Page 82 of Problematic Summer Romance

He calls me drunk. Not sloppy, but…almost. I try to make conversation—How was your day? Everything okay at work? What did you drink?—but I don’t think he wants to talk.

“You okay?” I ask, cautious.

“Yeah.” A deep inhale. “Yeah. I just wanted to listen to you exist.”

Hearing it nearly breaks me. “Okay,” I say, and we don’t talk after that. I finish what I was doing before he called: pack my bags for my upcoming week-long camping trip with Jade, fold some laundry, brush my teeth, wash my face. Carry my phone with me wherever I go.

“Maya?” he says, over an hour later.

“Yeah.”

A sigh. His breath, then mine. He’s about to say something, or I am.

“Have a safe trip.”

One year, eleven months earlier

Austin, Texas

“I don’t fully get it, stargazing.”

I huff, outraged. “Do you not love constant reminders of your insignificance?”

His “I’m good, thanks,” makes me bust into laughter.

“Okay, but…have you seen Antares?”

“Can’t say I have.”

“Okay, go look outside now. Southwest. Low in the sky.”

Shuffling feet. A balcony door, opening. Conor, existing. “What am I looking for?”

“The Scorpius constellation. It looks like—like a mechanical arm? Or a scorpion, according to the Greeks, but I don’tsupersee it. Antares is the wrist of the arm. And a different color from theother stars. Red. So red, people kept mistaking it for Mars, so they named it Antares, which literally means ‘Not Mars.’ Come on, there’s no way you can’t spot it.”

“Saddened to inform you that there is, in fact, a way.”

I sigh. Scrape the smile from my voice. “Well, you better figure it out soon, because this is a time-limited opportunity.”

“How come?”

“Antares is about to die.”

“Aboutmeans…?”

“A million years or so.”

“Right.” Assorted noises. Conor getting comfortable on the balcony. A hint of amusement. “Okay. Tell me more about this mate of yours.”

One year, four months earlier

Austin, Texas

Kaede was born a week ago, and we were both at Minami’s today, sitting next to each other, taking turns holding her and smelling her head. Marveling at every yawn, blink, squeeze of her little finger. Tuning out the conversation to just stare at her.

He calls me the second he gets home.

I’m waiting, phone in my hand.

---