The morning light made Rafi's hair glow like spun gold.

"Lucky Charms was first produced in 1964," he set his phone on the kitchen table. He smirked at me, and crossed his arms with the authority of a man who had never lost a war. "I rest my case."

"What does that even prove?" I tied my left shoe.

"1964 was a peak period for normie drug use. Some advertising exec at General Mills consorted with hippies."

"Scurrilous," I tied my right shoe.

"Scurrilous?" Rafi's voice cracked into giggles. "Nobody would come up with a cereal leprechaun unless they were high."

"Dubious," I stood up. "So how am I going to get work?"

My car, after all, was still parked in the Newton Center's lot.

"Don't," Rafi lifted his arms out toward me. "Stay here."

"I need a job," I sat down on his lap.

"Not that job," Rafi said. "There's gotta be an observatory in California that need a lab assistant or something."

I shrugged.

"The ones attached to schools only really hire grad students enrolled at those schools."

"Well," Rafi said, "why don't you apply for grad school then?"

I shrugged.

"PhD programs are like, six years long. I mean, six years. What if I spend all that time- and come out the program not wanting to touch another telescope ever again?"

Rafi pursed his lips.

"Yeah, I get it," he said. "My frat brothers are going to Wall Street or landing internships in Washington or starting med school in September. I'm not career-oriented, you know? Like, I want a job so I can live. That's it."

"For not being career-oriented, you're going to be making a lot of money," I said, and thought about my twelve-fifty an hour. "Being an engineer or whatever."

This time Rafi shrugged. "I just want my Ashton Martin. Until then," He reached into his pocket, pulled out the keys to his beater Honda Civic and gently shook them. "Your ride awaits, space girl."

***

"Time is weird," Rafi reached across the console and squeezed my hand. "You don't realize things are changing until they already have."

"Pretty philosophical for you," I said.

"My grandma used to tell me that," Rafi squinted at the red light. I wondered what he was looking at. "The older I get, the more my life proves that to be true."

I didn't know what to say to that. So I said nothing.

"You know," the light turned green and Rafi tapped the gas. "I bet you took basically the same classes at school as me."

"Yeah, probably," I said. "Most of my courses were cross-listed with engineering."

"So why don't you apply to an entry-level engineering job?" He glanced at me. "You'd feel better about yourself if you actually got to use that beautiful brain of yours."

"I don't have an engineering degree-"

"You can do the work, though," Rafi said. "Better than I could."

"It doesn't matter. I don't have the degree. Who would hire me without the-"

"But you have a degree, a closely-related degree," Rafi argued. "We've got a STEM shortage, right? They'd be stupid not to at least give you an interview."

"There are these things called applicant tracking systems-" I began.

"All it takes is one moment," Rafi slipped his hand from mine and took the steering wheel as we made a left turn into the Newton Center's parking lot. "One person sees something in your resume. And your life changes."

"That only happens to lucky people." I said.

"You believe in astrology, now?" Rafi put the car in park.

"What?"

"You believe those stars up there control your destiny? Who's lucky, who's not?"

"No," I said, "of course not."

"Then how can you say you won't be lucky?"

I unsnapped my seat belt and reached for the car door handle. Rafi set his hand on my wrist.

"You met me, after all." He smiled. "I'd call that pretty lucky."

"Your modesty is astounding." I climbed out of his car. He followed after me.

"I got to go to work now," I said.

"I know," he tugged on my polo shirt collar. I leaned forward and he kissed me. In twenty minutes the center would open. I could have lost my job, had there been children around. This was PDA in a parking lot. This was redneck romance. And yet, somehow, it was totally fine.

"Just think about it, okay?" Rafi said, his nose still brushing mine, his arms around my waist.

"I will," I lied, and kissed him again.

***

"Mary-Beth," Dr. Moreno stopped me on the way out of the coatroom. "I saw you out there in the parking lot."

My face felt hot.

"I know, I'm sorry- he was just dropping me off, I-"

Dr. Moreno broke into a wide grin and pulled me by my shoulders closer to her, as if she was going to whisper something girly and work-inappropriate.

"He's reasonably in shape!" she beamed. "He has all his teeth!"

"What?"

"Those aren't veneers, right?" she asked.

"No, those are his teeth," I confirmed.

"What drugs does he do?" she asked. "Fentanyl?"

"Uh, only weed?"

"Not even cigarettes?" she looked surprised. "No chew?"

"Nada." I said.

"But does he vape?" her lips curled in disgust.

"Nope," I said and her eyes bugged.

"MARY-BETH," she slapped my shoulder. "He's a keeper!"

"Uh," I said.

"How did you find a man like that in this town?" She locked arms with me as we walked toward the planetarium. "Listen. Whatever you do, never let him leave you."

"We just started dating," I said. "It's a casual thing-"

"My husband is leaving me," Dr. Moreno nodded to herself. "He wants to go to an acrobatics school in Prague. He says he's given up on America-"

"Oh woah," I cringed. "I'm sorry-"

"I was just parked there, wondering whether my Volvo could withstand a trip through the Newton Center's greenhouse windows, and I saw you necking that handsome stranger."

"Oh, you drive a Volvo? My aunt drives a-"

"You give me hope, Mary-Beth," Dr. Moreno said. "If someone like you can land someone like him, maybe there's life after death."

"Excuse me?" I stopped in front of the planetarium doors.

"I just mean," she said, "maybe there's more than this angry screaming void of sex and violence and intoxication. Maybe there's a grand design."

"I really don't think there's a grand design." I said. I tried not to think about Buzzfeed.

"I'm going to go to church now," Dr. Moreno grabbed me in a deranged bear hug. She smelled like whiskey. I wriggled free.

"Keep the faith, Mary-Beth," she pinched my cheek. "Keep the faith."

"Okay," I said, and escaped into my planetarium.

I climbed down the amphitheater stairs and updated the "days to eclipse" counter on the whiteboard by my podium. And as I wrote a bubble-font four, I became overcome with an irresistible dread. 

Somehow, someway.  This eclipse was going to hurt. I didn't want it to hurt. 

My phone buzzed in my back pocket. Four iMessages.  Abby.

Fucking Buzzfeed says I would be Scott Disick if I were a Kardashian. Like dafuck.

Am I supposed to accept this as the truth? 

They have to be wrong.

 I'm gonna prove them wrong.

I couldn't text back quick enough.

I'm down. Let's fuck up Buzzfeed. 

***