“Did something happen?”
“I started wearing girls’ underwear? I dunno if it was that, because when Archie came out as gay, they didn’t bat an eyelid. But my parents were always…differentwith me after I bought myself that first packet of knickers.”
“I’m sorry.” I squeeze his thigh.
Blake shrugs. “Did you know we can only see stars up to about ten thousand light years away with the naked eye?”
I’ll let him change the subject for a while if that’s what he needs to do.
“That’s a long way,” I say.
“Do you know how far?”
“In miles?”
“Yeah.”
“No clue.”
Blake points at the sky. “Do you know which constellation Cygnus is?”
I shake my head.
“I don’t, baby boy,” Gabe says.
“If you imagine lines between each of the stars, it’s meant to look like a swan, but it also looks sort of like a cross with crooked arms.” He traces it in the sky, and I think I can make out which set of stars he’s talking about. “The bright star that forms the head of the swan is called Deneb. It’s roughly nineteen-quadrillion miles away.”
“Quadrillion’s not a word,” Gabe says.
“Yes, it is, Daddy. A quadrillion has fourteen zeroes.”
“Fucking hell.”
Blake sighs. “It’s weird to think that all those pinpricks of light took ten thousand years to reach us, don’t you think?”
“Very,” I agree.
“It makes me feel small.” Blake sighs. “Even weirder to think that every single one of them is bigger and brighter than the sun.”
“Really?” Gabe asks. “I didn’t know that.”
“How many stars do you think we can see?”
“Millions,” I say.
Blake chuckles. “You can’t.”
“It looks like millions.”
“It’s only around two thousand.”
“Seriously?”
He nods. “None of the rest are close enough or bright enough for us to see them. They don’t twinkle either.”
“They don’t?” Gabe asks, his voice conveying his shock.
“No. When the light passes through our atmosphere, the light gets deflected in different ways through every layer. So by the time the light reaches us, it looks like the star is twinkling. The closer the star is to the horizon, the more it seems to twinkle.”
