Chapter Twenty-Six

A week later, the Barbanels threw their end-of-summer comet-viewing party.

The lawn, once more, had been transfigured, this time into a cosmic theme done on a galactic level. The tablecloths were a stark white, a striking contrast to the heavy black plates glittering with star maps. The cards for the dishes were the night sky, embossed with gold print. There were iridescent, metallic details everywhere—in the decorations, in the food itself. Dark macarons with flakes of edible gold. Bouquets of blue and purple orchids interspersed with star-shaped ornaments. A dark and gleaming dance floor.

Around the lawn, metallic sculptures of each of the nine planets (the adults were very attached to Pluto) had been placed at estimated scale: the sun, Mercury, and Venus clustered close to the center, the rest scattered on rings further out.

In pride of place stood the telescope, waiting for nightfall. And beyond, a projection screen.

Yesterday, Ethan had knocked on my door, a dazed look on his face. “My parents—they asked me—” He’d plopped himself down on my bed, looking at me with a stunned expression.

“Yeah?” I asked. “Asked what?”

“If we want to share the video at the party. Like, they weren’t doing it as a favor. They weren’t giving me a pat on the back. They like it.”

I didn’t mention how, as of my last check two hours ago, so did four million other people. “That’s great. Right?”

“Right. Yeah. I guess—I’m not used to them paying attention to me. Of being proud of me for more than, you know, existing.”

“Well, they are, and they should be. Tell them we’re in.”

He had, and now we nervously eyed the screen set up at the top of the dance floor, facing the guests and family. “Who knew so much public speaking and performance went into being a researcher?” Ethan said.

“At least this time we can sit here silently.”

“And hold hands.”

I gave him a gentle nudge with my shoulder, unable to keep from smiling. “You’re such a sap.”

Ethan’s grandmother swept by on her way to play MC. As she passed us, her gaze briefly dropped to our intertwined fingers. Her lips twitched, and she gave me an amused nod. I waved.

“Did I ever tell you,” I whispered to Ethan as Mrs. Barbanel gained the attention of the crowd, charming them into silence and laughter, “your grandma said I looked at you like a moonstruck calf?”

Ethan beamed at me. “You’re a sap, too!”

Guilty.

“And now,” Mrs. Barbanel said, “before we turn our eyes to the heavens, let’s first turn our eyes to the screen.” She nodded to Iris, who clicked play. Everyone fell silent at their tables, more than a hundred pairs of eyes focused on the video.

Across the black screen, white letters typed: What Is Gibson’s Comet?

In quick succession, the screen cut to strangers we’d interviewed downtown: a guy in his thirties, an older couple, a twentysomething woman. They all gave different answers.

“It’s…a comet?”

“It’s the comet, right, coming this month.”

“Gibson’s comet is a naked-eye comet with an orbital period of thirty-eight years, next appearing in a few weeks.”

We’d been surprised but deeply appreciative of the twentysomething who gave us that exposition-filled explanation.

Next, across the black screen, the question: Who Was Frederick Gibson?

“Honestly, no clue, but given your last question I assume he’s the guy who discovered Gibson’s comet.”

“The man who named Gibson’s comet?”

“He was an early twentieth-century astronomer who discovered Gibson’s comet.”

Back to the screen: Frederick Gibson is known for having discovered a comet in 1911. And the next question: Who Was Andrea Darrel?

The same people were shown, their answers short and the same.

“Never heard of her.”

“I don’t know.”

“Who?”

Then me. I sat in Cora’s office, wearing my glasses, in front of a bookcase with a few astronomical trinkets arranged aesthetically. “My name’s Jordan Edelman.” My voice blasted from the speakers. “I’m an intern for astrophysicist Cora Bradley. Over the course of this summer, I uncovered a century-old tale about a female astronomer, a stolen discovery, and a romance that ended in heartbreak and betrayal.”

Rose, the writer triplet, sat at the table over from me. She nodded along as the words she’d crafted came from my mouth on-screen, then turned and gave me two thumbs up.

Thank god the video was so short. I couldn’t have taken the agony of me speaking any longer. I focused on the triplets and on the feel of Ethan’s hand around mine as we once more watched the video.

“Andrea Darrel was born on this street on Nantucket, to a fisherman and a homemaker,” I said on-screen, standing in a quaint, windy street downtown. I explained how she’d been inspired by Maria Mitchell to study astronomy at Vassar; Helen Barbanel, in her polished elegant-lady voice, read excerpts of Andrea’s diaries as images from the diaries drifted across the screen.

We laid out what had happened: the astronomy classes, the romance, the engagement, the night when Andrea had written the position of the comet in her diary and woken to find it filed with Harvard under Frederick’s name. The recognition Frederick had received, the welcome with open arms into scientific society, the renown to create his own foundation. The legwork we’d done to figure out what happened. Dr. Trowbridge delivered a clip, too. “My great-grandmother always said she’d discovered the comet. It was an open family secret.”

We cut to a shot of Ethan and me in front of the conference hotel, dressed formally: Ethan in a suit and me in my star-studded dress—the same dress I wore right now. “When we brought our research to the Gibson Foundation, they agreed with us and promised to put out a statement about Andrea’s discovery,” I said, wide-eyed and innocent, before quickly moving on. The less time spent on them, the better.

“Like so many women before her, Andrea Darrel didn’t get credit for her discovery in her lifetime. But her family knew, and celebrated with her,” I said in a voice-over as a photo filled the screen of Andrea Darrel in the 1940s, laughing with her family, a grandchild on her lap. “And we hope this time, as the comet crosses through the skies, everyone will know.”

The video ended with a shot of the last time the comet had passed by Earth. The credits rolled.

Everyone burst into applause. I covered my head with my arms, peeking sideways at Ethan, who grinned at me broadly. “Pretty good,” he said.

“I might be dead now. I think I hate public attention.”

“Well, everyone loves you,” Ethan said. His expression was so bright and gorgeous that though I knew people were looking at us, I didn’t care. I scooted closer to him. Hooking my fingers inside his neckline, I tugged him down and kissed him. Long enough that some of the cousins let out hoots. Laughing, I let go.

“Look at you, you’re blushing,” Ethan said. “You almost never blush.”

I cleared my throat. “I’m overwhelmed and happy and I guess you make me blush.”

“Yeah?” He grinned at me. “Good. I think making you blush is a decent life goal.”

I bit the inside of my cheek so I didn’t smile too hard. “Cool, mine’s going to be revolutionizing the way people think about space debris.”

“I’m happy to be the supportive partner in this relationship.”

This relationship.I studied him quickly. Summer was almost at an end, and we were both headed to separate parts of the country in the next two weeks. It was one thing to date on the island, in the bubble of summer and sea, and another to extend it. Which we both clearly knew, given how we hadn’t talked about it. “Ethan…”

We were interrupted as the triplets bounded up. “It went brilliantly,” Iris announced. “Obviously we already knew it was brilliant from our view count and comments, but this is a very different demographic. A donor demographic, if you will. We should start thinking about future content immediately.”

“Also, we’ve compiled the media requests we want to reply to,” Rose said, pulling up notes on her phone. “A bunch of the big outlets want to interview you. Especially with the Gibson Foundation putting out their statement.”

I froze. “They did? When? What did they say?”

“A few hours ago.” Iris frowned at me, as though to say Where have you been? I did not respond because a few hours ago, I’d been making out with Ethan. “Same thing you did, basically, but tried to make it more about them. Don’t worry. Their public metrics don’t look as good as ours, and we’re still coming up first on search.”

“Um—great?”

“Rose will send you a list of follow-up steps for review,” Iris said, then turned and strode into the crowd, Lily and Rose following, to receive their just rewards. Ethan and I glanced at each other and started laughing as quietly and motionlessly as we could.

All night, people kept coming up to us to congratulate us on the video and to ask questions. “Why did you even decide to investigate?” they wanted to know. “Is the comet’s name going to be changed?”

“I have no idea,” I said, over and over. “I hope so.” And I did, but for once, I was too busy being happy in the moment to worry about the future.

And I was happy, really truly happy. Happy and settled and secure. For the first time in a long time, I didn’t feel like I had to prove I was stable and steady: I felt good. I felt like I had control of what I was doing, like I knew how to take steps to get what I want. Because I’d done that, after all. I’d told my dad about all my anxieties, and I’d gotten a job I loved, and I’d put myself out there with the boy I liked even though it terrified me.

And, it turned out, the more I did things that scared me, the less scary they became. So I turned to Ethan. “Hey. Thought I should tell you. I like you. A lot.”

A grin broke across his face. “I like you a lot, too.”

“And I want to keep dating. Even after we leave Nantucket. I want to stay together, if you want to, too.” I braced myself. Because while I knew it was the right thing to do, to say what I wanted, this was the part where the heartbreak usually came.

But Ethan Barbanel, he didn’t miss a beat. “Cool,” he said. “Because I’ve been thinking. I don’t want to bombard you or anything, but it’s Rosh Hashanah in a few weeks, and the fam plans to do it in New York. If you and your dad want to come. And then Noah says the regatta weekend in Cambridge in October is kinda fun. I could come to Boston then. And in November I’ll have a whole week off for Thanksgiving.”

“Well, look at you.” A grin broke over my face. “Trying to make plans to date me or something.”

“Yeah, you know, I’m organized like that.” He leaned forward and kissed me.

A little later, when night had fully fallen and the waning gibbous moon shone bright among the scattered stars, Cora sat down next to me. “Look what I got an email of.” She turned her phone toward me.

I leaned in. An article with Cora’s name on it filled the screen. I recognized the first paragraph immediately; I’d certainly proofed it enough. “No way! The Harvard Computers article?”

She grinned and nodded. “This is the preview. They’re going to run it in the October issue. If you give me your school address, I’ll send you a copy.”

My school address. “I can’t believe I’m going to college after this.” I gazed up at the night. “It feels so…weird. I can’t wait, but also I can’t imagine what it’ll be like.”

“I hope you’ll love it,” Cora said. “And, selfishly, I hope you’ll stay interested in astrophysics.”

I smiled a little shyly. “I’m taking Physics 1 and the first-year astronomy seminar.”

“Really?” She did a little cheer. “That’s great!”

“Yeah.” I ducked my head. “I wanted to thank you—it’s meant a lot to me, this summer, working for you. I learned a lot.”

Cora gave my arm a squeeze. “I loved having you. You contributed a lot, too. You have tons of passion.”

For a moment, we sat there in companionable silence, watching the partygoers mingling, drinking their blue and purple cocktails, peering through the telescope to catch a glimpse of the comet making its once-every-four-decades pass through our skies.

“Hey.” Cora turned back toward me, her voice suddenly decisive. “How would you feel if I asked your dad out?”

I swear, my eyes bulged out of my head like a cartoon character’s. “Oh my god, are you serious? Thank you.”

She grinned. “I’m not sure ‘thanks’ was the response I was going for, but it seems positive.”

“Yes. Yes! Definitely!” Oh my god. This was possibly more thrilling than anything else this summer.

“Wow, okay,” Cora said, laughing slightly. “A yes, then.”

“Such a yes. The strongest yes.”

When she left, I made a beeline for Ethan, pulling him away from a circle of family friends. “Guess. What.”

“Uh…The people who control comets’ names have acknowledged you’re right and brilliant and formally changed the name?”

“Cora wants to ask out my dad!”

His eyes widened. “Really?”

“Yes. She just told me.” Holding Ethan’s arm, I swiveled both of us, searching the crowd until I found Cora. “Watch.”

“She’s probably not going to do it right now.”

“Maybe she is,” I said. “Cora’s a go-getter.”

Sure enough, Cora made her way to my dad. For a minute, they chatted and laughed, looking impossibly more at ease than they’d looked several weeks ago. Then, for a moment, neither of them said anything. Cora looked away, hands twisting behind her back, before stilling completely. Then she faced Dad and spoke.

His head whipped up, a look of astonishment on his face, which slowly suffused with color. He pointed a finger at himself, and I clutched Ethan’s shoulder.

Cora laughed and nodded, but she held a little tension in her shoulders, her expression uncertain, her smile not as full as usual.

Dad stared at her. I willed him to say something.

“Ow,” Ethan said.

Oops. I unclenched my fingers, which had slowly been driving into Ethan’s flesh. “Sorry.”

And then, across the party, Dad nodded once. A smile broke over his face, and he nodded twice more in rapid succession. We didn’t need to be close to read the one word he said to Cora.

I let out a little shriek of excitement and threw myself into Ethan’s arms. “I did it! Did you see that! They have a date! Or they’re going to have a date. I’m a matchmaker!”

“You’re a menace, is what you are,” Ethan said, a murmur of laugher in his voice. “I think you left bruises.”

“Sorry,” I said again, unrepentant, and pressed my lips to his shoulder. “I’ll kiss them better.”

“And I want some matchmaking credit, too. Who suggested the boat trip?”

“You’re brilliant.” I looped my arms around his neck, reveling in the comfort between us, the spark, how easy it was to be with him and how happy he made me. “We’re both brilliant.”

He laughed. “I’m going to miss you so much. I’m going to miss being able to see you every single day. Going swimming and stargazing with you. And I’m really gonna miss having you right across the hall from me.”

I grinned. “Honestly, I’m kinda surprised we’ve gotten away with being roommates for the last week. Now that all the parentals know we’re dating.”

“True.” He pulled me a little closer. “We should probably take advantage of it as long as we can.”

“I’m down.” I glanced across the lawn, at where the telescope had been set up so party guests could look through it. At the moment, it happened to be free. “But first—you wanna go see a comet?”

“Hell yeah I do.”

Hand in hand, we made our way to the telescope. I focused my gaze through the eyepiece, looking up.

And Andrea Darrel’s comet blazed its way across the night sky.