The Gravity of Us (23 page)

CHAPTER 32

When we pull into the driveway outside our house, Dad motions for me to stay in the car. I pause with the seat belt in my hand, and I give him a confused look. He shakes his head in reply.

“Let’s go out to dinner tonight,” he says. “You know, we haven’t actually gotten to just hang out and talk, the three of us, since everything went down. Actually, since we moved. I’m going to go see if Mom is okay with it.”

“It’s okay if she isn’t,” I say quickly. “Spontaneity isn’t really her thing.”

Mine either, I think.

“I know,” he says. “If she doesn’t want to, that’s fine. We’ll figure something else out.”

That’s what sits oddly with me. Not in a bad way, but more in a … peculiar way. Something as minor as this would have
set off a fight back when we lived in Brooklyn. Is he starting to actually understand my mom?

While Dad’s inside, I cross my legs in the car and start to text Leon, like I have been doing for basically any downtime in the past week. When you’re an unemployed FlashFame star who is no longer trying to save humanity with his videos, turns out you have a lot of downtime.

“
Want to come over tonight?
” he asks. After literally no thought at all, I decide that I do very much want to come over tonight. We meet at his house more often, mostly because his bedroom’s way bigger than mine. We have to keep the door open when we’re in there—again, the obliviousness of his parents is nothing short of adorable—but I’ve barely talked to my parents about Leon, though they obviously know (they’re not blind). To invite him over would mean having that talk. Would mean my mom being super awkward and inviting him to stay for dinner, where things would continue to be awkward until the end of time.

His place is much better. I text back:
“I’m having dinner with my parents, maybe? But I’ll call after.”

There’s something so pleasing in the mundane way that our conversations have gone lately. Something right about how easy things are now. Sure, when I see him, everything is fire and passion and kissing and touching, but there’s an old grandma side of me that just loves hanging out with him and watching a movie, or whatever we end up doing.

Dad comes back, and I assume he’ll just wave me inside
after a failed attempt to be spontaneous. But he keeps walking. And Mom follows him out and comes to the car. I get out and slide into the back seat, and we take a drive together for the first time since we moved here.

“Tex-Mex?” Dad asks.

We nod our assent, and within minutes we’re at the nearest restaurant with a giant margarita in front of Dad and an equally large basket of chips in front of me.

“This is nice,” Mom says for probably the fourth time.

I sit up straighter, and my gaze darts between my parents. “What’s this about?” I ask warily.

“You know how I have that therapist who I meet online?” Mom asks. I nod. “Well, we, meaning me and Dad, found one who specifically works on … relationship issues.”

“Oh. Um. What’s wrong with your relationship?” I ask, though I kind of know the answer.

“I think you know,” Dad says. “We’re learning—about sixteen years later than we should’ve—how to deal with conflict between each other. See, your mom and I are different. We react to things differently, and we are trying to understand our differences, I guess.”

“Yes,” I say with a smile. “You two are very different.”

“Very,” Mom says before sneaking a sip of Dad’s margarita. “And we started to realize how much this was affecting you. You were usually closed off in your room or downstairs with Deb, listening to music or posting Flash videos. We thought that you could ignore it.”

“I could have told you it bothered me, I guess.”

“We should have known,” Mom says. “What’s going on with us is not your responsibility to make better. It’s ours, and we’re going to start treating it that way. Thanks to a little help.”

I come around the table and squeeze them both in a big hug. I know how hard it is to seek help, from when Mom first started managing her anxiety. But I also know how much better she feels because of it.

People aren’t broken, and therapists couldn’t fix them if they were. But maybe someone can make things a little better, or help them be a little happier.

“I love you guys. And I’m glad you’re talking to someone.”

I take my seat and resume my overeating of chips, when I see a little cassette get slid to me.

“What’s this?” I ask.

“After our first date, your dad made me this cassette. This was the late nineties, so while I was thrilled—none of my high school boyfriends had ever given me one—I didn’t have a cassette player anymore.”

“The quality is probably terrible. I recorded them off the radio—you used to be able to do that back in the day—but we wanted you to have it.”

I open the case and see a simple white cassette with a heart on it. It makes me melt, and the gift makes me need to see Leon.

“Maybe giving a cassette to someone you like is a good sign,” Mom says, her grin growing wider by the moment. “If you get my hint.”

“So, want to talk to us about Leon?” Dad says.

“You know—we should have him over for dinner. What kind of food does he like?”

“Oh my god,” I say. “Stop! You guys are embarrassing.”

“It’s kind of our job,” Mom says as she hooks her arm in Dad’s.

After dinner, Mom and Dad decide to go to a movie. I decline, explaining that I planned on going over to hang out with Kat and Leon tonight. So after we’re all overstuffed on enchiladas, they drop me off outside their place.

I stand on the other side of the Tuckers’ front door and wait for the Corolla’s taillights to disappear down the street. My heart races as I pull out my phone and give him a call.

“Hey, you on your way?” Leon asks.

“No,” I say, staring at his front door. “I’m outside your house. And I have a proposition.”

The chill of the night creeps under my cable-knit sweater, and I welcome it. It’s been far too long since I’ve been chilly.

“My parents just went to see a movie.” A pause, where the silence on the other end of the phone is deafening. “Meaning, my house is empty.”

“I know what you meant. Come around back. I’ll slip out.”

Excitement charges through my body, and every part of me, of
this
, feels right. When I get to the backyard, he’s there, the bright moon softening his skin.

He puts his arm around me as we wind around the wooded path that connects our houses. I think about how he snuck
me away from reporters on the first day, how cute he was sitting on the swing next to mine, how foreign and scary everything felt.

I slip my arm around his waist. There’s a moment when we struggle to fall in line with each other’s gait, and it’s a little awkward, but we figure it out eventually.

“I can’t believe it’s only been a few months since you moved here,” Leon says.

“I know. It feels like only yesterday I was single-handedly saving all of NASA.”

He glares at me. “Okay, I had a little help.”

He plants a kiss on my cheek, and I actually blush. Embarrassing.

“I should have been there more to help you,” he says. “Sorry, babe. I was so in my head about everything.”

I lean my weight into him and momentarily forget how to make words when I breathe him in.

“Can we stop apologizing? I love NASA, and I’m so glad we are still here, but I’m ready to move on. Talk about new things. Think about next steps.”

“Next steps?” he says with a laugh. “Always the planner.”

“Seriously. No more apologies about this. I love you.”

“And I love you.”

“And that’s all,” I say. “That’s
all
that matters.”

We stop outside the door to my empty house. He faces me and places his hands on either side of my head. Our lips meet, again and again, until it gets hard to separate whose tongue is whose, whose breath belongs to who.

His face is pressed to mine as I get my key out and unlock the back door—a feat of which I am extremely proud—and we push through the dark house. Breathing into each other. Holding on for dear life.

I lead him to my room and press play on my tape deck. The cassette he bought for me starts turning. I bring my lips to his again …

And then the music starts.

EPILOGUE

Orpheus V Launch

Cape Canaveral, Florida—Eight Months Later

T-minus three minutes to launch.

“I don’t know what to do with my hands,” I say. “What do I do with them?”

It was an actual question, but no one’s answering me. This is a surreal experience. I’m no stranger to being on camera—it’s kind of my thing. But that’s when it was on my phone. Now, I’ve got a real camera pointed at me. And a whole production team to edit the video. Oh, and the multimillion
Teen Vogue LIVE
followers to please.

I adjust the microphone attached to my face and wipe the sweat off my hands and onto my chambray shirt. It’s a mild spring morning, meaning it’s like eighty (mild for a Texan, at least), but my hands are ice right now.

“Three, two, one,” the camera guy says, “and you’re on.”

“I’m standing here in Cape Canaveral, Florida, and if you can’t tell by the giant rocket behind me, we are in for a
spacecraft launch today. The Orpheus V launch is happening in—how long?—two minutes. Astronauts Grace Tucker, Amira Saraya, Stephanie Jonasson, Dr. Guarav Jeswani, Joseph Sedgwick, and Lloyd Osborne are in the craft, and they won’t be touching Earth’s soil again for 582 days. That’s almost two full years in space and on Mars. It’s getting loud here as we approach launch, so we’re going to switch feeds and wait for blastoff.”

One camera stays on me, but I turn to look at the spacecraft. There are three distinct parts: the Martian module, which will transport the full crew from orbit to the surface of Mars; the thrusters that get the spaceship out of Earth’s orbit and then break away shortly after; and the command module, which houses the crew for nearly two years in space. We’re so far away, but the rumble of the engine still rocks the ground under our feet. The families, alternate astronauts, and special guests all sit in stands to my right, but a thin rope separates me from the rest. I’m in the press zone.

And I have a badge to prove it that says Cal Lewis,
Teen Vogue
.

A few weeks after the broadcast that helped save the Orpheus mission aired, an editor from Cond
é
Nast contacted me. As it turned out, Kiara actually passed my information along to her, with a recommendation. The editor said she wanted me to help with their new live programming. Which means instead of working in fast food or retail like all my new friends at school, I can technically say I’m a real-life reporter. Cue the surrealness again.

I scan the crowd, but I still don’t see him. The families of the Orpheus V astronauts have been in and out of interviews and briefings all day. Finally, I spot Kat, who’s leaning into her dad. Tears brim her eyes. But where is
he
?

I get a text:
“I know you’re a little busy, but can I send you something?”

I look around for Leon, wondering where he’s texting from, and I’m starting to get worried. I send back a quick “
okay?
” and wait. Immediately, like he was just waiting for my response, he sends over an image. It’s a screenshot. When I expand the image, I see that it’s the University of Texas site, with an acceptance letter. I got my acceptance months ago, because I’m on top of my shit, but he never even told me he applied.

He said he would make a decision and apply somewhere if and when he was ready, and I told him I would support him no matter what.

I’m not done here. I’m staying in Texas for a lot of reasons. For one, the UT at Austin journalism school is one of the best in the country. But with Dad’s mission slated for two summers from now, I don’t want to leave. I want to be here for all the highs and lows of training—not, exactly, here … but close enough that I can get here if anything exciting is happening. I want to be close to the astronaut families and still attend parties. I’ll end up back in New York eventually, but for now, I’m okay in Texas.

Hell, I’m
happy
in Texas.

A warm hand is on my back. I jump at the touch.

“Leon,” I say. “You … aren’t allowed here, babe.”

“I don’t think they can kick me out. Benefit of being an Astrokid on launch day is everyone treats you like you’re super fragile.”

Like we’ve done thousands of times in the past nine months, we kiss. We kiss with all the highs and lows of a relationship behind us, and in front of us too. I don’t know what the future brings, but I don’t care as long as I’m here. Here, with him.

“You got into Texas?” I ask. “You didn’t even tell me you applied.”

“Was going for the surprise factor. Or … being sneaky in case I didn’t make it in.”

I put my palm on his shoulder. “You have better grades than me.”

“I’m not famous.”

He’s got a point there. Starting a new school for your senior year is a strange experience. I tried to stay in the background, finish my studies, make a few new friends, and see Leon and Kat every chance I got. But everyone kind of knew me already. If they weren’t following me on Flash, they’d heard of me thanks to the NASA-saving video. Whether people were intimidated or they thought I was too full of myself, they left me alone. And I put my head down and worked toward the only things I really cared about: becoming a real journo and spending time with Leon.

“Should you get back to your dad?” I ask.

“I’d like to stay here, if you don’t mind.”

I don’t. And he’s right—none of the journalists are going to
kick him out of here. Even the
Teen Vogue
cameraman squats low to get us both in the shot.

The countdown starts. It trails from fifty seconds to forty to thirty, then down one by one until we get to the last ten seconds. The rumble of the engine gets louder. Deafening. But I can’t cover my ears or my eyes. I hold my breath, and Leon clutches my hand. He squeezes hard, and I squeeze back.

“I love you,” I shout into his ear.

The earth shakes underneath us, and Leon loses his footing. He leans into me, and I hold him steady.

The spacecraft rises, slowly at first, steadily getting higher in the air, until it shrinks to a small but vibrant light piercing through the already bright sky. I close my eyes and force myself to remember this moment. To capture the hope, the dreams, the happiness.

I bring Leon’s hand to my lips and give him a light kiss. And we enter a new era.