Chapter 27

JACK

It’s her smile that catches my attention first. Sticking halfway out of my mailbox is today’s issue of the Los Angeles Times. I pull the paper out so fast that it drags the rest of the mail in my box with it and onto the ground.

There it is. Rooney isn’t featured in the Arts section. She’s on the front page of the entire thing. A photo of her in a circle next to a larger photo of the sign. Rooney’s name is in the headline.

Moments from that night come back to me. Particularly the one of us almost kissing again. And the way she sacrificed herself for the team.

I grab my mail off the ground, momentarily distracted by purple telescope stamps in the corner of a small envelope. I have a hunch about who sent this. The return address confirms that it’s from my parents, who have been in northern Chile for two months for work.

I’m meeting Rooney at Talia’s gallery in twenty minutes so that we can finally have a conversation about us. There’s no time right now for what the contents of this envelope might hold. I stuff it into my back pocket.

The drive to the gallery is surprisingly quick, I find parking one block away, and there was still an hour left on the meter from the previous car. The streak of good luck makes me, for a second, start thinking Rooney-like thoughts.

I haven’t seen Rooney since the wrapping last Friday. She’s been inundated with interview and commission requests. I also haven’t spoken to my parents. I wonder if they’ve heard about the Hollywood Sign yet. Or if they remember that this artist is who I’m working with. Rooney taking sole responsibility helped Team Hollywood. No one has suspected us. At least not to our faces.

As for Rooney and NASA, something she has going for her is that tickets for her first showcase have already sold out. People went wild for her art on social media, gaining exposure for several of NASA’s missions. Some people were torn between preferring the mystery and loving that Rooney is trying to make a name for herself. Many fans vocalized how meaningful it is to see people like themselves represented in the art world.

I reach the gallery and look through the large windows. Lining the walls of the place are dozens of string art pieces of cacti, astronaut suits, butterflies, Mars, a rocket, and clouds. They’re moments that Rooney and I spent together, inspired by Red String Theory. Each one a moment derived from a Fate Test. They’re intricate, practically looking like photographs from where I stand.

I lean closer to the glass. Every piece has a red dot next to it. If I remember what Rooney told me correctly, that means they’ve all sold. Excitement courses through me. Maybe she’ll have enough money to buy the video. Wrapping the Hollywood Sign unwrapped whatever was blocking her lack of inspiration.

My phone lights up with a text message from Rooney.

Where are you? I have amazing news! It rhymes with SchMoMA.

SchMoMA as in MoMA? Did she get an offer to do something with the Museum of Modern Art? It really is incredible news.

I peer back in through the window. Rooney and Talia are laughing as they walk out from the back room with cups and a bottle of champagne. Rooney sits down on a couch that looks like a… dumpling?

It’s another tally in the streak of happy things. Maybe the contents of my parents’ letter won’t be so bad. Maybe they’re on their way back as we speak so they can be here for Rooney’s showcase. I reach for the envelope in my back pocket and rip it open. Inside is a letter on a single sheet of paper.

Dear Jackson,

Hope you are well. We write with satisfying news. The view of the galaxy we came down here to observe wasn’t destroyed on the webcam by satellites this time. What a success. By the time you get this letter, Thanksgiving will likely have passed. Given delays, maybe even Christmas, too. As we look into the new year, we’re making note of our achievements. We hope you do the same. What you have been able to accomplish with your mission at NASA is nothing short of impressive. You have always been practical and responsible. We are looking forward to seeing what comes next for you. You have worked hard to get to where you are today. Keep up the good work. We are extending our trip to the end of March. The sky is clear, the stars are bright, and we are on to something.

Say hello to Gōng Gong for us.

Mom and Dad

I flip the page over, but it’s just the one side. My parents have noticed my hard work. These words send a small jolt of affirmation through me. They must’ve forgotten the showcase in January because they don’t mention it here. I sent a calendar invite but they haven’t accepted it yet. Maybe I should’ve sent a formal paper invite.

And so the good luck streak ends.

I look at the letter and then back up at Rooney. Another text appears.

Okay, fine! It’s MoMA! They want me to come back to New York to do an installation for them in the new year. Ahhhhhh! Get here so we can celebrate!!

I glance back down at the letter and once more at Rooney. The parallel hits me. I lived my childhood like this. I don’t know if I can live my adulthood this way, too.

I take a deep breath and tuck the letter into my back pocket.

My chest tightens as I look once more at Rooney smiling in the gallery. I can’t resist her.

Last minute work thing came up, I text back. Congrats! You deserve it. Can we celebrate this weekend at the show?

One of us is going to have to make a decision. We can’t risk leaving this up to fate.