The Gravity of Us (13 page)

CHAPTER 14

“Honey, you need to get up,” Mom says.

It’s not even six the next morning, so there’s a part of me that goes right back into terror mode, thinking Dad was more hurt than they let on, thinking that everything is crumbling around me, but then Mom puts a hand on my shoulder and smiles. I relax. I breathe.

“It’s five forty. Why are … why?” I groan, and flop back on my bed.

“Sorry, honey. StarWatch people are on their way to Grace’s place to talk about the accident, and we have to be there too.”

“But Grace is in Florida.”

“Yes, but her husband and the kids are there.”

I groan, because this doesn’t mean I have to just open my eyes. I have to get up. Shower. Get dressed. Show up and put
on the proud yet pensive face while I talk about the death, how grateful I am that Dad is alive and unharmed.

I am feeling all those things, of course. But I don’t need the public to see them.

I didn’t sign up for this.

But when I think about Leon, my insides untangle, and it becomes clear how much I want to see him again. It’s only been a few hours since we last met, kissed, but I want his lips on mine again. I want to pull his body into me. I want to … god, there’s so much I want to do. Probably nothing the StarWatch people should see, though.

When I check my phone, I see two emoji on the screen in a text from Leon: the heart and the rocket ship. I laugh and release a heavy sigh.

That’s what gets me out of bed, after this no-sleep night and the panic that still writhes through my bones. Someone I’ve met has died. Someone the country knew and had hopes for has died.

Somewhere around four a.m., I got to talk with Dad, which settled my nerves a bit. He’s “banged up,” but nothing’s broken. Which means, while he’s okay, the country will be mourning, and I have to play my part. All while StarWatch wraps it up in a neat little bow for their tribute to Mark Bannon.

So I jump into the shower, then get ready as quickly as I can. When I step out of my room, the smell of eggs and veggie sausage hits my nose. I inhale as much of it as I can, realizing how hungry I am after such a weird night.

“Breakfast casserole?” I ask, knowing the answer is yes.

“The NASA comms person said I should bring something.”

“Well, this is your specialty.” I laugh, even if the message isn’t untrue.

She pulls the casserole dish out of the oven, and it takes all I have not to grab a fork and go to town. It’s a simple recipe, but oh my god it’s so good. The ultimate comfort food. We pack the car and make the short journey to Leon’s house. I think Mom secretly likes the convenience, but in my mind, getting into the car for a three-minute drive does not compute.

We park, but before I get out of the car, Mom grabs my hand.

“What is it?” I ask. But I’ve seen this before. Her body visibly tenses, and I don’t understand how she can be so animated sometimes—in fights with Dad, or when she’s talking about the video games we both like—yet be scared stiff when it comes to social interaction.

“He never asked me if I could do this,” she says. “I mean, he knows how much stuff like this affects me. I can’t be on
television
.”

“You’ll do fine, Mom. StarWatch makes this shitty for all of us,” I say, though I’m at least used to performing in front of a camera. “But yeah, I see how it’d be probably harder for you.”

She shakes her head. “I’ll be fine. I’ll live. I just hate this. And I haven’t found a good therapist, and the old one I used to use online is a bit too judgy for my tastes, and—and you don’t care about all this.” She laughs.

“Well, in the meantime, you can talk to me. Or maybe Grace can give you some pointers—she’s really nice.”

“It’s funny,” she says, “well, not actually funny, but growing up I’d always talk to Tori about this. I felt like she was the only one who really understood what I was going through.”

I smile. Aunt Tori had a no-nonsense attitude and a loud, boisterous personality. She was the opposite of Mom in so many ways—she’d walk into a grocery store, talk to everyone she passed, forget half the items on her grocery list, but come out with five new friends.

“You know those weird bushes she helped plant in Prospect Park?”

“Of course,” I say. “She took me there all the time. They were so ugly.”

Mom laughs. “She loved those twisted, thorny, bizarre bushes. But I used to go back there while you were at school and Dad was … up in the air somewhere. Even though we were in one of the biggest parks in Brooklyn, I was always by myself there. It was my own private space to be with Tori.”

Even though Aunt Tori died of pancreatic cancer a few years ago, it still feels raw sometimes. Brooklyn was full of memories of her: grabbing a slice at her favorite pizza place, her haggling with street vendors (with remarkable success) to get all her Christmas gifts.

Mom looks down to her hands, which are folded in her lap. “I always felt a connection to her there. I would prune the bushes and talk to her.”

“Oh,” I say. “Is that why you got so mad at Dad about all of this?”

“Part of it.” She shrugs. “He just doesn’t think about it. We can come to the same conclusion, but he gets there in thirty seconds and is ready to change our lives, and it takes me a little longer. I’d already said goodbye to Tori once. I didn’t think I’d have to do it again.”

We get out of the car and walk slowly to the door. Aunt Tori’s death was slow and fast all at the same time, but if Dad died in that crash, this would have been sudden and nearly impossible to handle.

For both of us.

As we approach the front door of Leon’s house, I take the casserole dish from her, because I know what’s coming. I look up at her, and I realize she’s completely unprepared for what’s about to happen, especially in the sentimental, vulnerable state she’s in. She goes to knock, and I say, “The cameras will be on us immediately. They’ll follow us. Just look sad but relieved.”

My stomach churns as the door opens, and the bright light of the camera flashes in my face. I have an even look on, and I can’t check how Mom’s doing, so she’s going to have to hold on a bit longer. I take the lead, though.

I step in and greet Tony, and nod to Kat and Leon in the living room. There’s a tension in the air. There’s always some tension when StarWatch is in the room, but this is something darker. Different.

“You’ve got their intro, right?” Josh Farrow says to Kiara,
who’s holding a camera like I’d hold a newborn. Uncomfortable, hesitant.

“Got it,” she says, and the flash of the light is gone from my eyes.

I blink a few times, but when my vision returns, I see Kat’s face. I’ve never seen her like this, I realize. Subdued, almost broken. She wrings her hands in front of her, pulling at her dress at random intervals. A nervous tic, I guess.

Leon just stares toward the floor, frozen.

It doesn’t take me long to see why. Sitting there—in the middle of the floor—is a woman I know. Someone I should have known would be here: Mara Bannon.

“Oh god,” Mom says. “Mara, honey. I’m so sorry.”

While Mom instinctively crouches next to her, I place the casserole on the counter and immediately turn to the Tuckers.

“What’s going on?” I ask.

“StarWatch asked her to come over,” Kat says. “She didn’t want to be alone.”

“It was fine before the cameras got here.” Tony shifts uncomfortably in his chair. “They started asking her very pointed questions about … the accident. She held it together as long as she could.”

“We need to get them out of here.” Leon’s voice is low, almost a growl. “Can’t we just tell them to go?”

His dad covers his tired face with his palm. “That’s up to Mara. And she wants them to stay.”

“Wait, what?” Rage starts to burn in my chest. Maybe it’s the lack of sleep, or the general panic of the room, but I can’t
accept that answer. “She lost her husband
hours
ago. They’re manipulating her, doesn’t she see that? I don’t even think
I
should be here, let alone these cameras.”

Mara Bannon starts weeping loudly, which cuts off our conversation. I grab two mugs from the table and pour coffee for me and my mom. When I turn, I see my mother’s soft but concerned face as she consoles Mara.

Kiara finds the best angle for the camera to capture both of their faces, and it makes me feel a little sick. Sure, she seemed pretty apathetic before, but this is just heartless.

“All right, that was a great moment, Becca,” Josh Farrow says to my mom. “Why don’t you join Tony and start talking like worried spouses. Mara, do you think you’re up for a few more questions?”

It’s like the room flinches. The soft burning rage inside me bursts into flame. Seething, I step toward Mara. Screw StarWatch. If Tony doesn’t have the guts to kick them out, I will—

“Mara,” I say.

“Oh, Cal.” She sees the look in my eyes. “No, no. I, um, I think I can finish the interview. It’s what Mark would want.”

“You tell me the moment that changes,” Tony says.

She nods, and more tears leak out of her eyes. Someone puts a palm on my back and leads me away from the living room. It’s Kiara.

“Calm down, kid. She wants this, and we’re on a tight deadline.”

I laugh mockingly. “That didn’t sound like it. It looks like she feels obligated to do this. You’re telling me, in all honesty,
she wants to grieve for her husband in front of the whole country?”

She flinches, and I get my answer.

“Okay,” she says. “I’ll level with you. Mara’s uncomfortable. I can tell she wants to go, and I feel icky. But the Bannons were always big fans of what Josh did for the program. I think she just wants to see this interview through in his honor.”

“You think, or you
know
?”

“I don’t
know
anything.” She shakes her head, then drops her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “Like Tony said, it’s complicated. There’s no clear right or wrong.”

Mara and Tony sit next to each other now, and Josh is talking them through the next recording session as if it were a scene in a movie and they were the actors. Mara’s expression turns hollow, and her face is seared in my mind. I see it even when I look away.

It’s then I realize I disagree with Kiara. There may be no clear “right,” but what StarWatch is doing? This is clearly wrong.

“Well, if you don’t mind,” Kiara continues, “I need to go back to filming a grieving lady for money, before I inevitably go to hell.”

At this, I chuckle. The delirium from the lack of sleep juxtaposed with her straightforward humor makes my shoulders ease and my neck loosen from its spasm. I’m starting to think clearly. I know what I can do.

Mark liked StarWatch, and was on
Shooting Stars
more than any other astronaut, true, but in his last interview, he
showed a lot of aggravation toward Josh.
“… this isn’t a reality competition. The stakes are high enough …”

This
is
a reality show. One that profits off others’ pain.

I take a deep breath, and I’ve made up my mind.

Kiara turns, but I grab her shoulder before she leaves the room. “I’m going to stream this. I need to expose this story.”

“I don’t think there’s really a story here, champ.”

“Don’t call me champ,
sport
. And I think there might be.” I nod in the direction of the living room. “Maybe my followers would like a behind-the-scenes look at this whole operation?”

She laughs. “You take down StarWatch, you take down NASA. Even you know what we did to spark interest in the program. I don’t think that’s a smart move.”

“I don’t want to take down StarWatch. I want to … put the focus on something important. You sparked interest in the program by showing Mark Bannon in training simulations and getting people politically active.” I throw my hands in the air. “I mean, I posted a thirty-minute video of Brendan talking about Mars dirt, and it got two hundred thousand views in one day. It’s still one of my most popular recordings. People care about
the program
, don’t you see that? They don’t care about StarWatch. At least, what it’s become.”

“To tell the truth, I don’t like StarWatch either. But it’s my job to make things more dramatic. Our ratings are slipping, and it’s freaking the great Josh Farrow out, which he then takes out on
me
. I hate my job, but I do like
having
one …”

I pause to think. “Can you get Josh to really shine once I
start streaming? I think I can keep you out of it, and ‘the face of
Shooting Stars
’ will never know what hit him.”

Hesitation crosses over her face, showing a rare moment of vulnerability from her. Within seconds, she snaps back, smiling.

“I can do that.”

Kiara and I return to the room, and Mom gives me a confused, slightly concerned look. I just smile and shake my head. She’ll know soon enough. Everyone will know.

CHAPTER 15

I pull out my phone and give it a light kiss. I’ve never done something like this before. I’m changing how the world sees this space launch. NASA is touting the sixties as this perfect era, but it
wasn’t
. Dad always talked furiously about one interview from the midsixties. When astronaut Gordon Cooper was asked about the possibility of adding women astronauts, he referenced the first test flights NASA did with chimpanzees, saying they could have sent a woman up instead.

The sixties are bright and shiny and
white
, and NASA actually thinks people liked these families because they were fabulous and perfect. These families reinforced the chauvinism and racism that marred the entire decade, with little exception.

The record player plays a sad, soulful song—one that must’ve been picked by StarWatch to set the mood and reference the era. I scoff.

Nostalgia is a blindfold.

Those families were fabulous and perfect because the sixties media demanded that of them. The astronauts were loved because they were brave explorers. Behind all that, though, they brought our country together with a unified goal—one rooted in science and innovation. That’s what the Orpheus project is missing.

This isn’t the first time NASA’s turned this into a reality show, but if I have it my way, it’ll be the last.

I hesitate before hitting the LIVE button. From behind the screen, I see Leon and Kat, looking altogether uncomfortable. Mrs. Bannon has moved back up to a chair, off from the wallowing spot on the floor where she started. My mother sips her coffee slowly and methodically. She sits poised and polished. You can see from each of their faces how sad they are, and how much they don’t want to be here, while Josh rambles about what the next “scene” is going to be. He gives us talking points, but tells us to keep it natural. People just want to see everyone bonding together.

“I’ll be asking questions throughout that were submitted by our viewers,” he says. “Just answer honestly, but keep your tone even.”

And it starts to make sense: Grace’s concerned expression in every interview, Mark Bannon’s irritation at being pitted against Dad and Grace, the strain that they all carried in their interviews. It’s about how StarWatch treats them and their mission.

“Fuck. That last shot’s blurry,” Kiara says dramatically. “The whole clip is ruined.”

That’s my cue. After a deep breath, I start the live stream.

“We can’t go live without that shot,” Josh snaps. “That’s the teaser. How did this happen?”

“
Probably
because you made me take over videography after our videographer quit,” Kiara says, but I keep her face out of the video. “I have no idea what I’m doing with this thing.”

“Any of you watch StarWatch’s coverage?” I whisper to the camera. “Because you’re about to see what’s really behind that mask.”

The tension in the room is palpable. I scan the room to see Kat gripping Leon’s arm. Mom presses a hand to her chest. Adrenaline surges through my body, making it hard to keep my phone’s camera from shaking. I need this to go right.

“We have to do it again,” he says. “The whole thing—Mara, I know this is a very hard time for you, but can you get back on the floor and grieve for a few minutes?”

It’s silent. Kat eyes her dad wearily, and I lock gazes with Leon.

“You … you want me to
what
?” Mara says.

“I know, I know. But we only need a few minutes of video. This is going to be a really special episode—we’re even dedicating it to Mark. His memory. That’s why I need you to show that emotion for the cameras again. Don’t you think you sort of owe it to Mark?”

Silence descends on us like a wet blanket. The hairs on the
back of my neck prick up at the audacity. And in some sad part of my heart, I’m not even surprised.

“It’s time for you to leave,” Tony says. His voice is cool and even, but the heat behind his stare says otherwise. “You’ve taken advantage of three shaken, grieving families today.”

“Excuse me,” Josh says in an unusually polite tone. “But we’ve got the right to film in your houses, and the
people
want to see this. I have a list of questions here from our viewers. This is like a journey for all of th—”

“Stop.” Tony clears his throat. “Isn’t it strange that every time you have a pointed, insulting, or otherwise nasty question for us, you make sure to mention it’s ‘from our viewers’? I am taking away your right to invade our homes like this. And you might want to watch how you respond—you’re the one being recorded this time.”

Tony nods my way, and something in Josh snaps. He storms over to me, and I raise the camera to his face. He’s young too, and I feel momentarily bad for throwing a wrench into his career so soon after he was given his own show to host, but I stand strong. I’m not afraid of him.

“You’re going to blackmail us? You think we won’t hesitate to sue you the moment that video goes live? Without us, without
me
, there is no NASA.”

“See, Tony actually meant to say
streaming
, not recording.” I look at the screen and get overwhelmed by the numbers, so early on a Thursday morning. “Eighty-five thousand, and climbing.”

“And how long does it take to go viral?” Tony chimes in.

I roll my eyes briefly, wondering if anyone over the age of thirty actually understands how things go viral and what that word even means. “Not long,” I say to appease him, then flip my screen to the front-facing camera. “I’m cutting this video short, for obvious reasons. Our families are going to be with one another in this challenging time. StarWatch doesn’t get to be here anymore, so my job is done.”

Kiara and I high-five in the hallway before she takes her packed-up camera and leaves the house.

After they’re gone, a silence falls over the room. Then, as if we rehearsed it, everyone but Mara jumps into action. Leon and Kat bring out an assortment of juices, Tony grabs Mara’s coffee mug to refill it, and Mom starts cutting up the casserole.

StarWatch’s control starts to unravel in front of me. Crystal juice glasses are put back on their shelves. They’re replaced with plain drinking glasses, while paper plates are swapped for the retro china. The record player stops.

While everyone’s busy cozying up the home, making this a warmer environment to grieve in, I take a seat next to Mara. Guilt gnaws at me, and I worry I’ve made a mistake. Her posture has fallen, but her expression is unreadable.

“I’m sorry,” I say. “Did I … go too far?”

“We’ve done so much for StarWatch, Cal.” She shakes her head. “Did you know that before NASA signed them on for
Shooting Stars
, they were almost forced to go online-only?”

I shake my head, and she continues. “When I was growing
up, I remember watching StarWatch for
all
the celebrity news and gossip. They made Hollywood life seem so glamorous. But over the years, they switched programming so many times—reality shows, fashion shows, celebrity cooking shows—it became more of a scramble for ratings than anything. I think they lost sight of the … aspirational aspect of the show. At least, that was the part that I loved.”

The others have joined us in the family room again, the smell of casserole permeates the air, and everyone’s leaning in to hear her story. Except Tony, who walks out of the room to take a call.

“Once we started working with them, though”—a smile crosses her face—“I would watch myself on the show, drinking out of those fancy champagne flutes or leading the community garden, and it brought back all those feelings I had as a kid.”

“It seemed like Mark loved them too, for a while,” Kat says with a laugh. “He was always in front of a camera.”

Mara sniffles and presses a tissue to her nose. “He never liked their gossipy flair, but he loved being the center of attention.”

My insides start churning, and I wonder if we could have found some other way to bring StarWatch back to their wits.

“I shouldn’t have done that,” I say, reaching for Mara’s shoulder. “I didn’t realize—”

Her strained laugh interrupts me. “Oh, Cal, honey, no. Someone needed to knock them down a peg, and I’m glad you were there. I was about to get on the floor. I really was.”

Tony reenters the room, and something about his presence makes us all look up at him.

“Well, that was fast,” Tony says. “That was Donna Szleifer, and she is furious. They’ve banned StarWatch indefinitely from entering any of our homes, and she says NASA is considering terminating their contract entirely.”

Leon takes the empty space on the couch next to me and pulls me in to a side hug. “You did it, babe,” he whispers in my ear.

A wave of uncomfortable sadness washes over me as I imagine Kiara losing her job and NASA losing StarWatch. But I know she’s not guiltless here. I think of all the interviews Leon’s been forced into, and how she keeps asking him questions about his gymnastics career. I think of the pointed questions directed at my dad, at Donna, at anyone attached to this mission.

Viewers—at least,
my
viewers—are smarter. They care. They’re invested in this mission, and they’re invested in making this country the best it can be. But they can’t do that without
real
information.

America deserves better.

But one thing trips me up: Josh’s expression as he left, pure fury and disgust, plays over and over in my mind, and the terrifying consequence hits me all at once.

What if StarWatch turns on NASA?