.”

  I run my finger along the table, thinking. A dream’s been forming in my head for a while now, ever since I started working with Ben at Castaways. I don’t know if it was Mae’s idea, me working there, or his, but I’m grateful. A job—one step toward independence, toward real life. A life outside the pills.