“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: “Our 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.”