Mirror in the Sky (18 page)

“Oh, okay. Just thought I'd check. It's just . . .”

“Just what?”

“You're so easy to talk to. It's like . . . we have this flow. I wish it was like that with Halle.”

I nodded as though he could see me.

“Hey . . . what do you think we're doing on Terra Nova today?” he asked, his voice playful again. At the beginning, we asked these kinds of questions a lot. It was a game, a distraction, a way to escape. When things got bad, people asked,
“What do you think is happening up there?” or “Maybe I won the lottery today on Terra Nova,” but it didn't change anything here. Our feet were still planted on our own Earth. On that day, I wondered if my mother had left home on Terra Nova too. I didn't say this to Nick.

“Wandering around Rome, probably.”

He was quiet before he answered abruptly. “Listen, I should let you go have your dinner. I'll see you on Monday?”

“Yeah, see you at school,” I said, wondering what I had said to upset him.

“Bye, Michelle.”

“Bye . . . Barack.”

I hung up the phone and looked out my window, watching small heaps of snow accumulate on windowsills and rooflines. I sat there a long time, thinking of Nick, of my mother. What
were
our other selves doing on Terra Nova today?

My father was eating rice pudding from a cracked porcelain bowl when I returned to the kitchen. I looked at it. There was a gossamer veil of silver paper across the top.

“I can reheat the curry,” he told me. “It's not a problem,” he added, even before I had a chance to apologize. I could see that he was trying too. He smiled. “I'm glad you have friends who care enough about you to call you on Thanksgiving,” he said.

TWENTY-THREE

“
HE
left his wife and two kids,” Veronica said. It was Monday after the holiday, and we were walking to Paesano's to get sandwiches—Veronica, Halle, and I. Alexa was at the nurse's. She was always at the nurse's, always lightheaded, or exhausted, or doubled over with cramps.

Earlier that morning, a substitute teacher had covered for Mr. Grover.

“Mrs. Emerick,” she wrote on the whiteboard. Then she turned to us, her lips forming a straight line.

“Mr. Grover will not be returning to Brierly for the rest of the year. I will be filling his place for the time being.” The room buzzed with whispers of speculation. Unsurprisingly, Veronica had the answer. She had a pipeline into gossip like no one I had ever encountered in my life.

“Just like that? Quit his job and everything?” Halle asked.

“My mom goes to the bookstore on Shore Road where his wife works? And she told my mom that he told her he wasn't in love with her anymore. That he had reconnected with his college girlfriend via Facebook, and he was moving to Florida to be with her. It's all this stuff with Terra Nova. It made him wonder about the college girlfriend, what their life could have been like—his
alternate
life. I think it was because of the Virginia Wool video. I mean, that was pretty crazy.”

I shoved my hands into my pockets and looked away.

“What the hell is Grover even going to do in Florida?” Halle asked.

“I don't know, Halls. But they do have high schools there. And physics,” Veronica quipped.

Halle was quiet.

“Anyway, it's pretty awful, don't you think? What kind of person just ups and leaves their family like that?” Veronica asked, and I felt a sinking feeling in my stomach.
Someone like my mother
, I thought.

At Paesano's we placed our orders for sandwiches—turkey on rye with cheese for Veronica, steak for Halle, and veggie and cheese for me. Veronica left us to go to the bathroom, and Halle turned to me, pulling her long hair into a ponytail.

“Listen, don't tell V or Alexa, but I'm breaking up with Nick.”

“You're
what
?”

“I know. We've had a good run, but I'm just pretty over it. I want to get it done before Christmas—I don't want him to get me presents and stuff. And that way we don't have to see each other over vacation. I just decided, you know, now or never.”

I nodded slowly, trying not to betray my excitement, but every part of my body buzzed with delight.
Halle and Nick were breaking up. Nick would be single.
For a brief moment, I felt bad for Nick, wondering how he would handle it. But I rebounded quickly, like a rubber ball smacking the Earth for a fraction of a moment before bouncing back into the air.

“How come you don't want to tell Alexa or Veronica?”

“You know how Veronica can be. She's just bitchy about everything these days. And Alexa'll try to convince me to stay with him. Not that it matters. I've already made up my mind, but just the thought of that conversation with Alexa and Veronica . . .” Halle made a face like she was about to throw up. I laughed. “And also—and seriously, you can't tell
anyone
—but I met someone. It's just the beginning, so I don't want to jinx it, but I have to give it a fair chance. But there's no reason for Nick to know that. He'd be
devastated
.”

Veronica returned from the bathroom to find us still standing by the counter. “Did you get us a table?”

“Not yet, we were just chatting,” Halle told her.

“What about?”

“The usual. God, that Grover! I seriously can't believe it!” Her tone was light. She had already moved on, from Nick, from our conversation, from all of it.

“I know. Who does that?”

“Seriously, that's messed up,” I said, and they both turned to look at me. There was a defensiveness in my voice, and once the words were out of my mouth, I felt like I had no choice but to continue. “All this Terra Nova stuff. It's just an excuse for
shady behavior.” I was still thinking about my mother. What would Halle and Veronica think if they knew I hadn't spoken to my mother in two weeks, or that she was living in California now, in dormitory-style housing? Or who even knew what kind of housing she was living in? The photos on the website weren't even real.

Halle shrugged. “Or a reason to make some changes,” she said.

I could barely eat, my thoughts alternating between despair over my mother and the thrill of Halle's confession. When would it happen? What would she say? How would he react?

“Don't turn into Alexa on us,” Veronica commented when she saw my half-eaten sandwich.

It wasn't till we started walking back to school, still talking about Grover and the fire drills and Alexa, that I realized something: Halle had confided in me—told me something neither Alexa or Veronica knew.
Nick
didn't even know yet. And the thing about it was—I felt privileged in some way. Chosen, even. A wave of shame washed over me. I was embarrassed at how little it took for me to feel special, but this was temporary too, just like my concern for Nick had been in the moments after Halle told me what she was going to do.

How easy it was for Halle to be the sun. How easy it was for the rest of us to stay in her orbit.

TWENTY-FOUR

“
I
am not a messiah, or a voice from another planet. I cannot tell you what your future holds or what you should do with your life or who you should be with. I cannot identify your mistakes. I cannot be held responsible for the choices you make. I am just one person. I am not a god,” Michiko Natori insisted, desperation in her voice. “This is the last press conference I will give. The last interview. I have nothing more to say. I just want to be left alone.”

But nobody wanted to listen.

She had become a part of it, a symbol. Her life had become intertwined with this story.

And besides, people believed what they wanted, rejected what they had come to hate. Decisions had become more decisive, more absolute. Things that had merely been bearable, day
in and day out, now began to suffocate and chafe, to strangle spirits and lives.

Perhaps this is what being alive was, had always been, even without the discovery of a planet, but the edges had become sharper. Kind of like the rings of Saturn, not meteorite junk spinning through the sky, billions of little pieces that make no sense, but a sleek pattern, a crisp ring. We could see ourselves in a way we never had before. From a distance. But that doesn't mean we could see ourselves clearly.

“She's, like, a rock star. I mean, serious cult status. Since that image showed up, people have been lining up at her door, like ‘You are the messiah, tell me what to do,' and she's totally freaking out, like ‘I'm no messiah. I'm just an architecture student living my life. And I don't want to be a messiah. I don't have any answers for you,' but people are asking her what they should do with their lives. They think she's like a god or something,” Nick said. I was perched on the stone wall outside campus, my knees drawn up to my chest to ward off the cold. We were waiting for the fire trucks to arrive, even though by now, we knew there was no fire. There never was.

“Hey, Tara, scoot over.” Jimmy grinned and sat down next to me, thigh to thigh. “I like your bracelet,” he said, reaching for it, brushing my wrist with his fingertips. I ignored him. All I could do was watch Nick. He had no idea what was about to happen, no idea what Halle had told me earlier in the week. He
was regular Nick, all enthusiasm and cheer, excitedly talking about Michiko Natori.

“That's insanely messed up.” Veronica shook her head.

“Nick can't stop talking about her.” Halle rolled her eyes at Veronica and me.

“Seriously, Halls, can you imagine how crazy it is for her? It's like she's some modern-day Jesus or something. I hear she can't even go to the grocery store. All these people are constantly following her, won't leave her alone. Like, people who are sick are asking her to cure them.”

Halle didn't respond. She was looking away, her mind already somewhere else.

“That sounds miserable,” I said. Nick took a step closer to me, almost closing the circle around us. I felt a thrill as he did this. He looked at me, his eyes bright. “Sarah and that chick—what was her name?”

“Moira?”

“Yeah, I wonder if that's where they're headed. They told Melanie that they were going to Southeast Asia,” Nick said.

“I thought it was Europe?” Halle said. She was biting her fingernail. She was still looking away.

“Who knows? Weirdos, just leaving school like that.” Nick casually leaned his elbow on my shoulder, the way I had seen him sometimes do with Halle. It made me smile, but Halle didn't even seem to notice.

“Is Alexa still at the nurse's?” Veronica asked.

“Probably,” Nick responded. “She looked awful this morning. Didn't want to be at school.”

“So what is she going to do?” I asked.

“Alexa?” Nick asked.

“No—that Japanese woman—Michiko Natori . . . about all the people standing outside her door?” I asked.

Nick shrugged. “What can she do? She didn't do anything; she didn't ask for it. Sometimes I think that's just how it is. You don't have a say in your destiny. People just make decisions for you, and there's not a whole lot you can do about it.”

TWENTY-FIVE

“
IT'S
a secular tree,” my father said, holding it up.

I shook my head. “It's a pity tree.” The tree matched the state of our lives. It was the sad one left behind on the lot on Christmas Eve, the kind of tree that would appeal to my father's sensibilities. It sat, crooked and slightly limp, by the bay window, shedding needles that would eventually find their way into every crack and crevice of the house, only to be discovered months later.

On Christmas morning, I eavesdropped on my parents Skyping while I decorated the tree with threads of silver tinsel and handmade ornaments from the box we kept in the basement.

“I'm so glad they let us talk to our families on Christmas! It was such a
thing
! Had to get special permission and everything. I miss both of you today. How is Tara doing?” my mother asked.

“She's . . . well, you know. This isn't easy for any of us,” my father responded, diplomatically as ever.

“Ask her about the photos,” I said from across the room.

My father frowned, but then he turned back to the screen. “Jennifer . . . Tara thinks . . .”

“I don't
think
,” I told him. “I
know
they're using stock photography. Ask her why,” I said.

My mother must have heard me, because she smiled. “Tara! There you are! Are you talking about the website? They use stock photography because the organization's so new. I'm part of their first class. But those photographs approximate what it's like here. Next week, I'm going into an interview process. Now that I'm ‘cleansed'—you know, from the vegan diet and the meditation and minimal contact with the outside world—they're going to assess whether I'm ready for the next step.”

“What's the next step?” my father asked.

My mother grinned broadly and shrugged. “I don't know, Sudeep. But I'm really excited.”

I looked at the tree before me, the tinsel in my hand. It was surreal, hearing my mother's voice on a computer screen on Christmas. Christmas had always been my mother's favorite holiday. She'd make her own wreaths with branches from trees and kumquats and holly and ribbons. She would hang cards on bits of string attached to doorframes. Cheerful bowls of pinecones, apples, and walnuts sat in the living and dining rooms. On Christmas Day, she would roast a chicken with lemon and rosemary and garlic in her lime-green Dutch oven and bake chocolate walnut cookies. My mother grew up without
traditions—she had no rituals, except this one. And this year, there wasn't even that.

When the phone rang at two in the afternoon, I thought it might be my mother again, calling to apologize, at last. Calling to tell us she had come to her senses, that she was leaving Santa Monica and coming back home. But it wasn't my mother calling.

“Merry Christmas, Michelle!” He sounded cheerful, even though I knew that Halle had broken up with him. She had told me about it just before break.

“He was bummed, but I think he took it better than I expected,” she had said.

“Hey, Nick.” I smiled now at the sound of his voice. At the knowledge that he was unattached and yet still managed to sound as chipper as always.

“What are you up to right now?”

“Right now? Not much.”

“Did you get any good presents?”

“Some money, some books. Nothing super exciting. You?”

“Want to see what I got? I'll pick you up in ten minutes,” he said.

“Wait, Nick . . . where are we going?”

“You'll see . . .”

It was one of those planes that you can fly with a remote. It was shiny and silver, fresh out of the box.

“It's a Corsair—it's modeled after the planes they flew in
World War II.” He didn't say a word about Halle, about their breakup, none of it.

“I had no idea you were such a nerdboy.” I laughed.

He grinned. “Wait till you see it.”

We parked his car outside Tod's Point, jumping the fence, and climbed the jagged boulders that lined the lagoon in front of where Mr. Tod's house once stood, situating ourselves in a grassy patch from which Nick launched the plane, clumsily flying it over trees, over fences, over the few electric wires in the vicinity.

“I'm still learning how to fly it.”

“Yeah, I can tell.” I laughed, watching that anomalous silver streak in the sky, a tentative mechanical bird. It was sluggish at first, dodging the highest branches of trees, but still oddly mesmerizing.

It took about fifteen minutes before it began to dive and turn. I laughed in delight. “It
is
cool,” I said, watching as it zipped over the horizon, turning this way and that.

“See? I told you. Want to try?” he asked, but I shook my head, lying back in a patch of dead grass. I looked toward the empty land before us, a rolling hill that once contained an estate, now razed to the ground.

“It's kind of messed up, isn't it? That he donated his land to the township, and in return, they tore down his house?”

Nick's eyes were still on the plane. “It was a tax burden. Too much upkeep, or at least that's what my dad told me.”

“I know, but they could have done something cool with it.”

“Like what?”

“I don't know, made it an artists' colony.”

Nick laughed. “An artists' colony in
Greenwich
? That's a lot to ask.”

“Just saying,” I said, my feelings slightly hurt.

Nick picked up on it and took his eyes off the plane for a minute to look at me. “Let's pretend it's an artists' colony. We're flying our plane over an artists' colony.”

“What kind of artist are
you
supposed to be?”

“Don't sound so skeptical. I'm a highbrow photographer . . . super successful . . . very dashing.” Nick grinned as the plane circled over us, over the phantasmic rooftop of our mythical colony. “Who flies planes in his free time. What kind of artist are you?”

“A painter,” I said, watching the red plane soar through the gray sky above.

“Nah, that's too predictable.”

“Okay . . . what sort of artist am I?” I asked.

“A sculptor.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. Just pretend,” Nick said, landing the plane at my feet before he joined me in the grass, lying down beside me.

“You love to pretend.” I turned to him, laughing.

“You have the best laugh,” he said. And then, under the gray skies of our imaginary colony, Nick Osterman kissed me.