As Far as the Stars Read online

  Mom usually makes a fuss about birthdays but this year, mine got kind of lost in all the wedding preparations and I was busy doing my internship and Blake was in London. I didn’t mind. I don’t like the fuss. Dad took me out for red velvet cake at my favourite bakery in town and then we talked for hours, until it was nearly dark and the owner of the bakery had to kick us out. It was probably the best birthday I’ve ever had.

  Christopher shakes his head. ‘God, you must be really clever – skipping a grade. I can barely keep up with my own year.’

  ‘I work hard. And starting young has advantages. If you want to be an astronaut, I mean.’

  ‘So, when you get to MIT—’

  ‘I’m going to do a BA in Physical Science – majoring in Astronomy. I want to understand the skies before I get into the mechanical stuff. Then I’ll do a Masters in Aerospace Engineering. And after that a doctorate.’

  ‘Wow, you’ve really got it all worked out.’

  I nod. ‘If you want to be an astronaut, you basically have to start planning from when you’re born.’

  ‘Won’t it be kind of lonely – I mean, all those years of studying and then going off into space?’

  ‘Besides my immediate family, I’m not into personal relationships, so I’ll be fine. And I quite like being on my own.’

  Those bushy eyebrows of his knit together. ‘You’re not into personal relationships?’

  ‘Getting married and stuff,’ I explain.

  ‘Oh – right.’

  ‘I mean, if it’s a toss-up between finding the man of my dreams and having his babies or getting to land on some undiscovered planet, the choice is easy.’

  ‘It is?’

  ‘Definitely. And anyway, break-ups are distracting, right? I can’t afford to be distracted, not when I’m planning a space mission.’

  ‘Why would there be a break-up?’

  ‘There are always break-ups. It’s like a thing for astronauts: break-up statistics are high. So, it’s better to be single.’ I pause. ‘Especially if you’re a woman.’

  His eyes look wider and paler than ever. Maybe I’ve told him too much. But then he was the one who asked all the questions.

  ‘You’d get on with my mum.’ He makes it sound like a sad thing.

  ‘As in Atlanta Mom?’ I ask. And then I feel stupid. It’s not like he’s got any other moms.

  ‘Yeah, Atlanta Mum. She’s a scientist. A marine biologist – sea rather than sky. But she wanted to study too – rather than having a kid, I mean. Which is why Dad looked after me.’ He pauses. ‘I guess that, like you, she didn’t want any distractions.’

  ‘Oh…’ I don’t really know what to say. I think he’s just compared me to the mom who walked out on him.

  ‘I’m sorry.’ I say. ‘That you didn’t get to have both of your parents.’

  Mom and Dad had us all pretty young. Dad was still doing his doctoral thesis at Oxford when they had Jude. Mom was finishing her legal practice course. They would never have considered giving her up though. Mom jokes about putting her down for naps in her filing cabinet at work and Dad says that she’d sit in her stroller at the back of his lectures, good as gold, and that having her around made the students like him more. I guess they worked it out. Then, one year later, they had Blake. They were so close in age people thought they were twins. And then, four years later I came along, by which time Mom and Dad had hired an au pair from Sweden who allowed them to get on with their jobs without making us feel like we’d been abandoned. Juta drank goats milk, forced us to go on these epic hikes and cycled through Oxford, pulling us behind her in a trailer. She sang constantly – which meant that she adored Blake because he’d sing along with her. They’d do harmonies and people would stop in the street and listen.

  At first we hated her but by the time she left, three years later, we thought our lives would end if she wasn’t there anymore.

  She’s coming to the wedding too. Bringing her husband and four children.

  Anyway, I wonder what I’d do. Whether I’d give a kid up if it meant being able to go into space. It doesn’t feel like a fair decision. Which is why it’s better not to get involved in all that to begin with. Keep things simple. And the world’s overpopulated anyway.

  ‘Sometimes it’s hard,’ I say. ‘To make it work. But I’m sure they both still love you. Parents are parents, right, no matter how much they mess things up?’

  For a while, Christopher doesn’t say anything. And then, he says:

  ‘I’ve never really felt like I’ve had parents. I mean, I haven’t felt like I belonged to them – like you’re meant to feel.’

  ‘You don’t feel like you belong to your parents?’ That’s the saddest thing I’ve ever heard.

  ‘I mean – I don’t feel like I come from them, like I’m one of them or that I have bits of them in me.’

  I think about the bits of Mom and Dad I have in me. I thought I was more like Dad. Kind of chilled. Happy in my own company. But then, when I’ve got an idea for a project or when I go off on one of my rants about female astronauts, Dad looks at me and smiles and says: You’re just like your mother. Which kind of annoys me. But when I think about what Christopher said, about not feeling part of his parents, I realise that it’s not such a bad thing – having a bit of both of them in me.

  He stares past me, his eyes getting that thousand-mile stare. ‘I don’t feel like you’re meant to feel – you know, as someone’s child.’

  How you’re meant to feel. Wow. I don’t ever remember thinking that I was meant to feel anything with my parents. They were simply there. And so was I. And that was that. I think about what he said about how being an astronaut would be lonely – well, feeling like you don’t have a family, or like you don’t belong to your family, that must be way, way lonelier.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ I say.

  ‘It’s okay.’ He shrugs. ‘It’s just how it is.’

  And although he says it in a voice that makes it sound like it’s okay, I don’t believe him. I don’t believe that if he really let himself think about it he’d be okay with it.

  I keep staring at him. He brushes that blond tangle off his forehead.

  ‘So, you’ve really been planning to be an astronaut since you were born?’ he asks.

  I nod. ‘Blake said that when I was a baby, I loved to look up at the sky. And then, when I was old enough, he’d take me to the planetarium at the Smithsonian. He liked going because it inspired him for his songs and I liked the science stuff.’

  We could sit there for hours, not talking, and when we came back into the bright, sunshine afterwards, it sometimes felt like we’d actually been to the stars and back.

  The last time we went was the day before Blake flew out to London.

  It was over 100F in DC. Totally sweltering. And the AC in the apartment wasn’t working. And Blake and Jude had just had a massive row about the wedding and how Blake wasn’t pulling his weight and didn’t care about all the trouble she and Mom were going to.

  To cool down, Dad had decamped from his study to the Georgetown Library and Mom took Jude out for yet another wedding dress fitting in a store in town. Jude was paranoid that she’d put on weight at the last minute and that the dress wouldn’t do up. Of course, Jude couldn’t put on weight if she tried. She’s one of those naturally skinny people who could eat cheeseburgers for breakfast, lunch and dinner and still have clear skin and a wasp waist.

  Anyway, once Mom and Jude went out, it was just me and Blake in the house. Which is how I like it. Minus the heat.

  Leda, who was lying on the end of my bed, her tongue hanging out, her chest moving up and down really quickly, was feeling the heat too.

  Blake put his guitar down on my bed. On Mom’s orders, he’d been practising the song for Jude’s wedding.

  He caught my eye and smiled. ‘Break it to me, sis – how was that, on a scale of one to ten?’

  Blake asks me to rate his songs. Which is totally impossible. Because I want to give him a te
n every time. Blake’s brilliant. And he tries really hard too, which means that, most of the time, he sounds awesome.

  But my big brother’s smart enough to know that no one can be a ten every time. Not even him.

  ‘It depends,’ I said.

  He raised one thick, dark eyebrow. ‘Depends?’

  ‘Are we talking style or content?’

  ‘Both.’

  ‘Ten for style…and you don’t want to know about content.’

  Blake’s face dropped. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘The lyrics are cheesy – totally cheesy. And you don’t do cheesy. Not ever. It doesn’t sound like you, Blake.’

  And it was true. Blake had spent longer on Jude’s song than just about any other song he’d written – hours and hours scribbling away in his room. And although the tune was amazing, the lyrics made you want to stick your fingers in your throat and gag.

  Blake pushed a pretend dagger into his heart. ‘You do say the most hurtful things, sis.’

  ‘The truth hurts, Blake. Why can’t you write the kind of lyrics you usually write? Cool stuff.’

  ‘This isn’t a gig, Air. It’s Jude’s wedding. And people like cheese at weddings.’ He jumped off my bed and walked over to the window. ‘And you’ve got to give the people what they want – some of the time, anyway.’

  He yanked open the window.

  ‘You’re letting hot air in,’ I said. ‘It’ll make it worse. Scientifically proven.’

  ‘I need to breathe,’ he said, leaning out so far it made me nervous.

  Though it shouldn’t have – made me nervous, I mean. It’s a well-known fact that Blake was a cat in a past life: no matter how high the drop, he lands on his feet.

  He turned around, pulled up the bottom of his T-shirt and wiped his brow. Blake’s got this long, smooth torso that looks toned even though he doesn’t do any exercise. And because he’s so tall, his T-shirts are all too short on him, which means he gets to show his perfect torso off to any girl – or guy – who’s in noticing range.

  People say that you can’t tell whether your siblings are hot or not because biology’s wired you to not fancy them. And I don’t fancy Blake – obviously I don’t fancy Blake. If I had a type, he wouldn’t come close to being mine. But I can still see it, why all those girls go crazy for him. And guys. He’s beautiful. In a kind of effortless way. Everything about Blake is effortless.

  ‘Let’s get out of here, find somewhere cool to hang out,’ Blake said. ‘As in cold cool.’

  ‘Sure.’ I climbed off the bed. ‘Where?’

  He came over and grabbed my hand. ‘Let me take you to the stars.’ He twirled me round the room until we were both so dizzy we flopped onto the floor.

  The stars.

  It being the middle of the day, this could only mean one thing: the planetarium. Our place.

  We got to the Albert Einstein Planetarium, a few blocks from home, in time for the 1 p.m. Journey to the Stars show. Actually, we arrived about a minute late, but the guy at the ticket desk let us in anyway.

  After we got our tickets, we ran to the auditorium doors, holding hands. A couple of girls standing in the hall outside the show looked me up and down. I was used to it. Girls mistaking me for Blake’s girlfriend – mistaking me for competition – their thoughts so loud they may as well have been blaring them out through megaphones: What’s he doing with her? The girl with the pixie haircut and the cut-off denim shorts and sneakers? Surely he can do better than that?

  I gave the girls a smile, held Blake’s hand tighter and we pushed through the doors.

  We slumped into our special seats: five rows back, seven seats in. We’d been coming here since I was little, so we’d had the time to try out every viewing spot in the auditorium. These seats were the best for seeing the whole dome without having to strain our necks.

  At the exact same moment, we let out a long breath. Compared to the house – compared to outside – the planetarium felt like sitting inside a refrigerator. Total bliss.

  The lights went down and Whoopi Goldberg’s voice came over the speakers, her words rich and full and fun and totally serious, all at the same time.

  We’d seen this show so many times we could narrate along with Whoopi, but it didn’t matter, we still loved it.

  For a long time, we sat there, lost in the story of the universe, in the darkness of the auditorium, our heads tilted up to the blinking stars. And it felt good, to be here without having to think about or do anything else. Soon, I’d be starting my internship at the Smithsonian and Blake would be doing gigs around the UK and then we’d be all caught up in Jude’s crazy wedding. This moment was ours, just ours.

  ‘I’ve got a surprise planned,’ he said, after a while.

  ‘A surprise?’

  ‘For Jude – well, for Jude’s wedding. And for you. Both – kind of.’

  ‘Mom doesn’t like surprises. So I’d recommend keeping your surprise, whatever it is, well away from the wedding – that is if you consider your life worth living.’

  ‘It’ll be a good surprise – Mom will like it.’

  I sigh. ‘I hope so – for all our sakes.’

  ‘You worry too much, sis,’ he said.

  ‘You worry me,’ I said. ‘Without you, my life would be totally stress-free.’

  ‘But I’m worth it, right?’

  Even though it was dark, I could see him wink, his long, dark eyelashes sweeping the top of his cheek.

  I hit his arm. ‘All I’m saying is that it had better be good – your surprise.’

  ‘Oh, it’ll be good.’

  ‘Shush!’ Someone hissed from behind us.

  ‘Sorry,’ I whispered back into the dark.

  Because I was sorry – I didn’t want to spoil it for him: The Whoopi-Journey to The Stars experience.

  We didn’t talk again until near the end of the show.

  I could tell from how Blake’s body slumped to the side that he’d dozed off for a bit. He’s up so often in the night that he gets sleepy in the middle of the day. Takes naps like toddlers and old people.

  ‘Looking forward to London?’ I asked him.

  ‘Yeah,’ he says, his voice thick with sleep. ‘I’d like to live there,’ he mumbled.

  I wondered whether he was fully awake, so I slipped my arm under his and gave it a squeeze.

  ‘Really?’ I asked.

  ‘Yeah, really.’

  ‘But – we’d be here,’ I said.

  By we, I meant me and Mom and Dad and Jude – and Leda.

  ‘We’d be in America and you’d be in England. Like thousands of miles away,’ I clarified.

  Our family sticks together. It’s who we are.

  ‘England’s not that far,’ he said. ‘And I’ll come back. Stay in Grandpa’s old flat in Nashville. You can come and stay.’ He winks. ‘I might even pop up to DC every now and then.’

  Blake didn’t hide his feelings about DC. How he found it soulless. The whole city carved up like a grid. Nothing but monuments. He’d written a song about it once.

  He was awake now. Awake and actually having this as a serious thought.

  A hollow feeling opened up under my ribs, thinking about Blake being so far away.

  ‘You want to go into space, Air. At least I’ll still be on land.’

  ‘It’s not the same.’

  He sits up and rubs his eyes. ‘No, it’s worse.’

  ‘Worse?’

  ‘It’s dangerous.’

  ‘Not really.’

  ‘Yes, really. I’ve seen Apollo 13.’

  I rolled my eyes. ‘I’ll be fine. And the rest of the time, I’ll be in the US with our family.’

  I didn’t want to guilt-trip him but I hated the thought of him not being here. That we wouldn’t be able to run down a few blocks and hang out at the planetarium together, on a whim. But I knew that, sooner or later, this would happen – once he’d saved up enough money not to have to rely on Mom and Dad anymore, he’d move out. He’d talked of rent
ing a place in Nashville once. And though I didn’t like it, I could get my head around that – just.

  But not London. Not an ocean away.

  ‘I’ll always be there, sis,’ he said. ‘You know that.’

  ‘Not if you’re somewhere across the Atlantic.’

  He put his hand under my chin and tilted my head back so that I was looking at the stars again.

  ‘It’s not about distance, Air. You of all people should know that.’

  I looked at the stars. Too many to count. Too many for us ever to fully understand. And I thought about the distance and time thing. How crazy it was to get your head round. How something could be there and not be there at the same time. And about how relative it all was.

  I closed my eyes and leant my head against his shoulder and willed myself to believe him. Like I always did.

  ‘Yeah, you’ll always be here,’ I said.

  And even though it was dark and I couldn’t see his face, I knew that he was smiling. And that he believed it too.

  ‘My dad would totally love you,’ Christopher says.

  I’m jolted back into the present.

  ‘What?’ I ask.

  ‘My dad – he’d love you.’

  ‘Wow, so I’d get approval from both your mom and your dad?’

  He nods.

  ‘Mum would be into your whole feminist career thing and Dad, well, he’d like that you have a plan for what you want to do with your life. Something important. He’s always saying that he wants me to do something big with my life.’

  ‘You really don’t have a plan?’

  He shakes his head. And then he looks down into his coffee and starts stirring it with a plastic spoon even though there’s nothing to stir. I shouldn’t have said it like that.

  ‘Have you spoken about it to your mom?’ I ask.

  He stops stirring but doesn’t look up.

  ‘About what you want to do with your life?’ I go on.

  He shakes his head. ‘Mum and I don’t have a relationship. She walked out when I was born.’

  ‘But things change – maybe now—’

  He shakes his head. ‘She’s busy with her new life. Dad told me she remarried – some guy called Mitch.’

  ‘But you’re her son.’

  He shakes his head. ‘She doesn’t know me.’