Some nights it’s Raj and Meera. They tell her about the customers at the tea room, about how it is not the same without her. There is still space being left for her in Portland, and she feels it through the phone, even though they are miles apart.

“We miss you, Space Girl,” Ximena says, and the sentiment echoes from the other voices with her. Grace sticks her head out of Yuki’s window and looks at the moon and thinks, It is the same one. We are all under the same one. “Love you,” and the words echo again.

“So much it hurts,” Grace tells them. When Grace needs it again, the words and the feelings from home, they will be there.

Most mornings, she wakes up in Yuki’s bed to sunlight and the smell of pressed petals. Yuki lies next to her, and when Grace reaches out, she can touch. The girl in the bed is tangible. Grace traces the blooming flower behind her ear as she sleeps.

This morning, Yuki is still asleep while Grace reads her email. The “Dear Applicant, your application for the position of DATA SCIENTIST at the GIDEON SCIENCE INSTITUTE has been reviewed. You were a highly qualified candidate, but unfortunately we have—” lights up the screen. She does not read on to see why her high qualifications do nothing to even get her in for an interview.

She swipes it away angrily, and it disappears from her inbox. Good riddance.

She knew the Gideon Science Institute by reputation. They were one of the few in the field that prided themselves on diversity in science. They had a mentoring partnership with two of their local public schools. The vice president was the first Latina woman in a leadership position. They had women astronomers of color with long lists of achievements in conjunction with the institute’s work. They were a good company.

They employed one Black astronomer and had no Black people on their executive board. Grace almost wishes she could swipe the email to hell again.

Instead, she sets her phone to the side. She has an idea, better than giving more energy to this new rejection, and this idea requires Yuki be awake. Yuki’s body goes squished and soft when she curls up in her sleep. Grace’s eyes roam over the hills and valleys and wonders how long it would take to explore all of its terrain. Longer than the summer? Months beyond? Years?

“You’re staring at me,” Yuki murmurs, opening one eye. “Like what you see?”

Yes, Grace thinks. I want to look at you. I want to touch you. I want to kiss you, my good thing. I want to replace the bitter taste of rejection on my tongue with your acceptance.

“Can I kiss you?” Grace asks, propping up on one elbow. “You’re just—”

Yuki smirks, closing her eyes again. “I’m just what, Grace Porter? Don’t be shy.”

Her teasing words are warm. “Shut up,” Grace says. “You know you’re hot.”

“Oh, I’m hot, huh?” Yuki stretches, all of that skin beneath her T-shirt and sleep shorts on display. “You should probably kiss me, then, before I get scooped up by someone else that wants to marry me after a few drinks.”

“Probably,” Grace says. She leans over Yuki, feels her body heat and heaving chest. Her face is bare and wrinkled with sleep. Grace’s honey curls tumble between them, reaching out like tendrils.

Grace kisses her. She is afraid, terrified, but she is also a Porter. So, she kisses Yuki, who tastes like sleep and salt thrumming heat. Grace’s fingers skim over Yuki’s ribs, her dimpled thighs, her soft dough belly. It is their first kiss since that night in the desert, and Grace sinks to the bottom of the ocean with her siren, and the water does not burn her throat.

When they pull back, Grace reaches for her phone again. “I have an idea,” she says. “Well, Meera had an idea. Have you ever been here?” She shows Yuki the screen.

“The Rose Center for Earth and Space,” she reads. “I’ve never been there. You want to go?”

Grace looks down. She picks at the skin on her wrist, little starbursts of pink and red that ground her and distract from her vulnerability. “I want to go with you,” she says. “You have your radio show. I have—” she gestures broadly “—this.”

“Okay, Sun Girl,” Yuki says, rolling to her feet. “Let’s go, then.”

On the train, Yuki situates herself behind Grace. “What are you—” she starts to ask, but then there’s Yuki’s warm hands at her waist, Yuki’s nervous, uneven breath in her ear, all while she tries to keep them steady.

“Is this okay?” Yuki asks, and though no one in this crowded train car is paying them any attention, Grace feels like they have a blinking sign over them. Look Here, it says.

Grace nods, voice caught. She keeps her eyes on the window, and in the reflection, she can see Yuki’s short black hair, her glittering eyes, her chin resting in the dip of Grace’s shoulder. She watches Grace and holds her when she jerks at a sudden lurch. She catches her, like one could catch a falling star if they stood in just the right spot.

“Got you,” Yuki says, and she leads Grace to their destination.

The Rose Center for Earth and Space is a joy. Grace holds Yuki’s hand tight and leads her down their Cosmic Pathway and the Hall of the Universe. They sit in the Hayden Planetarium, and Yuki leans across the chairs to settle in Grace’s lap. Grace finds herself rambling in awe about the Digital Universe Atlas, whispering about the star clusters and nebulae and hungry galaxies.