Chapter 1 - The Orbit of Jupiter
The hot chocolate arrived in three massive mugs, the whipped cream stacked so high it threatened to topple onto the faded vinyl table. Ernie didn't just bring the drinks; he brought a plate of warm, cinnamon-dusted churros, winking at Lily before retreating behind the counter.
For a long moment, the three of us just sat there. The tension Richard had left behind slowly evaporated, replaced by the sugary steam rising from our mugs.
"So," I said, breaking the silence, looking at Lily. "We covered the moon. But what’s your stance on Jupiter?"
Lily wiped a mustache of whipped cream from her upper lip. "Jupiter is the biggest. And it has a giant red spot, which is actually a storm that’s been spinning for like... a million years."
"Three hundred years, actually," Clara corrected softly, her voice still a little tight but warming up. She looked at me, an apologetic smile playing on her lips. "She’s going through an intense astrophysics phase. Last week it was marine biology. The week before that, she wanted to be a professional taxidermist, which was terrifying."
I chuckled, the sound foreign and rusty in my own chest. "Astrophysics is safer. Less formaldehyde."
We spent the next hour talking. Not about the blind date. Not about the jerk who walked out. And definitely not about my empty house or the ghosts waiting for me there. We talked about wood grains, the best way to build a spaceship out of cardboard, and the absolute necessity of marshmallows in winter.
As I watched Clara, I noticed the subtle details. The way her shoulders slowly dropped from her ears. The way she tucked a stray chestnut curl behind her ear when she laughed. She had a laugh that didn't just make a sound; it changed the lighting in the room.
By the time the diner started closing down, Lily was asleep, her head resting on Clara’s lap, the sparkly boots dangling over the edge of the booth.
"I should get her home," Clara whispered, gently stroking her daughter's curls. She looked up at me, the vulnerability returning to her eyes. "Julian... thank you. You didn't have to do this. You gave up your Friday night to sit with a stranger's crying kid."
"I didn't give up anything," I said honestly. "This was the best Friday night I've had in four years."
I pulled a business card from my wallet—thick cardstock, Hayes Custom Woodworking—and slid it across the table.
"I don't expect anything, Clara," I said, keeping my voice low so as not to wake Lily. "But if you ever need a coffee, or if Lily needs help calculating the trajectory of a rocket, call me. Please."
May you like
She took the card, her fingers brushing mine. Her skin was warm. "Thank you, Julian."
I walked them to her car, a battered sedan that had seen better decades. As I watched her taillights fade into the snowy Ithaca night, I realized something terrifying. The deafening silence of my life had cracked. And I wanted to hear more.
