Atmosphere

by Taylor Jenkins Reid

she was one of the chosen few humans who have ever left this planet.

Human intelligence and curiosity, our persistence and resilience, our capacity for long-term planning, and our ability to collaborate have led the human race here.

Because the world had decided that to be soft was to be weak, even though in Joan’s experience being soft and flexible was always more durable than being hard and brittle. Admitting you were afraid always took more guts than pretending you weren’t. Being willing to make a mistake got you further than never trying. The world had decided that to be fallible was weak. But we are all fallible. The strong ones are the ones who accept it.

“I’m just saying…my wounded pride wouldn’t affect what I believe to be right. Everyone should be free to live their lives, love anyone they choose. I’ve got your back, Goodwin. Okay? That’s what I’m trying to say.”

She could have returned to her tent and tried to fall asleep again. But the back of Vanessa’s body was lit by the brightness of the moon, and Joan walked to her.

“The whole sky makes sense to me now,” Vanessa said. “Because of you.”

This was the woman she loved. And Joan could find no fault with her, no complaint that didn’t, in that moment, feel so small. Joan had not ever believed that God sent down two halves of a soul in separate bodies, destined to meet. She did not believe in a God that could. But she did believe in a God that had led them here. That led their lives to intersect. That led Vanessa to need what Joan had to give. That led Joan to have what she needed.

want to live in a little bungalow with you and if the cabinet door started to feel loose, I would tighten it the moment you said something. And I’d make you anything you wanted for breakfast every weekend morning. And I’d take your name, if I could. Or give you mine.”

“I would give you anything,” Vanessa said, “if it wasn’t going to cost us everything.”

“I can wake up every single day and choose you, over and over and over again. If you’re in bed next to me, I will take your hand. If you are not, I will go find you. I will spend the rest of my life, if I get that lucky, seeking you out. Not because I promised you or because you’re there. But because I will want to. I will want to be beside you. Every day. Forever.”

“Every morning, I wake up and I think, ‘God, yes, her.’ ” Joan smiled and dried her tears. “If that can be enough for you,” Vanessa said, “it’s yours until the day I die.”

“Listen to me,” Joan said. “I was circling two hundred miles above the Earth, and all I wanted was to get home and see you. Do you understand that? Do you understand that I don’t care how big or small this world is, that you are the center of mine? Do you understand that, to someone, you are everything that matters on this entire planet?”

“Listen, Frances Emerson Goodwin,” Joan said, holding Frances by the chin and making her look at her. “I will love you until the day I die, do you hear me? There is nothing you could do or say or think or feel that would change that. I am yours to fall back on, forever. “You make my life worth something. And I can promise you with my entire body that you will never be alone. Every day, you can wake up and go to bed knowing there is someone whose heart is bursting, barely able to contain how much they love you. I know you’re my niece, Frances. But you have always, too, been mine.”

“You are courageous, Vanessa Ford,” Joan says. “Beyond all measure. You have proven yourself to be of stunning character. And I believe your father would be proud.”

“Will you tell Frances that I really wanted to fix the payload bay doors? Will you tell her that I was deeply conflicted?”

“I don’t want her or anyone—I don’t want anyone out there who can hear this right now—to wonder if it’s that I didn’t have anything to live for. I do. Okay? Do you think everyone knows that?”

“Listen. It’s okay. We asked for so much, didn’t we? We wanted to touch the stars, and look what we did. There’s nothing more we could ask from the universe, or this God you always talk about, than that. So it’s okay. It’s fine. Okay, Joan? For me, as long as you all know what you meant to me, it all worked out fine.”

She had asked the world to please let her earn the love of that gorgeous, brilliant astronomer with that beautiful smile. She had asked the world to let her leave a legacy she could be proud of.

“Do you know why I kept saying the best song was ‘Space Oddity’?” Vanessa asks. “Because of your favorite part.” “When he says, ‘Tell my wife I love her very much…’ ” Vanessa says. “And then he says, ‘She knows,’ ” Joan says. “Yeah,” Vanessa says. “That’s it. That’s the best part of that song. But do you think she knows? Do you really think she knows?” “She knows,” Joan says. “She absolutely knows.” “Okay,” Vanessa says. “I can live with that.”

Vanessa had been right; Joan should have told her that. They could not back down. Joan should have told her that she was determined to rail against the world at every turn. She would scream and she would fight against how the world treated people like them, treated anyone on its edges.

They say love isn’t always enough, but Joan knew, in that moment, that it could have been. It could have been for them. She should have told Vanessa that. And that nothing—not even Vanessa not making it home—would ever be able to stop how much Joan loved her. She should have said that. Oh, she should have said that.

to—Joan understands that God gave her something spectacular. A love, and a life, beyond the confines of her imagination. Small, slight, unimportant Joan. Just one person of five billion, on a small planet orbiting a small star, in a humble galaxy, one of billions of galaxies. Joan is so insignificant and yet, look what God had given her. Look at all that God had given her. Look at what no one will ever be able to take away.

Maybe they had not asked for too much. Maybe they would get everything they wanted.