the possibility that the radius between us must be so much greater than I thought. Maybe the relative distance is so vast that even though we’re opposites, the charges can’t pick up on each other.
I could have stayed in that room with Hannah. Lay down on the bed with her, or sat at her desk to do my homework. But I didn’t.
Turns out I can be as stubborn as her, when I want to be.
I should not be going to Harvard Square, to a boy with a magnetic force field. She will take another pill. I know it. She wouldn’t be able to, if I were there. But:
Our family—it’s done.
She is a rosa sericea, a winged thorn rose. Known for their huge thorns.
Would she have said that to me if she knew the truth about Micah?
Maybe fourteen years of being told we are sisters isn’t enough. Maybe it does matter—blood. Maybe she feels like her family is done because the other blood members are gone, and she is the only one left.
No.
She’s just depressed. And scared. She thinks I’m leaving her. I am leaving her.
Work the problem.
I stare at the floor of the train, where people have tracked in autumn leaves. Time is going by so fast. Just a month ago, I was wearing shorts and sandals. In LA, but still. Time is running out. I will be leaving soon. And what will happen to Hannah? She won’t be better by June. That’s not possible. That’s not how addiction works. Or grief.
This is why my sister said our family is done. She’s increasing our radius of separation on purpose, because she’s trying to say goodbye. Trying to get used to being alone. Hannah doesn’t practice being alone like I do. She’s not used to it. She hasn’t trained for it. She’s treating these months like a sim for loneliness, and she’s failing every day.
Work the problem.
The train takes a sharp turn, and everyone’s bodies—all the people in here with their coats and scarves and hats—sway in this new direction.
New direction.
Me leaving is a variable. A changeable variable. I’ve been acting like it’s a theory you can’t disprove. But it’s not.
A good astronaut is able to pivot. To work with the situation that’s happening, regardless of their expectations. If you have a flight trajectory set, but something happens to someone on your crew, you’re going to have to make changes. Even if it affects all your hard work. Even if it sacrifices the entire mission. Because the safety of the crew comes first. Always.
So many things can die in just one month.
18
Mae
ISS Location: Low-Earth Orbit
Earth Date: 23 October
Earth Time (EST): 19:17
When I get off the train, I stand on Mass Ave and lean against a streetlamp, facing Harvard. A few decades ago, my dad was behind those wrought-iron gates, having no idea that someday I would be standing here, wishing him back from the bottom of an ocean across the world. Wishing I didn’t have to make the choice I think I have to make.
A gust of wind howls down the avenue like a Hollow from Bleach, a soul turned bad from unrest. Ichigo Kurosaki would have to defeat it.
Ben.
I didn’t think this sudden coldness inside me would ever go away, but the thought of him disproves that assumption.
I start walking up Mass Ave, past J.P. Licks, where people are eating ice cream and laughing and smiling and I wonder what that is like, because I don’t remember. It’s also very cold to be eating ice cream. Maybe that’s normal here.
Students run around with scarves wrapped up to their noses, on their way to Wednesday night study sessions or dinner, rushing past boutique windows filled with cobwebs and skeletons. That is my family now. Cobwebs and skeletons.
Cambridge is bricks and ivy and wrought-iron gates. You don’t even feel like you’re in America anymore. If someone told me I was in England, I’d believe them. I know Nah misses the sunshine and the palm trees, but I don’t. I like the cold. I like places you have to work a little harder to survive in.
Castaways is across from Harvard, tucked off a side street behind the Harvard Book Store and Grolier Poetry Book Shop, Mom’s favorite. I pass a guy and his dog hunched against a brick wall with a hand-lettered sign, and I drop a dollar into his hat before pushing through the metal door, which has a porthole in its center.
The coffeehouse is large and cozy, with a small anteroom