Tracing the Stars

by Amanda Richardson

  I wasn’t entirely sure how being down here with little-to-no sun would affect me. As the days wear on and the sun disappears below the horizon, I begin to feel a strange sense of calm and belonging. The darkness takes me to a place that I’m unfamiliar with, a place I didn’t know I had inside. A quiet place where I have time to listen to the things in my head. In Berkeley, those things were drowned out with sirens, voices, and the everyday noises I’d learned to tune out. Being down here is almost meditative—peaceful and centering.

  Though I do miss the smell of flowers, rain, dirt, and fresh crops. I never thought I’d miss the pungent smells of garlic in Gilroy, a town an hour and a half south of Berkeley, but I do. I miss the smell of a coffee shop on a rainy day. I would kill someone for a fresh avocado, or a real Mexican burrito from La Mission on University Avenue. My hankerings are much worse than I anticipated. We ran out of fresh milk after two weeks, and I would like for once not to use powdered milk in my coffee.

  Other than that, I am finding life down here pretty wonderful. I’ve gotten to know most of the other “winter-overs,” and I feel like I belong. Leo, Gretchen and I are making major advances in the field of astronomy—most specifically studying remnants of the Big Bang, which is super exciting for all of us. As I sip my beer slowly next to one of the chefs, I look around and smile. I’m finally starting to feel like this is normal life. We’re all gearing up for the “big event” of the night—a screening of The Shining. These people really do have a sadistic sense of humor.

  “So, anyways, like I was saying… Maybe we could hang out sometime,” the chef, Nathan, says. My face must register my shock, because he continues. “I’ve liked you since I met you, Emilia.”

  I gawk at him, stunned. “I—umm—”

  “And I think you’re beautiful.” He smiles, his freckled face bashful.

  Nathan is handsome. Tall, muscular, with strawberry blond hair and dark blue eyes that pin you in place. In another life, I would’ve said yes. In another life, his admittance would’ve given me butterflies. Instead, all I’m thinking about is Leo and his stupid kiss.

  “Thank you,” I utter. “Excuse me for a second, please.”

  I walk away before he can say any more wonderful things. The truth of the matter is, hearing a man call me beautiful seems to have done the opposite. It fills me with doubt.

  Once I’m done going to the bathroom, I study myself in the mirror. My hair has gotten darker, if that’s possible, and my skin is much paler. I have dark circles under my eyes, a natural reaction to no sunlight, Gretchen assures me, and I look like I’ve gained a bit of weight, too. I threw on a baggy brown sweater and black skinny jeans earlier, and I topped the look off with brown, baggy ankle boots. My hair is loose and wild, trailing down my back.

  Am I beautiful? Why is it that I so desperately want to hear it from Leo, the man who kisses me in secret? Why can’t I take a compliment from a perfectly nice man, like Nathan?

  Nausea begins to swirl in my belly. I set my beer down—I’ve only had a few sips so far—and decide to stick with water the rest of the night. For whatever reason, I haven’t really been able to tolerate alcohol since the night before we left.

  Talk about an epic hangover.

  I wash my hands and use a paper towel on the handle so I don’t have to touch it, but Gretchen comes barreling in before I pull it open all the way.

  “Hey, you,” she says, walking to the mirror and smearing on some lip-gloss. “Have you seen Leo tonight?”

  “No,” I say casually. The three of us have worked seamlessly together for the last two and a half months without any obvious awkwardness. Obvious being the key word. I pray it continues that way. “Why?”

  “He looks scrumptious. And that’s saying a lot, because I’m obviously dating the cutest guy here,” she adds, referring to her fuck-buddy-turned-boyfriend Damien.

  “Hmm. I beg to differ,” I jest. She slaps me on the butt playfully before I exit the bathroom, using my elbow to push down the handle, and when I round the corner of the billiards room, I see him.

  He’s standing at the bar talking to one of the male marine biologists, and his laugh is easy and unguarded. My stomach does a somersault. He’s grown out his beard, and he’s wearing black jeans, a white t-shirt, and a red flannel. He’s rolled the sleeves up. I like it. I like him.

  A lot.

  The lights dim, and the credits to The Shining start. Most people sit on the floor with their drinks. I grab a seltzer from the bartender and lean against the back wall, trying to be inconspicuous. Nathan is nowhere to be found, and I make a point to apologize to him the next time I see him. A few times during the first scene, I feel like Leo is watching me, but every time my head snaps up, he’s deep in conversation again. It’s only when I’m ordering another seltzer that I smell him near me.

  “Hello,” he says, his voice velvety. His eyes scan my face and body quickly, and I try not to smile as his eyes flick back up to mine like nothing happened.

  “Hi.” I take a sip of my drink and pay the bartender. As I walk back to my spot in the back of the room, I’m horrified to find him following me.

  “Why have you been avoiding me?” he whispers, leaning into me.

  “I’m not,” I lie. I refuse to make eye contact.

  “Look at me,” he orders, placing a hand under my chin and lifting my face to his. “I’m sorry.”

  I shrug. “I wanted it, too. The kiss.” I bite my lip, trying to ignore the way my pulse beats erratically in my throat. He drops his hand.

  He smiles. “I know. I could tell. But, regardless, I’m sorry I lost control.”

  I take another sip. “It’s fine. We’re friends who just had a moment of weakness.” I don’t mean for it to sound so morose coming out of my mouth, but it does. And it seems to pain him physically, because his face falls.

  “That’s what you think that was? A moment of weakness?” His breath is hot against my cheek, and I have the urge to cry for some odd reason. Why does he affect me like this? Why can’t a nice guy like Nathan cause me to close my eyes and inhale the scent of his breath?

  “Nathan asked me out,” I say quickly, breaking the tension. It’s not technically a lie.

  Leo is stunned. The look of shocked surprise is amazing. As if I were his to claim, his to reject.

  “Oh,” is all he says, nodding slowly. “That’s great.”

  “He said I was beautiful, and I didn’t know how to respond.” I bite my lip. Will. Not. Cry.

  “Of course you’re beautiful. And intelligent, and caring, and really fucking funny when you’re not acting all seriou—”

  “Stop,” I whisper, feeling a tear slide down my cheek. “Just leave me alone.” I push off of the wall and begin to walk away, but he grabs my arm and pulls me into him.

  “Why are you crying?” he murmurs, his voice gentle. The gentlest it’s been. Like he cares.

  “Because Nathan said I was beautiful and asked me out. Because it was simple. Because you and I aren’t simple. Because I wanted it to be you asking me out and calling me beautiful, but instead you kiss me in hiding and brush me off every chance you get, until it’s convenient for you. Because you like to play games, and I’m sick of it.”

  I’m out of breath and trembling as I pull away from him and walk out of the party. I’m still shaking as I walk to my room. My behavior—while warranted—is extremely out of character for me. Just as I close the door behind me, I feel the tell-tale tug of queasiness in my stomach. I’m going to be sick. I barely make it to the bathroom before vomiting up my entire dinner as well as all the seltzer, which does not feel great coming up. As I wash up at my sink, I study my reflection. God, I need to start working out, or eating less of Leo’s delicious lasagna. My face looks fuller, and my ass? I can barely fit into my jeans lately. I’ve been working out, but I guess it’s not the same as walking the ginormous Berkeley campus.

  When I look back at myself, realization hits swiftly.

  First, denial.
>
  Oh, no. No, no, no.

  I duck down and check the cabinet under my sink. Groaning, I pull the unopened, large box of tampons out and place them on the sink. I bought them before I left. I wasn’t sure how stocked Amundsen-Scott would be, and considering I’ve been here for eleven weeks…

  Then, anger.

  Jesus Christ on a cracker!

  I slam the cabinet shut and throw a jacket on before locking my room and jogging to the 24-hour convenience store. Fiona, the woman who works nights, is a nice lady. Older with greying hair, wrinkles, and hand knit sweaters, she’s a delight to talk to over a pint of ice cream.

  I have been eating an inordinate amount of ice cream.

  How did I not realize before today? Aren’t women supposed to get fatigued, nauseous, irritable? Morning sickness is a thing, right? I haven’t really been nauseous before today. I mean, I guess I have been irritable, and now that I think about it, my breasts have begun busting out of my bras. I figured it was the slight weight gain…

  I throw the door open, and Fiona is leaning against the counter with a book in her nose.

  “Hi, Fiona,” I say quickly, wondering how the hell I’m going to buy a pregnancy test without the whole station gossiping. Oh, god… they’ll all wonder who the father is!

  I’m quick about it. I grab the only option I see—feeling satisfied with the ‘99% accurate’ wording. Ninety-nine percent is a good percentage. I’d wager my future on 99%. In a way, I guess I am. When I walk to the counter, I hide the box under my arm.

  “Fiona,” I say slowly, and she lowers her book. “I can’t show you what I’m buying, but can you trust me that it’s $17.99?” I hand her my credit card while trying to conceal the box under my arm.

  “I know you grabbed the pregnancy test,” she murmurs, swiping my card just as my mouth falls open.

  “Please don’t say anything,” I beg, setting the test down and holding my clasped hands out in a pleading motion.

  “Emilia, do you know how many people come in here to buy condoms? And not just the regular ones. Some of the people here buy the ones with the vibrating rings. I have enough gossip and blackmail material to contend with, thank you very much. Your secret is safe with me.”

  I stifle a laugh. “Well, thank you.”

  “No ice cream tonight?” she queries.

  I shrug. “I guess if I am pregnant, I should start eating healthier.”

  She just smiles as I push the door open and leave.

  This can’t be happening. This is not a part of my plan. And Jake? I cringe as I follow the hall down to my room. How would he react to this? How would Leo react? Oh, god… I am a statistic. A foolish, reckless mistake. He used a condom. I know he did. But I guess accidents happen, and neither of us were in the right mind…

  I will lose my job over this. My career. It will all be gone. Poof. Everything I worked for will be replaced by diapers and midnight feedings. I’m only twenty-four. I’m not ready to be a mother. Panic fills my lungs as I begin to hyperventilate. It feels like the walls are closing in. I take a few steadying breaths as I round the corner to my room. Everything begins to spin, and my lungs begin to burn. I need to breathe. My knees go weak, and I reach out for the wall. Someone says my name, but it sounds like they’re speaking underwater. I hear the brown, lunch bag containing the pregnancy test fall to the ground. Thank god Fiona wrapped it up. Just before I lose consciousness, I feel warm hands grip me.

  F O U R T E E N

  Emilia

  IT ALL MAKES sense now. I must be pregnant.

  I think I already knew it, from somewhere deep inside of me. Women’s intuition, maybe. I’ve never missed a period, never even been a day late before. As I open my eyes, I find myself tucked into bed. The lamp on the side table is on, and Leo is leaning against the wall, staring at me.

  “I fainted,” I say, matter-of-factly. I remember a fact I learned in one of my anatomy classes in undergrad. Pregnant women often faint because their blood vessels dilate and their blood pressure decreases.

  Great.

  Leo doesn’t answer me. He just crosses his arms and pushes off of the wall. When I look closer, I see him clicking his jaw.

  He takes the bag and places it on the end of the bed delicately. “Care to explain?”

  My eyes dart from the bag to his eyes. They’re scrutinizing me, narrowing ever so slightly. His mouth is a thin line.

  “I…” I trail off. “What do you mea—”

  “Cut the bullshit, Emilia. Are you pregnant?” His words are clipped, not in anger, but in something else.

  Worry.

  He’s worried about me.

  “I haven’t taken the test yet, but I’m pretty sure.”

  “Take it now,” he orders, walking over and lifting the blanket off of me.

  I sit there, suddenly cold, and stare at him. “Why do you care?”

  He lets out a nervous laugh. “Maybe because you’re pregnant with Jake’s baby, and I’ll be damned if that doesn’t make me insanely possessive and anxious. Because if you are, it means you’re going to have a family with him. With him, not me.”

  His words shatter me. My chest begins to ache. “I don’t know that I am for sure.” I slide out of bed, grab the bag, and walk into the bathroom. “I’ll be back.”

  I follow the directions. I pee on the stick for ten seconds. I decide to use both tests—the odds seem better that way. I wash my hand twice because I accidentally peed on it while trying to hold the stick under the stream. Gross. I pace around the tiny bathroom as the tests develop.

  “Anything?” Leo’s muffled voice startles me from the other side of the door.

  “You’ll be the first to know,” I retort sarcastically. When the timer on my phone sounds a few seconds later, Leo bursts through the door. “Um, hi?” I cross my arms.

  “I couldn’t wait,” he says, licking his lips and watching the tests like a hawk.

  “You’re nervous,” I admonish, grinning. I reach out for the tests and flip them over. My smile vanishes, and I let out a whoosh of air. Confirmed. 99% accurate, indeed.

  “So?” Leo asks, craning his neck so that he can see the tests.

  All I see is my crumbling future. “Pregnant,” I whisper.

  Leo’s face falls when he realizes what I said. “Pregnant,” he repeats, squinting and shaking his head. “And it’s definitely Jake’s?”

  I squawk and swat his arm. “Screw you. Of course it’s Jake’s.”

  Jake’s. The one-night stand. For someone who doesn’t sleep around—for this very reason, mind you—it’s ironic that this is happening to me. It’s like fate’s cruel, twisted joke. As if the universe is saying, Ha! This is what happens when you break your own rules.

  “You have to tell him,” Leo says quietly.

  I nod. “I know. But not right now. I need… a day or two. I’ll go to the doctor, make sure everything looks okay. I must be close to twelve or thirteen weeks…”

  Too late to have it taken care of.

  No. I couldn’t—wouldn’t—do that. Every woman has to make that choice for herself, and as I lean against the counter and place my hands on my stomach, I realize… I’m choosing to keep it. I never thought that would be the case, but something swells inside of me. Something foreign and beautiful, something strong, fierce, and maternal. Maybe I wasn’t prepared, but it’s happening nonetheless. I am growing a human inside of me, and even science—even facts and data—can’t explain the feeling I’m experiencing right now.

  “Do you need anything?” Leo’s voice is unsteady, and as I flick my eyes up to his, I see that he’s still nervous.

  I give him an uneasy smile. “Maybe some ice cream.”

  *

  I’m reading on my Kindle in bed a couple of hours later, unable to sleep, when I hear a soft knock on my door. I throw the covers off and trudge to the door, only to find Leo leaning against the frame. Groaning, I hold it open and gesture for him to come inside.

  “I want to show you some
thing.”

  I cross my arms. “You’ll need to elaborate.”

  He gives me a warm smile. Screw him. “Meet me by the observation deck door in twenty minutes. Dress for outside.”

  “But—” It’s minus eighty degrees out, I want to say. He walks away without responding.

  Once I’m fully clothed for the great outdoors, complete with a hat, gloves, snow pants, and snow boots, I walk to the observation deck exit. I tie a scarf around my nose and mouth. Only an insane person would willingly go outside in these conditions.

  He comes jogging around the corner a minute later, looking just as ridiculous as I do.

  “Close your eyes,” he says, and I stare at him, unconvinced. “Just do it.”

  “Tell me where we’re going.”

  “We’re just going outside. Down to the tundra a bit, but not too far.”

  “Leo, it’s minus eighty fucking degrees out!”

  “Well, just be glad you’re wearing the appropriate clothing then. Now close your eyes.”

  I don’t like where this is going, but I give in and cover my eyes with my gloved hands. He leads me out, and once we get through the transition room and out into the night, I immediately can’t breathe. Every breath feels like nails being driven into my skin. I pull my scarf tighter with my free hand. I’m grateful it’s not windy, meaning I don’t need my snow goggles. Though I’m not convinced my eyeballs won’t freeze.

  I hang on to his arm as we climb down the stairs to the tundra, and I try not to laugh as I stumble. I’d rather not admit that I forgave him this easily.

  “Whatever this is, it better be worth it,” I say. I feel us land on the ice. Our shoes crunch as they carry us away from the station.

  “Trust me, Emilia.”

  “Give me a reason to trust you,” I retort.

  “Ouch.”

  I keep the smirk off of my face as we continue onwards. Where the hell is he taking me?