Chapter Text
The thing about living in the Pullman house was that love was never absent.
It was just… directional.
Like sunlight through a magnifying glass. Hot enough to burn in one concentrated spot while everything around it stayed cold.
Or maybe not cold. That wasn’t fair.
Dimmer.
Via sat cross-legged on Miranda’s bedroom floor while the rain hammered against the window air conditioner. The whole room smelled faintly like old nail polish and microwave popcorn. Miranda’s mother was downstairs shouting at the television in Spanish, and some game show audience erupted into canned applause beneath the noise of thunder.
Miranda was sprawled upside down across her bed, dark curls hanging over the edge as she painted her toenails electric blue.
“You’re doing the face again,” Miranda said.
Via blinked. “What face?”
“The one where you look like someone just told you Santa isn’t real.”
“I don’t make a face.”
“You absolutely make a face.”
Via rolled her eyes and reached for the bowl of popcorn between them. “You’re dramatic.”
“Yeah,” Miranda said. “But I’m also right.”
That was the problem with Miranda.
She noticed things.
Not in the fake way adults noticed things. Not like teachers who tilted their heads and said, You seem quiet today, when what they really meant was Please continue functioning normally so I don’t have to deal with this.
Miranda noticed like she was collecting puzzle pieces no one else could see.
Via leaned back against the bed frame.
Outside, headlights dragged through the rain in silver streaks. Somewhere downtown, there was probably another hospital fundraiser happening. Another event with smiling doctors and glossy pamphlets about craniofacial abnormalities and brave little boys with astronaut helmets.
Auggie had become sort of famous for that picture.
Not actual famous. But enough that strangers smiled at him differently now.
Enough that people looked at her family like they were inspirational.
Enough that Via sometimes felt guilty for being tired.
“You disappeared at lunch again,” Miranda said casually.
Via shrugged.
Miranda capped the nail polish bottle. “Okay. Cool. Great talk.”
“I was studying.”
“You were hiding in the auditorium.”
Via looked up sharply.
Miranda smirked without opening her eyes. “See? Told you. Face.”
“You stalk me now?”
“I was looking for you because you ditched me.”
“I didn’t ditch you.”
“You vanished.”
Via opened her mouth, then shut it.
Because Miranda wasn’t wrong.
Lately, disappearing felt easier than explaining herself.
At school, everyone either knew who Auggie was or wanted to know. Teachers asked about him constantly. Kids remembered the stories from middle school. Some called him amazing. Some called him brave.
Nobody ever meant anything bad by it.
That almost made it worse.
Via twisted a piece of popcorn between her fingers.
“When my mom picks me up now,” she said quietly, “people stare at the car.”
Miranda tilted her head.
“They recognize her,” Via continued. “Like she’s someone important because she has Auggie.”
She laughed once, but there wasn’t anything funny in it.
“And I’m just… there.”
The room went quiet except for the rain.
Miranda sat up slowly.
“Via—”
“No, it’s okay,” Via said quickly. “I know it sounds horrible.”
“It doesn’t.”
“It does.”
“It really doesn’t.”
Via swallowed.
She stared at the carpet because it was easier than looking at Miranda directly.
“My parents love me,” she said carefully, like she was reciting something she’d practiced. “I know they do.”
Miranda didn’t interrupt.
“But sometimes it feels like…” Via struggled for the words. “Like they used all the important parts already.”
The sentence hung there.
Heavy.
Immediate regret curled through her stomach.
She shouldn’t have said that aloud.
Good daughters didn’t think things like that.
Good sisters definitely didn’t.
Auggie hadn’t asked to be born the way he was. He hadn’t asked for surgeries or stares or cruel kids or hospital rooms that smelled like bleach and plastic.
He deserved every ounce of love he got.
That was the problem.
There was never any left over.
Miranda slid off the bed and sat beside her on the floor.
Their shoulders touched.
“You know what your family is?” Miranda asked softly.
Via huffed out a laugh. “A psychological experiment?”
“No.” Miranda leaned her head against the bed frame. “You know astronauts?”
Via frowned. “What?”
“Just answer.”
“Sure.”
“Auggie’s the astronaut.”
Via blinked.
“Okay…”
“He’s the one everybody watches,” Miranda continued. “He’s the one floating through space while everyone on Earth freaks out about whether he’s okay.”
Something tightened painfully in Via’s chest.
“And your parents,” Miranda said, “they’re mission control.”
Via stared at her.
“They spend all their time looking up,” Miranda finished quietly. “Making sure he survives.”
The rain softened outside.
For a second, neither of them spoke.
Then Miranda nudged her knee lightly.
“And you,” she said, “are the moon.”
Via snorted before she could stop herself. “What does that even mean?”
“You’re always there.”
“That’s not exactly poetic.”
“No, listen.” Miranda turned toward her fully now. “The moon keeps orbit. The moon controls tides. The moon pulls things toward it without even trying.”
Via shook her head.
“You’re reaching.”
“I’m serious.”
Miranda’s expression had gone strangely earnest.
“They don’t notice you because they think you’ll always be there,” she said. “Not because you matter less.”
The words landed harder than Via expected.
Because they sounded true.
And because truth didn’t always help.
Via looked down at her hands.
“They missed my play last month.”
Miranda’s face fell slightly.
“They said they were sorry,” Via continued. “And they were. I know they were. But Auggie had an appointment, and then he got sick after, and Mom stayed with him and Dad forgot the time and…” She shrugged helplessly. “It’s always something.”
Miranda was quiet.
Via laughed under her breath.
“The stupid thing is, I wasn’t even surprised.”
That was the part that hurt most.
Not the missing.
The expectation of it.
Like some tiny part of her had already learned not to hope too loudly.
Downstairs, Miranda’s mom shouted again at the television. A buzzer sounded. Someone lost money.
Life kept going.
Miranda reached over suddenly and stole the popcorn bowl from Via’s lap.
“You know,” she said, “if you were ugly and annoying, this would all be easier.”
Via barked out a startled laugh.
“I’m serious,” Miranda said. “Then I could just be like, wow, yeah, sorry, your life sucks.”
“Thanks.”
“But instead you’re all tragic and smart and weirdly pretty in an indie movie kind of way.”
“An indie movie?”
“Yeah. Like you own too many sweaters and listen to sad music in coffee shops.”
“I do not.”
“You absolutely do.”
Via smiled despite herself.
Miranda grinned triumphantly.
“There,” she said. “Human emotion. I did it.”
Via shook her head.
“You’re insane.”
“Probably.”
The storm outside deepened again, rain tapping hard against the windows like fingertips.
Via leaned back and closed her eyes.
She could picture home perfectly without even being there.
Her mom sitting at the kitchen table surrounded by medical paperwork.
Her dad trying to make Auggie laugh during homework.
The soft glow of the hallway light outside Auggie’s room because he hated sleeping in total darkness.
Orbit.
Everything in that house revolved around keeping Auggie safe.
And Via understood why.
That was the worst part.
She understood all of it so well it made her angry.
“You know what I hate?” she asked suddenly.
Miranda looked over.
“I hate when people call my parents saints.”
Miranda nodded once.
“Because they aren’t,” Via said. “They’re just parents. They love their kid.”
“And you.”
Via hesitated.
“And me,” she echoed softly.
But the words felt fragile.
Like glass.
Miranda studied her for a long moment.
Then she stood abruptly.
“Come on.”
“What?”
“We’re leaving.”
“In the rain?”
“Yes, in the rain.”
“Why?”
“Because you’re doing the sad eye thing again.”
“That’s not a thing.”
Miranda pointed accusingly. “It absolutely is.”
Twenty minutes later they were running through wet Brooklyn streets sharing one umbrella that barely worked.
Miranda had music blasting from her phone speaker badly enough that the sound crackled. Cars hissed through puddles beside them.
Via laughed breathlessly as Miranda dragged her across the street before the light changed.
“You’re going to get us killed!”
“What a cool obituary though!”
“You are deeply concerning!”
“Yet lovable!”
They ducked beneath the awning of a tiny corner deli, soaked nearly through.
Miranda pushed dripping curls out of her face.
“There,” she declared. “Adventure.”
Via laughed again, chest aching with it now.
Not the painful ache.
Something lighter.
The deli owner eyed them suspiciously while Miranda bought two hot chocolates with crumpled dollar bills from her backpack.
They sat on the curb outside beneath the awning while rain flooded the street.
Steam curled from Via’s cup.
Miranda nudged her shoulder.
“You know what your problem is?”
Via sighed. “I’m sure you’ll tell me.”
“You think being needed is the same thing as being loved.”
Via went still.
Miranda stared out at the rain as she spoke.
“Your parents need Auggie,” she said softly. “But that doesn’t mean they love him more.”
Via swallowed hard.
“That’s easy for you to say.”
“No,” Miranda said. “It’s easy for you to believe otherwise.”
The rain filled the silence after that.
People passed beneath umbrellas. Headlights blurred gold against wet pavement.
Via thought about hospital waiting rooms.
About sitting alone at school plays.
About birthdays interrupted by emergency calls.
About her mother brushing hair from Auggie’s forehead like the entire world might collapse if she stopped paying attention for even one second.
Astronaut.
Moon.
Orbit.
Maybe Miranda was right.
Maybe love in her family wasn’t missing.
Maybe it was just gravitational.
Pulled violently toward the place where things kept threatening to fall apart.
And maybe Via had become so used to surviving quietly that everyone assumed she always would.
Miranda bumped her knee again.
“What?” Via asked.
“You’re doing the face.”
Via groaned.
“Oh my God.”
Miranda grinned into her hot chocolate.
“I’m just saying. Very tortured heroine.”
“You watch too many movies.”
“You love that about me.”
Via opened her mouth automatically.
Then paused.
Because she did.
She loved Miranda’s loudness. Her certainty. The way she filled silence before it could become loneliness.
Miranda looked at her then.
Really looked at her.
Not at Auggie’s sister.
Not at the dependable daughter.
Just Via.
And suddenly the world felt less far away.
Like maybe someone finally saw the moon too.
The thought scared her a little.
Because moons were easy to leave behind.
Astronauts kept moving.
That was what they did.
Via looked down at the rainwater rushing along the curb.
“If I’m gonna lose you either way,” she murmured absentmindedly.
Miranda frowned. “What?”
“Nothing.”
But the feeling stayed there anyway.
Small and sharp beneath her ribs.
Because people grew up.
People drifted.
Miranda talked constantly about California and theater programs and escaping New York winters forever.
And Via—
Via didn’t even know who she was outside of orbiting someone else.
The city blurred around them in silver rain and neon reflections.
Miranda leaned her head briefly against Via’s shoulder.
Warm.
Temporary.
Human.
“You know,” Miranda said quietly, “even astronauts need the moon.”
Via stared out at the storm.
Then finally, slowly, she let herself believe it might be true.