Space (Laws of Physics #2)(24)

“Yes.” She shook her head at me, a small movement. “Of course.”

“Of course?”

“Don’t you know who he is?”

I thought about how to answer that question and decided there was no right answer that would encapsulate the enormity of the truth, so I settled on, “Why don’t you tell me who you think he is?”

“He’s Abram Fletcher, lead singer and guitarist—bass guitar, I think—for Redburn.”

“Redburn?” Redburn? As in Herman Melville’s fourth book?

“Yes.” Allyn laughed, making a face like she thought I was funny. “Redburn, the band? Haven’t you heard ‘Hold a Grudge’?”

“Hold a grudge?” The question arrived sounding more like a breath than words, and my right hand drifted to my chest.

“Yeah, Mona. Where have you been? It’s been playing everywhere for weeks. You can’t go into a coffee shop without hearing his album.”

This was . . . this was terrible.

I swallowed around the rocks in my throat and was once more croaking my replies, “You don’t say.”

For some reason, a very specific teenage memory was summoned. My mother had invited me to lunch at a swanky hotel near my summer camp and I was excited. But when I arrived, she wasn’t alone. She introduced me to a man, and when she left to use the lady’s room, he told me that he was one of her lovers.

One of her lovers.

One of them.

I didn’t believe him, but I’d been twelve at the time. But when I told my mother what he’d said, she confirmed it.

“Monogamy isn’t for musicians, honey,” she said. Her voice had been gentle, her expression compassionate. “I love your father, and he loves me. Love isn’t supposed to be confining, it’s about allowing the space for the other to fly. We both have many partners who feed our creativity in different ways. The soul of an artist is too needy. Once person could never be enough.”

I knew this. This was fact. And Lisa also knew this, which was why—when Tyler hadn’t been faithful to her—no one was surprised.

Presently, Allyn lifted her phone in the air above her, as though searching for a signal. “If you were on any social media at all, you would know this. Or watched TV other than those Turkish shows with the hot guys. Or listened to the song lists I send you. I’ve been following Redburn for seven months, before they released the studio album. I think their next single releases this week—their fifth—let me see . . .”

I was having too many thoughts. Too many. Way too many.

However, the logical path forward decided to do me a solid and reveal itself, a miraculous unveiling of crystal-clear obviousness. If I thought about it rather than bemoaning it, I wasn’t surprised by Abram’s success, just like I wasn’t surprised by my ignorance of it.

“Shoot. I have no connection here and I didn’t download the album.” She frowned at her phone. “You should turn on the radio every so often, or check out the top ten once a month.”

Allyn was right. I didn’t listen to the radio. I didn’t visit coffee shops. I didn’t watch TV. I wasn’t on social media and I didn’t care to be. I no longer read articles written about me. Ever. Other than semi-stalking Abram’s sister Marie’s bylines and articles, I didn’t read much other than scientific journals.

Popular culture was a world I’d purposefully and systematically eschewed.

It didn’t matter if Abram knew who I was. It didn’t matter if he’d figured everything out. It didn’t even matter if he hated me. He was a wildly successful musician, living on the same planet as me, but now existing within a world firmly removed from mine.

The last two and a half years had been like waiting in a line with no guaranteed destination. It had been a line for the sake of lining up, for the sake of having a spot to stand. Then, abruptly and randomly, I was now at the front of the line. Standing in place and waiting were no longer options.

Abram and I, we were two circles in a Venn diagram that would never overlap.

We were two asteroids on opposite sides of the solar system, ensnared by Jupiter’s gravity, destined to orbit the asteroid belt in the same direction, but never together.

We were two magnets with the same polarity.

Conclusion: If he didn’t know about my deception, I would tell him the truth. It was the right thing to do. It was time. First, I’d call Lisa and inform her of my decision. And if he already knew, okay. That was fine.

But I knew now, reality being what it was, my logical path forward didn’t include Abram Harris (Fletcher), it never really had. The past, our past, and this present random encounter were irrelevant to my future.

Just like my existence was irrelevant to his.





I slept horribly. But, no matter. That was the thing about sleep, there would always be more time to practice.

As soon as I opened my eyes, the events of the prior evening came back to me. But, again, no matter. I was prepared. The space suit of numbness, my recognition and swift acceptance of the futility of wanting Abram, saved me from a repeat of the searing pain.

Sitting up in bed, I checked the time on my phone, 6:14 AM, my hand knocking the letter I always carried to the floor. Leaning over the edge, I picked up the letter, my thumbs moving over the worn, smooth corners of the envelope, and gently returned it to the side table.