But he will never write that book. So I will never orbit the moon with my dad, or call him from the International Space Station wearing a NASA flak suit. When I’m on a rocket filled with over seventy-six thousand gallons of fuel and thinking about the Challenger blowing up, he won’t be down on Earth, hoping I make it into orbit in one piece.
“Visibility is good tonight, Dad,” I say.
I’m grateful Uncle Tony “accidentally” broke the streetlamp right in front after we moved in. He reported this accident to me while handing me the box labeled MAE’S TELESCOPE.
Mars—perfect visibility
Venus—fairly good visibility
Saturn—average
Uranus—average
Mercury, Jupiter, and Neptune—slightly difficult to see
Mom and Dad—zero visibility
Tonight, all I want to do is look at the moon.
I zoom in on the craters. Imagine the moon mansions I would build on them. This is something Dad and I would do. Moon mansions. Dad’s had a Zen rock garden in the back, the most intricate and beautiful Zen garden ever, made with moon rocks and moon sand.
Mom said she didn’t want a mansion, just a wide expanse where she could do yoga, so I always made sure to have a nicely tended patch for her. I zoom in on a plain beside one of the craters, half expecting Mom to be up there, doing sun salutations. Or would they be moon salutations?
I can’t believe they threw her body in a pit.
Down below, I hear laughter and shouts. The sidewalks are full of goblins and witches and maybe some astronauts. We had plans to hand out candy and line the driveway with jack-o’-lanterns, but our porch light is off and the pumpkins are in the trash. Tomorrow is the Day of the Dead, and I suppose it’s fitting, getting this call when we did. In Mexico, they go to their loved ones’ graves and light candles. Gram will go to her church in Florida and light candles in front of saints. Even though Dad was an atheist, I bet he would like that a little. If only because it probably makes Gram feel better.
“Hey, kiddo.”
Uncle Tony stands behind me, his eyes heavy. He’s wearing his favorite Red Sox jacket and carrying a blanket and a thermos.
“Figured you’d be a little chilly up here,” he says.
I reach for the blanket, throw it over my shoulders. “Thanks.”
“Now, this hot chocolate has some peppermint schnapps in it,” he says. “Don’t tell your dad.”
I smile. “You were Dad’s favorite. In the family.”
He nods. “He was mine. We had some good times, him and me.” He sits next to me and pours me a little cup of spiked hot cocoa. I never drink, except for a glass of champagne on Christmas, but this is a special occasion, I think. “He was so smart, but he never made me feel stupid. You know?”
I nod. “Me, too.”
He runs a hand over his head. “Your sister and me. We’re the only nongeniuses in the family.” He leans closer. “Sometimes that’s hard. On her. You know what I mean?”
“But I don’t care. Mom and Dad never did, never treated us differently or—”
“I know.” He shrugs. “Food for thought.”
I almost tell him about Hannah, but that would be too much, after today’s news. It wouldn’t be fair to him and Aunt Nora. Or Nah. Today is about Mom.
We look at the sky for a long time. Quiet. Peppermint schnapps is good. I can see why people drink alcohol. But it makes the stars blurry.
“What if they never find him?” I whisper.
The finding matters. I didn’t know how much it would, but I should have. I want to find everything: the origin of the universe, a cure for my sister, the answer to every problem ever put before me.
“He’ll get where he needs to go,” Uncle Tony says. “That man, he’s not the type to be lost. Know what I mean?”
I nod. Maybe I’m not giving Dad enough credit. He was like Ben, a Zen master. Maybe he rode the wave until he reached enlightenment, then welcomed it with open arms.
“Mae.” Uncle Tony clears his throat. “I would never try to replace your pops … and you can never replace my Annie. But…” I remember him holding her little body. Her shallow breathing, his lips kissing her bare head. “It occurs to me that I’m a dad without a daughter, and you’re a daughter without a dad. On this plane, I mean. They’re still ours and we’re still theirs. Always. But. I’m here. If you or Hannah need me. Okay?”
My throat grows thick. I nod.
“Okay.” He smiles. “I’m freezing my balls off out here. I’m going inside.”
I laugh. “I’ll be down soon.”
“All right, kiddo.” He lays a hand on my shoulder, then heads for the dormer window that leads into the attic.
I turn. “Uncle Tony?”
“Yeah?”
“Thanks.”
“Anytime, kiddo.”
I stay outside for a while longer, until the schnapps makes the moon’s craters turn into pools.
When I’m back inside, I peek in the kitchen. Nah has Mom’s soup pot on the stove.
“What are we making?” I say.
She looks up from the cutting board. Her eyes are puffy and red.
“I just want to be alone.”
“Oh.” We’ve never not made soup together. “Okay.”
In the middle of the night, I get up. Can’t sleep. Keep thinking about the weight of dirt. Mom hated being dirty. Every time she got out of the shower she’d say something like, God, I love showers.
The kitchen is dark and smells like lemons and onions. I check the fridge, peek inside the container of soup sitting on the top shelf. I already know, though. What it is.
Avgolemono.
Mom’s favorite. And the soup she made when Yia-yia died. Secret Karalis family recipe.
My sister didn’t make a goodbye soup for Mom with me. Because she has decided I am leaving, too. Maybe she already knows what soup she’ll make for me when I go to Annapolis. Except.
I’m not going.
I grip the counter. “I’m not going, Dad. I’m sorry. I know you understand.”
Hannah will not be all right by June. And I won’t be a second wave in her life. Not making soup together was the sign I needed. She’s never been that far gone.
There is a bloom of orange light outside—a flame. Aunt Nora is in the backyard, smoking a cigarette. She looks a million years old. Tonight, she found out her sister was buried in a mass grave.
Aunt Nora’s accelerated aging makes sense. I think maybe I am a million years old, too.
“Mom,” I whisper. “Aunt Nora’s smoking. You should come yell at her.”
Somewhere, Mom sighs.
The soup pot sits in the sink, soaking. I turn on the faucet, wait until the water is so hot I can hardly stand it, then I scrub the pot.
Cleaning up my sister’s mess.
Part 2
Across the Universe
25
Mae
ISS Location: Low-Earth Orbit
Earth Date: 24 November
Earth Time (EST): 15:21
It is November now. Almost Thanksgiving.
We are at an apple orchard because that is a thing people do here in Boston. They pick apples. Then they take them home and bake pies, because there isn’t much else to do with a bushel of apples. When Ben insisted we celebrate my birthday, I told him he had to plan it because I am not interested in a birthday without my parents, and this is what he came up with. He said it’s good to get some dirt underneath your fingernails. Typical geophysicist.