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Back Little Universes Save as PDF
Chapters (63)
  1. Title Page
  2. Copyright Notice
  3. Dedication
  4. Epigraph
  5. Part 1
  6. Mae
  7. Hannah
  8. 1
  9. 2
  10. 3
  11. 4
  12. 5
  13. 6
  14. 7
  15. 8
  16. 9
  17. 10
  18. 11
  19. 12
  20. 13
  21. 14
  22. 15
  23. 16
  24. 17
  25. 18
  26. 19
  27. 20
  28. 21
  29. 22
  30. 23
  31. 24
  32. Part 2
  33. 25
  34. 26
  35. 27
  36. 28
  37. 29
  38. 30
  39. 31
  40. 32
  41. 33
  42. 34
  43. 35
  44. 36
  45. 37
  46. 38
  47. Part 3
  48. 39
  49. 40
  50. 41
  51. 42
  52. 43
  53. 44
  54. 45
  55. 46
  56. 47
  57. 48
  58. Epilogue
  59. Mental Health Resources
  60. Acknowledgments
  61. DISCUSSION QUESTIONS
  62. About the Author
  63. Newsletter Sign-up

I shake my head.

“What are you looking at?” Mae is staring at the carpet. But there is nothing there.

“Mom can’t hold her breath,” I say.

Even though I’ve already forgotten so much about her—the shape of her ears, maybe everything, I’m remembering this: We had a contest in the pool at the Cape last summer, to see who could hold their breath the longest.

Mom lost.

Fifteen seconds. That’s all she could do.

Mae blinks. Her computer brain whirs, sifting through memories, until I see in her eyes she has found the one from the Cape.

“Adrenaline rushes can produce surprising effects.” She steps closer. “Most moms can’t lift cars, but if their kid is trapped under one—”

“The ocean is bigger than a car.”

My mom is not coming home.

I know this like I know my belly is empty.

I turn and start to walk out of the room, but Mae looks around, her head cocked to the side.

“What?”

“Are you—are you wearing Mom’s perfume?” she asks.

I stare at the rug, willing her back, but she’s swum too far away.

“No.”

Please don’t take them both. Bring him home, I tell the universe, and I swear I will never use again.

I won’t even bother making promises about what I’ll do if the universe ignores me.

7

Mae

ISS Location: Low-Earth Orbit

Earth Date: 2 September

Earth Time (PST): 02:36

The last time disaster struck, Mom made minestrone. That was when Hannah’s pregnancy test had two pink lines instead of one. At the time, I didn’t know about the test, I just knew something was wrong, because Mom was making soup.

I didn’t find out about any of that until after they got back from the clinic. Mom, Dad, Nah—they were all weird about me knowing. Because my bio-mom had been a teen. One with a problem. Except hers was meth, and Nah’s is opiates. Same difference, at the end of the day. They thought it would be “triggering” for me. Mom’s word. What was “triggering” was the fact that I’d been left out of the loop. This big thing was happening, and nobody told me. Hannah was trying to get sober, like what happened woke her up, so I decided it was not of use to express my hurt, which seemed much smaller in comparison to her hurt.