“Oh, so you’re a health freak,” she states, eyeing my sensible meal. I see the pizza piled three slices high on her plate, adorned with fries and enough ketchup to feed a village.
I give her a small grimace. “Not really. Good food just makes me feel better in the long run.” I don’t elaborate. I look over at Emilia and she glares at me. I’m so distracted by her that I don’t pay attention to the conversation at first. I just watch with an amused smile as Emilia dollops some poison into her open palm and rubs it in. Everyone knows that shit is bad for you, but I digress. I swallow a couple of bites, and only after that do I catch what everyone is talking about.
“…Little did I know, nobody wants to come to Antarctica in the winter, so the jokes on me,” Emilia finishes.
George laughs merrily. “I suppose the California sunshine is too tempting to stay for most people. I’m from Minnesota myself, so I’m used to the cold.”
“It doesn’t seem too bad,” Emilia says, looking around. To anyone else, she might be putting on a brave face. But I can see the nervousness in her creased forehead. I wonder if she’s still claustrophobic.
“It’s a dry cold,” he agrees, nodding his head. “But once that first storm comes…”
He trails off, and we all look away separately. I know we all have our own reasons for coming here—research, isolation, whatever it may be. But I entirely believe that every single person in Antarctica is not just insane, but also crazy courageous. It’s one of the most isolated places on Earth—everyone knows that—and the weather is so unpredictable. It’s downright dangerous at times. For some, the day-to-day drudgery, the remoteness, becomes too much. Margaret, my ex, hated it down here. She couldn’t stand the loneliness; and even though we were married, she found solace in another man’s arms.
It happens. Being caged in makes people crazy sometimes.
“Emilia, aren’t you going to eat any of your sushi?” Gretchen asks, reaching out and grabbing a piece of the roll.
“There’s crab meat in it. I didn’t realize,” Emilia answers. “I’m a vegetarian.”
I stop chewing mid-bite. Fuck. I forgot about that. “Did you fill out your dietary preference on your intake form?” I ask, trying not to sound concerned. It comes out accusatory.
“I didn’t see any dietary preferences,” she says quickly, turning her attention to George, who just shrugs.
“No one asked you?” Stop interrogating her, Leo.
“No,” she says, a hint of worry in her voice.
I quell the irritation rising in me. Every new person was to fill out a form about allergies and dietary preferences. In fact, I was certain Amundsen-Scott was required to do this because I had to disclose certain things. Someone was slacking.
Then again, I should’ve remembered.
Gretchen is watching us with her mouth open in surprise.
I take a deep breath. “You should take care of it when we get to Amundsen-Scott. In the meantime, you might want to eat more than kiwi while we’re here. Our station isn’t as generously stocked as McMurdo.”
She glares at me and stands to leave, returning a minute later with a plate full of spinach lasagna and vegetables. She starts eating as if the world is ending tomorrow.
She must really love lasagna, if that’s the only thing she picked out.
“How long have you been a vegetarian?” Gretchen asks her. George is discussing solar flares with one of the other scientists sitting in the table behind us.
I try to act like I’m not listening, but I can’t help but feel pulled to her voice. It’s familiar yet foreign. I think of the time I called her on her sixteenth birthday. It was the last time we’d spoken on the phone—the last, nostalgic bit of our pen pal days. After that, we only communicated via birthday and holiday cards. She’d sounded distracted, irritated even, that day on the phone. Though we’d never met, I considered her a good friend. I remember asking her what was wrong. Something protective had arisen inside of me, and it had provoked something defensive in her. I remember she told me she was sick of coming in second, that she’d worked her ass off to get where she was, and that she didn’t need any handouts.
She stopped calling me after that.
“I’ve been a vegetarian my whole life,” she says, her mouth full. “I tried eating chicken in high school, but that backfired. So now I supplement with protein bars and protein powder.”
Gretchen blows out a loud sigh. “I don’t think I could do it. I love cheeseburgers too much.”
Emilia laughs. “We weren’t really allowed to eat cheeseburgers. Hippie mom,” she explains when Gretchen watches her with horror. “She once reprimanded me for buying store-bought granola. ‘It’s so easy to make for half the price and a tenth of the sugar,’” she says, mocking her mother. “Growing up, all my sister and I wanted were some damn Lucky Charms.”
I hide my smile behind my hand. Mrs. Harper and my mother had that in common, at least. I guess that’s what happens when you become best friends in 1980’s San Francisco.
“How many siblings do you have?” Gretchen asks.
“Just one. Anastasia. She’s a hotshot doctor now.”
Growing up, Anastasia and I were closer in age, but for some reason, we never really spoke. I was always drawn to Emilia. It didn’t help that we were both nerdy science kids and Gretchen went the sorority girl/valedictorian/doctor route. Our age difference was never that apparent. Only that last phone call—the desperation in her voice—had stirred something in me. But, I was in college, and she still had two years left of high school. Our intimate connection hadn’t really crossed my mind until that day, and it seems it hadn’t disappeared, either.
As the women continue their conversation, George nudges my shoulder. “We should probably finish up soon,” he says, eyeing his watch. “I have to take you back to the tarmac in thirty minutes.”
We all finish our meals as Gretchen drones on and on about the best coronal mass ejections of all time. I vacillate between listening and not listening—distracted by the way Emilia’s lips move while she eats.
S E V E N
Emilia
INSTEAD OF RIDING in the large military plane again, we’ve been downgraded to a smaller, single-engine plane. We all say goodbye to George with uneasy waves. Once we’re buckled in and settled, Gretchen starts her inquisition.
“So, Leo,” Gretchen says slyly, just as we taxi away from the gate. “What’s your story? How’d you come to be one of the top modern-day astronomers?”
I expect another glowering stare from Leo like before, but instead he just smiles curtly and turns to face us. “What do you want to know?” He eyes her cautiously, flicking his eyes to mine for a brief second, like he can sense how curious I’ve been.
“Well, I’ve interrogated Emilia already, and since we’re all going to be spending so much time together, it might be wise to get to know you a little. Especially now that we’re not inebriated or hungover. What makes you an interesting human?”
He gives her a reserved smile, and I stare at the crease around his lips. “Born and raised in Chicago by a single mom. No siblings. She’s a physics professor at Northwestern. I ended up at Northwestern for undergrad, fell in love with astronomy, and went on to get my master’s and then eventually my PhD in Astronomy at the University of Chicago.” I make eye contact with him again, and he cocks his head ever so slightly. “That’s the short version.”
I already know all of this. In fact, I could’ve repeated it word for word. He continues.
“My dad left when my mom was pregnant. She went back to school when I was a baby, thanks to a good friend from college.” He smiles coyly at me. I feel my stomach bottom out. That I didn’t know. I sit up straighter, listening intently. “By the time I was five, she’d secured a full-time job as a professor. My days were spent with a nanny while my mother started her career. I rebelled in high school because of it. By the time I started my first year in college, I knew I wanted to work hard so I could set myself up
for the future. Though I admire my mom, I don’t want to be anything like her.”
His confession astounds me. I look at my hands and bite my tongue to block the firing squad of questions I have for him. I never knew any of this. I never knew he grew up with a nanny, or that he resented his mother, Barbara, so much. None of that had ever come up in our letters.
Then again, I’d also never asked.
“I’ve been working nonstop since I was eighteen. In research labs, telescopes, and remote locations… I’ve worked for NASA, the government, and various institutions. I’m very loyal to Chicago, and I firmly believe the deep dish pizza at Lou Malnati’s is the best thing you’ll ever taste. I married a woman named Margaret three years ago, and she left me for another man last year.” He gets quiet, contemplative. I bite my lip to keep from saying something. “Looking back, I knew it led back to my childhood with my mom. I’m a workaholic, and I put those needs before the needs of others. I wasn’t paying attention. Also, I wasn’t a great husband to her. I needed,” he stops, sighing. “I needed someone to be honest with me, to talk to me, and she expected me to read her mind. I’m working on my issues.”
“Wow,” Gretchen sighs. “That’s intense.”
I shake my head. “I never knew…” I trail off, trying to think of what to say. “How did you and Jake become friends?” It’s the question I’ve wanted to ask since last night. Though it might be a sore subject after last night, I have to know, have to find out how deep their friendship runs.
Leo’s eyes darken ever so slightly. “Jake is my friend from graduate school. He’s an entrepreneur and he’s sponsored some of my research, as his field directly correlates with mine. His engineering firm designs prisms for use in astronomic telescopes and lasers. He’s the best friend I’ve ever had, even going so far as to let me stay with him after Margaret left me.”
His hidden words coil around me.
I hate myself.
“Jake was cute,” Gretchen muses, distracted by the scientific journal on her lap. “Too bad he’s not down here with us. That’s would’ve been fun.”
I close my eyes when I see Leo frown from my peripheral. If only Gretchen knew.
It’s a shorter plane ride to Amundsen-Scott, and the weather gets increasingly worse. I predict the landing will be rough, and I’m sure the pilots will be glad to leave once we’ve deboarded. I pull out my book of crossword puzzles to take my mind off of the bumpy flight. Gretchen is clutching the arms of her seat for dear life now, and Leo is fast asleep.
“You ok?” I ask, watching Gretchen.
“I’m a terrible flier,” she admits, and she gives me a worried smile.
“These guys are ex-Air Force,” I say, gesturing to the two pilots at the front of the plane. “This is probably the safest flight you’ll ever be on.” I sit up straighter. “I read that in our introduction manual,” I add, proudly.
“I wanted to come here so bad. But do you know what? It’s six flights! Colorado to San Francisco, San Francisco to Sydney, Sydney to Auckland, Auckland to Christchurch, Christchurch to McMurdo, and now McMurdo to Amundsen-Scott. That’s a lot of flying for a person who hates flying,” she whimpers.
“What was your thesis subject?” It’s the first thing I can think of to distract her. Us science nerds could discuss thesis topics any day.
“Black Hole Scaling Relationships and the new research coming from Hubble Space Telescope Imaging.”
I hear Leo stir behind us. He must’ve caught the tail-end of our conversation.
“Black hole girl, huh?” Leo asks.
“It’s my single biggest fascination. I could talk about it for days, so I’ll spare you my babbling. But if they ever decide to send someone into a black hole, I’ll be at the front of the line to volunteer.”
I laugh.
“Emilia, what are you writing your thesis on?” he asks, watching me.
“I specialized in the aurora’s in school. Specifically, the aurora borealis. I’d love to study the aurora australis while here, so that my thesis can be well-rounded,” I start.
“The Aurora Australis has the strongest flares at the South Pole. You should have plenty of opportunities to observe it.”
“I’ve never seen them in person,” I admit, and Leo’s eyes soften—just for a second. And then they resume their inquisitiveness.
“Next time there’s a flare near the station, I’ll let you know.” Then he clears his throat. “I’d be happy to take the two of you.”
The two of you.
A few minutes later, we begin our descent into Amundsen-Scott. It’s an eerie feeling, finally being down here. We’re at the southernmost tip of the earth, and it feels that way, too. From the small window, I can see that the sky is now a dark red. Back at McMurdo, it was sunset, and here it seems darker, more sinister somehow. The landing is bumpy, and the expanse seems to go on forever. Once we taxi to the gate, the three of us hurriedly walk down the stairs to the van waiting on the tarmac. It’s the coldest air I’ve ever felt, practically sucking everything right out of my lungs.
Without speaking, we all get transported to the station entrance. I think we’re all trying to quell our nerves. The driver takes us up to the front doors, and the excitement begins to settle in my stomach like an eager butterfly. Any other astronomer would kill for this position, and I know that I’m lucky to be here.
As we enter the station, jogging quickly to avoid the cold air that seemed to follow us inside, I see a few people lounging around the common room. Other than that, it’s just a generic room with a small receptionist’s desk and a taped-on poster of a real fireplace. We all walk up to the front desk and get checked in.
Leo leans in to explain everything as the receptionist checks us in. “The living quarters at Amundsen-Scott are pretty standard. Everyone has his or her own room and bathroom—a mini-suite. Everything is indoors, obviously, connected by tunnels and indoor bridges. The cafeteria is near the gym, and my research lab is at the furthest hub of the station at the South Pole Telescope. It’s almost half a mile to walk there, which is nice because people tend to pack on the pounds down here due to lack of movement,” Leo explains. “I try to run a pretty easygoing lab—we don’t have a set schedule, due to the inclement weather, and half the time we’re joking around in the lab waiting on results or data from the telescope. It’s an easy job, that’s for sure, but an important one nonetheless.”
Just as I’m about to ask about the telescope, the woman behind the counter hands Leo a packet and a room key.
“Dr. Kennedy, you’ll be in room 24F.” He glances down at the map and waits for Gretchen and I to get our assignment. “Miss Harper, you’ll be in room 23F.”
Fuck.
“Excuse me,” Leo asks, looking uncomfortable. “Do you have any rooms closer to the east wing?”
All I hear is, do you have any rooms that aren’t next door to her?
Awesome feeling, by the way.
“I’m sorry, Dr. Kennedy. We’re at full capacity now that you’re here.” She hands Gretchen a key. “And 15A for Ms. Thompson.”
I look down at my shoes, flushed. He must really hate me.
“Aw man, I’m so far away from you guys,” Gretchen whines, studying the map.
“Well, you’re lucky in that you’re closer to the lab and the telescope,” Leo chides, giving me an annoyed glance. “And the cafeteria. And the gym.”
It’s not my fault we’re stuck next to each other, dickhole.
We all walk down the corridor, suitcases in tow. Gretchen and Leo talk about Chicago, but I hang back. When we get to the door separating Gretchen’s wing from ours, she scurries off as Leo and I walk side by side.
“The universe has a sense of humor,” Leo says quietly, his voice nettled with irritation.
I stop mid-walk. “Enough, okay?” I beg, my voice strained. Perhaps it’s the lack of sleep, or the stress of finding him both alluring and exasperating, but I hear my voice crack and sigh before looking away.
“Emilia,” he replies, his voice strained and gentle. “I didn’t mean—”
“Just stop.” I look at him with pleading eyes. “I’m sorry for sleeping with Jake. It was a stupid mistake, and something I never would’ve done under any other circumstance. I was nervous to meet you, and I drank too much. If you’re going to find a way to chastise me about it all winter, then maybe us working together—”
“Don’t,” he interrupts, his voice strained. He rubs his mouth with his hand. “I went too far with the teasing. I’m sorry.”
I’m taken aback by his candidness. “Apology accepted,” I whisper.
Leo clenches his jaw and moves his mouth as if he’s going to say something, but nothing comes out. He takes a step closer. I feel the air leave my lungs. His lashes are so black—and so gloriously long.
I should not be noticing his eyelashes.
“Get some sleep,” he says finally.
He grabs his suitcase and walks ahead of me without turning back, leaving me to find my room alone.
E I G H T
Emilia
MY ROOM IS surprisingly cozy. The front area has a couch, coffee table, and a television—for what purpose, I’m not sure—it’s not like I have access to cable here. There’s a small kitchen situated behind a breakfast bar. To the right is a short hallway, followed by a bedroom and bathroom. I spend my first hours at the station making everything homier and giving the space an infusion of personality. Though candles are forbidden here, I went so far as to bring along a few battery-operated ones for ambiance. I may have used up a container of Lysol wipes for wiping down the surfaces. If everyone knew how many deadly germs roamed freely on door handles and tables, they’d think twice about being so blasé about cleaning. And since I can’t exactly be hospitalized for E. Coli down here, I’m not taking any chances.
I throw my mother’s handmade quilt over the generic-looking single bed. The colorful yarn brightens up the bedroom significantly. Satisfied, I walk to the kitchen and make a cup of black tea. The temperature is nice inside—a comfortable seventy-two. At least I know it’ll be warm inside while hell freezes over outside. I pull my laptop onto my lap and connect to the station Wi-Fi. I email Ana and my mom to schedule a Skype call, and before I close my computer, my email pings. Ana must be off-duty today. I glance at the name, confused at first, and then my heart drops.
Tracing the Stars Page 5