“The Scorpius constellation. It looks like—like a mechanical arm? Or a scorpion, according to the Greeks, but I don’t super see it. Antares is the wrist of the arm. And a different color from the other 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.”

“About means…?”

“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.

“Do you want a family?” I ask him after a while. “At some point, I mean.”

His windows must be open. I can hear the distant sounds of traffic. “I’m not sure how to explain it.”

“Okay.” I wait, patient. Knowing that he’ll get there. He always does.

“I don’t think that my default state is wanting a family,” he says. “But if I was with the right person, I would want it so much, I wouldn’t be able to focus on anything else. I would constantly imagine that she…” He stops. A sharp breath. Laughter, maybe. “It would require a lot of changes, anyway.”

“Such as?”

“I’d want the parenting to be evenly split. I’d have to restructure my work schedule. My habits.”

“You could do that.”

“Yeah, I…Yeah. What about you? Do you want a family?”

“I love kids. They’re just fun, you know? But I love the idea of having my own kids. I know Eli loathed Mom and Dad, but I had so much fun with them. I would tease them and they’d get all mad at me and then I’d tease them even more, and they’d look at each other as if to say, ‘What even is this terrible child we made?’ But with pride. I’d like something like that.” I swallow. “I’d love to make someone feel the way they made me feel. Like the world doesn’t have to be a terrible, scary, lonely place. Like life can be kind.”

He doesn’t say anything for a long while, and neither do I.

One year, one week earlier

Austin, Texas

“There must be one you hate a bit less.”

“Nope.”

“Come on.”

“Maya, my brothers are all assholes of equal proportions. Which means that they deserve hate in equal proportions.”

“Okay, let’s say…I’m pointing a gun at your head.”