Talia echoes Mom’s last question. “You’re never this fearful,” she says. “You’re the say-what’s-on-your-mind-act-before-you-think girl. Where did she go?”
“I’d love to know,” I say honestly, pinching the bridge of my nose. My theory is that that version of me went away when I became creatively blocked. When I felt like a complete imposter after having my installation cut down. When I had to say good-bye to Jack permanently. “Maybe doing this will help me find myself again, but I don’t know if I can do this alone.”
Talia’s eyes widen. “I don’t know if that’s an invite, but if it is, I’d love to come. I can work on the final touches of our gallery in LA and spend time with Isla. The gallery needs some love and attention from me.”
“I can’t ask you to do that,” I say, peering up at her.
Talia waves me off. “You’re not asking. And I don’t know, I feel like there’s something for me there, too. Plus, I can coordinate with the communications team and help you install your showcase. Make RSG look legitimate.”
“I can’t believe you. If you’re sure, then yes a million times! I owe you forever,” I scream, leaning over to hug her.
“And we can showcase your pet portraits at the gallery. Do some other exclusive exhibit maybe? Definitely up the prices. It’s Los Angeles. They’ll fly off the walls like an Andy Warhol Marilyn Monroe silk screen. Use the NASA exposure to start making money for the auction.” Talia’s laugh is filled with excitement. “This will be a fun new chapter for both of us.”
After everything that’s happened, it’s time for a change. A new start. And that can only happen in Los Angeles.
I stand with newfound resolve, feeling lighter than I have in months. “Sounds like we’re going to California.”
Chapter 12
One Month Later
JACK
It’s Day One of the Artist-in-Residence program, one of the most high-profile projects that I’ve ever worked on, and I’m running late. Or rather, Red String Girl and her team are early. Very early. I timed it so I’d be the first one there. Now I just look bad.
Sweat trails down my back as I open the gate to the Mars Yard, where we’re all meeting. Why did I think it would be a good idea to have our first team meeting outside at the end of August instead of in an air-conditioned conference room?
The Mars Yard at the Jet Propulsion Laboratory is a simulated Martian landscape for testing robotic prototypes and applications. I figured that’d be fun. A visual, hands-on place that an artist might love to see.
But now that I’m going to show up drenched, I am cursing Past Jack and his decisions.
I slow from a run to a jog up to the group of people huddling in the Yard. Did everyone get the memo to be extra early today? It looks like Kenneth, Margie, and Nick are already here. So the other two must be Red String Girl and her assistant.
My already-pounding heart picks up speed at the thought of meeting Red String Girl. Do I tell her I’m sorry that her installationwas cut down in the way that it was? Or ignore it altogether? Probably best not to say anything. No one wants to be reminded about things like that.
“There’s Jackson Liu now,” Kenneth, who’s facing me, shouts. He gives me a tight smile.
I wave my hand in the air. “Apologies. But I come bearing Welcome Packets,” I say between breaths as I run over. I spot who must be Red String Girl from behind. She’s in a sweater and a red skirt. A sweater in August? I hope she doesn’t get too hot. I’m now realizing it might’ve been nice to bring water for everyone.
I continue with my apology as I near the group. “I really am so sorr—”
As Red String Girl turns around, a sharp pang shoots through my chest. My entire body goes numb in a split second. It’s only when Kenneth is profusely apologizing that I realize I’ve dropped the stack of Welcome Packets mid-jog. In my peripherals, I see packets on the ground covered in dust. But in my direct line of sight, all I see is red.
And by red, I mean Rooney. Why is Rooney here? Unless…
I run my hand down my face, rubbing my eyes to make sure she’s not a figment of my imagination brought on by heat and exertion from my midday jog.
My mouth goes dry as I try to find the words. She looks exactly the same as she did six months ago, just with slightly longer hair. She’s in a red knitted sweater and skirt, her lips painted a striking shade of ruby. She’s both familiar and a complete stranger.
At the sight of me, Rooney’s face pales, and her smile morphs into a frown.
“Jack?” she finally whispers, so low I almost miss it. She looks at the woman to her left, who has a day organizer tucked into her arms, a pen at the ready.
Rooney’s voice is so familiar, having become deeply ingrained in my mind. In hearing it, I’m pummeled by a wave of memories. They happen in glimpses. Her wrapping the scarf around my neck at the print shop. The fire from the lantern casting shadows across her face. Her dancing to my music. Sitting under the moonlight on the bench at her Spot. Sharing dumplings at midnight. An entire night plays out in front of me. I’m right there, and I’m right here.
After months of searching and troubleshooting how to find her, here she is. Problem solved. I thought it was easier to find life on another planet than it was trying to find Rooney. The discovery releases something tight and anxious inside me.
Kenneth takes a step toward me and hands me the dusty packets. “This is Jackson, the mission liaison. He’s a systems engineer on the mission you’ll be learning about.”
