Honey Girl(61)

Grace blinks. “So best means Ithaca College? Or just any school as long as it’s in New York?”

“You know that is not what I’m saying.”

“I don’t, actually,” Grace says, standing up. She paces the width of the room, fingers digging into her arms. “Tell me what you think best means for me after eleven years. It means—settling? Just because it’s easier?”

Yuki sits up and meets her eyes. They are both still in their pajamas. Still morning crumpled, but Grace feels like an exposed live wire. She feels it sparking off her fingertips, too hot and too fast. Yuki says, “Since when is easier such a bad thing?”

“I don’t understand what you’re saying,” Grace tells her. “What are you saying?”

“I’m saying I want you to stay,” Yuki argues. “That is what I’m saying, Grace Porter. I want you to stay.”

Grace swallows hard. “I do want to stay.”

“Then what’s so goddamn hard about it?” Yuki stands up, all of her frustration right in front of Grace. “Isn’t that what this summer has been about? Getting to know each other? Getting to—” She clenches her jaw. “Getting to love each other?”

Grace angrily wipes her eyes. None of this is fair; it has never been fair. “Yes. But that doesn’t change anything. The reason I talk about being the best,” she says, voice ragged, “is because that is the only way anybody will see me. I have to be the best and do the best. I have to work so hard it kills me, because anything less is just an excuse not to let me in the door. Anything less means I’m not fighting hard enough.”

“Why is it all on you?” Yuki asks quietly. “Maybe it means they’re not fighting hard enough. Maybe it means they aren’t the ones that should get your best work.”

Grace squeezes her eyes shut. “You don’t get it,” she says. Her arms sting with red scratches. She feels Yuki trace gently over them.

“You’re hurting yourself,” she says.

Grace laughs, and there is no joy in it. “I’ll survive.” She runs her thumb over an irritated welt. “Porters are tough. I’m supposed to be tough. I’m supposed to be—”

“The best,” Yuki finishes. She takes a step back, letting Grace’s arm go. She takes another step back. Then another. “Can I ask you something?”

Grace sniffs. She’s sure she looks disgusting right now. She feels it. She feels it under the weight of Yuki’s disappointment. “Yeah.”

“Were you ever going to stay?” Yuki asks. “This summer, were you ever going to make the decision to stay here. With me? Or was I just a stop-gap in the incredible life of Grace Porter? Did you even—do you even—” She blinks up at the ceiling. “Was I ever part of your plan?”

Grace feels something break within her in this moment, the moment where Yuki has moved far enough away that she can’t just reach out and touch her. All she can think about is stars, brilliant and glittering and wished upon, and watching them die. A supernova that would echo in her ears if it could. It would reverberate to the core of the earth and shake the foundation.

“I want to stay,” Grace tells Yuki. This has been her mantra of the summer. All of the moments of holding on tight to this good thing—Yuki—and not letting go leading up to this, right here. “I want to figure out how to keep all of it, my career and my dreams and you.” When she takes a breath, it hurts. “I don’t know how.”

“And will you even try?”

Grace looks away. “I want to,” she says again. “But if staying here means I have to settle for something less, how can I? I had a plan, Yuki, and it was perfect. Being an astronomer that never accomplishes anything great because I settle for easy, just because it means staying here, with you, was not in it.”

Yuki nods, mouth trembling. “I think maybe your definition of best doesn’t fit anymore,” she says. “I think that’s because the parameters of your grand plan have changed. It’s okay to admit that. It’s okay to admit that something can be best just because it makes you happy, and not because you had to tear yourself apart to get there. And I’m—I’m sorry that’s not me. I’m not what’s best for you, am I, Grace Porter?” She runs fingers through her hair and turns toward the door, her back to Grace.

“Where are you going?”

“I don’t know,” Yuki says. “I just don’t think I can be here right now.” She holds herself like a fragile thing guarding her soft guts from the claws of the lonely creature in front of her. “Happy birthday, Honey Girl.” And with that, she walks out of her bedroom. The front door shuts not soon after, and there is silence from the living room. Even the video games have gone quiet.

Maybe this is the universe’s answer to her wishes. No, she cannot have all of it. No, she cannot have easy.

Grace feels sadness and frustration and hurt. She feels shame and anger, and she doesn’t know where to direct it all. Her ears are echoing with the distant roar of a silent supernova.

She decides she does not want to be here when Yuki gets back. Colonel said it, months ago, that she was so much like her mother. That she ran when things got hard. Well, this moment, this collapsing star moment, is hard. She does not want to know the aftereffects of an eradicated star. She does not want to see it reflected on Yuki’s face.