Chapter 29

JACK

Rooney’s first showcase is happening in the Rotunda at the Natural History Museum of Los Angeles. As I step through the museum doors, memories of butterflies flutter to the front of my mind, uncontrolled.

Rooney’s greeting people at the entrance to her showcase. This face-to-face time with viewers is new and she seems to be appreciating every second of it.

“Jack! Hi,” Rooney calls out when she sees me. She’s as beautiful as ever, in a red knit sweater and long blue skirt. Rooney as herself, not Red String Girl. She’s fully in her element. Whether she was hidden or not, and with or without me, she was always going to accomplish big, great things.

“Hey. Happy New Year,” I say as an icebreaker. Without thinking, I add, “You’re like a seahorse. You blend right into your environment, give or take a few more colors. I like the new hue.”

Rooney’s face relaxes slightly. “I’ve been seeing a few more colors lately,” she says. “How have you been?”

Awful. Missing you. Trying and failing to focus on work. Wishing that keeping my distance from you wasn’t an effort every single day. It’s been a month and a half since Hugh’s. With the holidays, no suit-ups or team visits were scheduled. Rooney disappeared into her work while I refocused on mission-related tasks.

“Fine. Busy.” I slide my hands into my pockets. “You?”

“Oh, yeah. I’ve been busy, too,” she says with a small smile. Rooney appears calm, despite today being her first showcase and the day of the auction.

“Right. No, of course,” I say, gesturing toward the door. “I can’t wait to see it.”

“Are you ready?” she asks.

“More than you know.”

When we step into the Rotunda, it’s as though I’ve been transported into the cosmos. If Entangled was Mercury, the smallest planet, then Rooney’s first showcase is Jupiter, a behemoth of an installation. It must’ve taken Rooney and her team hundreds of hours to put this together. I expected to see her signature color everywhere. But there’s not just red. There’s also blue and purple and green strung throughout the room.

The string has been strategically looped around the tall marble columns lining the perimeter of the room. It stretches up past the second-level balcony to the ceiling, giving viewers a look from different heights. The string is manipulated to take the shape of a carefully crafted sphere. In the center, the Three Graces bronze sculpture stands, with each Grace representing science, art, or history. Together, they hold a globe skyward toward the beautiful stained-glass dome illuminated by sunshine. Strands of colorful thread branch out at different lengths from the raised globe. It’s an optical illusion that allows the imagination to take over.

There’s something familiar about this installation. My imagination runs wild, wondering if this could possibly be a—

“Looks like I was successfully inspired,” Rooney says, breaking my spell. Her eyes drop to my lip for the briefest second.

“It’s…” I touch my finger to my lip, and Rooney smiles. It’s meant to look like an exploding star. A supernova. My Supernova Scar. My heart twists inside my rib cage. She was inspired by me.

This rattles me, and it probably shows. Rooney has taken bits and pieces of our time together and materialized them into this unbelievable creation. I’d need days, weeks, a lifetime, to fully process how much this means to me.

“I’m… stunned,” I finally say. “I don’t believe there are words that exist that properly capture how entrancing this is. It rivals discoveries we’ve made in space.”

Rooney laughs. “That’s nice of you to say, Jack. I couldn’t have done it without you. Your inspiration.”

We let a heavy silence fall between us, weighted by the limited time we have left together. As Rooney quietly watches people interacting with her creation, I observe her. Red lips. Shining brown eyes. Sideswept bangs. Relaxed shoulders that no longer carry the weight of being uninspired. She took her artist’s block and blew it up into this.

“I have something for you,” I say, tearing my gaze from her.

I set a keychain of a sports jersey into her palm. She flips it over. On the back of the shirt are the letters R-O-O-N-E-Y.

“I don’t get it,” she says.

“I just couldn’t believe that there weren’t any keychains with your name on it,” I explain. “And then I found this. It’s the soccer jersey for Wayne Rooney, but still. There’s your name.”

She laughs. My favorite sound. It’s been a while.

“I guess I owe you that million dollars back,” she says with a smirk.

“Eh, keep the money,” I tell her playfully, waving her off. “No matter how the public perceives you and whatever name you go by, whether it’s Red String Girl or RSG, I wanted to remind you that, to me, you’re just Wayne Rooney. I mean Rooney.”

She laughs again. “I won’t let you down, Coach. Thank you.”

I smile back at her. “Just remember, it’s everything about you that makes you so good at what you do.”

Her eyes are transfixed on mine. For a beat too long, we stand there, like we’re playing a game of chicken of who will look away first. But here neither of us wins.

I’m the first to redirect my stare. Remembering I have one more gift, I reveal a bottle of peanuts. “For good luck. For the auction, now the showcase. Not that you need it, but—”

“It’s tradition. Thank you,” she says. We take a step back from each other before we’re too close to pull apart. “I was able to raise thirty-five thousand dollars, the high end of the range. Talia will be bidding for me while I’m up there.” Rooney rolls her eyes while shrugging. “I need all the luck I can get.” She twists the lid and pours a handful of peanuts into her palm. She offers me a handful in return. Rooney looks around at the guests trickling into the space.

“Rumor has it, they had to release more tickets. The turnout is incredible. What you created… it’s a stellar follow-up to Entangled. Pun intended,” I say. I look from one corner of the installation down to the center and then back up to the opposite corner. There’s string everywhere, making it impossible to follow a single thread. I lean in closer and add, “I’m incredibly moved by it. Now you know for certain that one person feels something.”

A grateful expression passes over Rooney’s face as she exhales. “Thanks, Jack,” she whispers.

For a moment, everything between us feels like it might be okay. Like we could still really be friends after everything. But I don’t know how we can get back to where we were. That place is now as distant as Mars itself.

Dusty spots us and makes his way over to congratulate Rooney. She glows with every kind word tossed her way. Like she’s loving the live feedback.

“Rooney, there you are,” a voice says behind us.

“Mom, hi. This is Jack and Dusty,” Rooney says, sidling up next to her mom.

“Jack. We’ve met,” Wren says, her face unreadable. “And Dusty, I hope your name has an interesting backstory.”

“He runs the clean room at NASA and apparently has an extensive cacti collection,” Rooney jumps in. “Dusty, this is my mom, Wren. She’s actually been working on a plant art collection.”

Dusty turns directly toward Wren, his face softening. “It’s a pleasure, Wren. What plants are inspiring you these days?” he asks.

“I’ve been particularly moved by the Hairy Balls Milkweed,” Wren says without missing a beat.

“Mom!” Rooney shout-whispers.

Dusty’s eyes light up. “Ah, the ol’ Gomphocarpus physocarpus. Highly toxic.”

“That’s what draws me to them,” Wren says.

“You and the butterflies,” Dusty says. His eyes don’t leave Wren’s once.

Rooney looks amused as she watches what’s unfolding in front of us.

Wren crosses her arms, but in her cheeks, I think I actually see… pink. Is Wren blushing? I run a hand over my face. Surely I’m seeing things. Rooney looks up at me, biting down a laugh.

“Oookay… before this gets weirder, how about you two go find seats?” Rooney says, directing her mom toward the seating area in front of a podium. Wren and Dusty aren’t paying any attention to us. “We should go, too. The show and auction are about to start.” She mumbles something about the timing of life. “How are you feeling, Jack?”

Me? Oh. She must be talking about when I have to introduce her in a few minutes. “I think I’m okay.”

Rooney mirrors my earlier movement by leaning in and saying, “Just remember that you’re speaking to people made of stardust. If you look closely enough, maybe they’ll even shimmer.”

It’s such a Rooney thing to say that it sets me instantly at ease. She gives me more peanuts for extra good luck. “Congratulations, Jackson No-Middle-Name Liu.”

This time together hardly makes up for the time apart, but it’s something. The last time we saw each other, it ended with me playing onstage with Toby and Mac to a somber-looking Rooney. She left before the set was over.

“Congratulations, Rooney Something Gao,” I whisper.

Overhead, there are a few taps into a microphone, my cue to get ready for opening remarks. We walk over to the podium together. Up front, I scan the audience to find Gōng Gong and my team. They’ve saved me a seat a few rows back from Wren and Dusty, who’s miming what I hope is the shape of a cactus.

Once the audience is quiet, I jump right in, sharing an overview of the Artist-in-Residence program, my role as mission liaison, the FATE Mission, and Mars. I add context about how interest has grown about our work at NASA ever since reinstating the program. Before introducing Rooney, I give a shout-out to my team.

“Our team is like ice cream,” I say. My team smiles in the audience. “Each one of us is a base ingredient. Eggs, heavy cream, milk, salt, sugar, and vanilla extract. Add a little science into the mix, and we form something that sticks together. Without even one of these ingredients, the recipe changes. But all ice cream needs a flavor. Something that brings it to life. For our team, that’s Rooney.”

I look over at her, and we exchange smiles. I become tongue-tied knowing words can’t convey how remarkable this woman is. But somehow I mash enough coherent ones together for a decent introduction. Rooney walks out, and the cameras of NASA’s professional photographers and the press start flashing while a low murmur hums through the crowd. I take my seat, eager to watch her sparkle.

“Hi, everyone. I’m Rooney Something Gao,” she starts, glancing over at Talia, who’s positioned behind the audience in the back of the room. Talia’s in Rooney’s direct line of sight, probably so she can keep Rooney informed about the auction.

Kenneth, Margie, and Nick are positioned to the far right of the podium. NASA stood by their chosen artist. When the press asked for comments, they stated that this is another example of how discoveries really are made all the time here.

“In the past couple of years, my string has guided me to unexpected places… and people,” Rooney starts. “Now I get to be here with you all as the real me. I may not be the mystery you thought you were getting, but I assure you, I’m still very much a mystery to myself.” This elicits laughs from the crowd. “We are so much more than we, and others, think we are. I am particles from supernova explosions, and I believe in myths.”

I watch Rooney watch Talia, who has her phone pressed against her ear, her hand covering the other.

“For my first installation, I was inspired by the idea that when we look at planets and stars, we’re looking back in time,” she shares. “Moonlight takes less than two minutes to reach us. When you look at the sun, which I’m hoping isn’t too often for the sake of your retinas, you’re seeing the sun as it was eight minutes ago.”

There are more chuckles from the group. Everyone seems to be enthralled by Rooney and her art. As they should be.

“In a way, delayed light from space objects is like mythology. I view myths and the light as the equivalent of learning from the past and letting it influence the present and future. Myths explain natural phenomena and why things exist. Aren’t theories like the Big Bang and the multiverse essentially doing the same thing? Aren’t myth and theories both interpretations?” she asks the crowd.

To my right, Gōng Gong watches with his hands clasped across his lap. Ahead of me, Wren is taking photos of Rooney with her phone and texting them to someone. Dusty records Rooney’s speech and scans his camera across the room, the entire installation hardly fitting in the frame.

Rooney directs her glance at me. “I know what some of you are thinking: But, Rooney, theories are based on the examination of evidence. Myths aren’t based on fact.”

I smile to myself. She just read my thoughts.

“Here’s what I’ll say to that: Why does fact have to win out over belief?” Rooney asks. “There are enough coincidences in the world that should make you wonder. They might even make you believe. Myth or science, we’re all assigning meaning to our existence in our own ways. Everyone has different interpretations of life and events that occur based on what we’re taught growing up, where we live, and what we’re exposed to.”

It really is subtle when Rooney looks at Talia. I almost miss it. I realize I’m holding my breath, nervous to know the outcome of the auction. Will Rooney get Baby Being Born back?

Rooney’s voice softens, her cadence slowing. It pulls my attention back to her. “It’s all nebulous—vague, uncertain—which is why I present to you, Nebulous, my aurora borealis supernova installation.”

The sounds of cameras clicking fill the air.

“With the northern lights, more oxygen gives us red and green colors, more nitrogen gives us blue,” she explains. “For us to witness aurora borealis at all, and to see certain colors, depends on where we are in the world. The timing has to be right. There are so many variables at play. So many environmental factors that need to align.” A weak smile crosses her face. “Just like fate.”

It wouldn’t be Rooney’s installation without her belief of fate mixed in. The belief that has derailed my life since that night in the bar and grill. Ever since then—no, ever since New York, really—Rooney has infiltrated my mind and heart, weaving a labyrinth of a web. I’m still trying to figure out how to escape.

I feel a nudge at my arm. Gōng Gong leans over and whispers, “How beautiful that the northern lights can spark both scientific and mystical perspectives.”

“Mystical,” I repeat with a small smile. “When you know the science behind something and how something is built or works, you don’t think it becomes less mysterious?”

“It’s all about perspective,” Rooney says, as though she’s directly answering my question. “Back when we didn’t know the science behind aurora borealis, people had theories about what caused this natural phenomena. At the time, they’d be living their lives when, all of a sudden, a mysterious green light would start flickering across the skies. In China, this event was so rare that, when it did happen, the belief was that it was a battle between good and evil dragons breathing out fire. In Finland, it was believed that fox tails caused sparks that created the colors in the night sky. I could go on.”

Gōng Gong motions toward Rooney and raises his shoulders in agreement. I laugh quietly and observe the crowd. Together, we’re all seeing the installation with fresh eyes. They take photos of Rooney, of the art. Wren continues tapping into her phone while Dusty watches her with a smile.

Suddenly, Rooney’s voice wobbles. It wavers for a moment, but I catch it. She grabs the microphone, shaking her head. There’s a shift in the mood, but no one else seems to notice. Rooney’s wide eyes betray her exterior confident stance. Something has happened.

I sneak a look back at Talia. She’s not where she was standing. To the unsuspecting eye, Rooney looks confident and poised. But I just have to look at her eyes to know she didn’t win. If my heart was cracked before, it’s now in pieces.

“But maybe, just maybe, there’s more to it than you think,” Rooney says, pushing on. “There’s more happening in the universe than we’ll ever see. Some things in the past take time to reach us in the present. In the meantime, we wait.”

At this, she looks at me like an unspoken agreement is made. I find myself nodding involuntarily, my heart taking over my head.

For now, we wait.

“Thank you to JPL and NASA for this incredible opportunity,” she says, her voice filled with emotion. “Thanks to the art students who helped string this. Art takes a crew, just like any mission. And thanks to the FATE mission team, but mostly thanks to Jackson Liu, who inspired me and helped me find my creative edge again. No matter what happens, we will always be connected.”

With these final words, she gestures toward her installation. The room echoes with claps and cheers. Rooney has come out of her chrysalis. And she’s a stunning, beautiful, vibrant butterfly.

I catch up to Rooney before anyone else can get to her first. “I’m sorry, Rooney,” I say. They’re not the words I wish I were saying. “Maybe there’s another way.”

She shakes her head. “That was my chance. It was a once-in-a-blue-moon opportunity. Now the museum has it, and I’ll get interview requests for that instead of this.”

My manager, Annika, and a few director-level managers approach us and congratulate Rooney on her show. She wipes her cheeks, her sad tears transforming into what, to everyone else, probably look like tears of joy.

“Jackson, when you have a moment, let’s chat,” Annika says, nodding toward the higher-ups. I nod, straightening my posture. My mouth becomes a firm line. For the first time in a long time, I have no idea what happens from here, no plan on what’s next.

“I’ll be fine. Don’t worry about me,” Rooney says. “I’m headed back to New York in a few days for the MoMA installation and the Lantern Festival with Mom, but thanks for everything, Jack. I’ll see you in a couple of months for the next showcase.”

She almost reaches for my hand but instead puts her reflexes to good use again and straightens it out for a shake. I grip it firmly in mine, lingering for longer than I should.

I could walk away right now, tell the higher-ups to wait. But this is my chance. Rooney tilts her head toward them.

“Go,” she says.

It’s time for me to pursue my promotion and for Rooney to follow her thread. I watch her go with an ache in my chest.

“Bye, Lobster Girl,” I whisper.