Her Name in the Sky by Kelly Quindlen Read Free Book Online

goodbye to the boys and to Joanie—“Don’t come home too late,” Hannah tells her, “I don’t want another joint lecture from Mom”—and then they make their way through the house, their classmates parting for them like the two halves of the Red Sea, everyone begging them to stay, to have one more drink, to listen to one more song.  
    Baker drives them down moonlit, oak-towered streets. They drive in peaceful silence, carrying the emotions from the party in their stomachs and their lungs. Hannah looks through the windshield and begs the sky that her life will always be like this—large and loud and brimming with youth, but always followed by the quiet drive home and the promise of ending the night with her favorite person in the world.
    The house is dark and silent when they walk inside, but Hannah’s mom has left the kitchen light on for them. Hannah pulls the cooking pot out from under the stove while Baker pulls out bowls and silverware, and then Baker hops up on the counter, tapping her bare heels against the yellow kitchen cabinets, while Hannah stands at the stove and turns the heat up so the water will boil.
    “How do you think they choose the shapes?” Baker asks.
    “What?”
    Baker holds up the macaroni and cheese box. Scooby Doo smiles in all his dopey cartoon glory, and Baker points at him and repeats her question.
    “Maybe there’s a secret society,” Hannah says with mock seriousness, “of people whose sole job is to choose the shapes for kids’ macaroni.”
    “You think so?”
    “Oh, yeah. They spend their nights agonizing about whether Dora the Explorer or Superman would make a better macaroni noodle. And if they make the right choice, they get an award trophy that says, ‘Congrats, You Really Used Your Noodle!’”
    “But who gives the award trophy?” Baker asks with equal mock seriousness. “Who gets to decide whether they chose the right noodle or not?”
    “Children, obviously. Don’t you read?”
    Baker laughs and tosses the macaroni box at her. “Tend to our food, brat.”
    “Get me the milk and the butter, brat.”
    Hannah pours the macaroni into the pot and stands still while the steam rises to her face. She watches the water dance around in an always-changing formation of bubbles while the macaroni lays helpless on the bottom of the pot, sunk forever by the laws of density.
    “Milk,” Baker says, hoisting the gallon jug onto the countertop, “and butter.”
    Hannah says nothing in response, just stands above the stove and watches the water boil. And then Baker comes to stand behind her and hugs her around her middle, and suddenly the steam from the pot spreads all over Hannah’s body, settling into the hammock of her torso and finding its way to her ears and fingertips. She feels Baker’s touch everywhere, and when Baker drops her head onto Hannah’s shoulder and watches the boiling water with her, Hannah’s heart climbs in her chest and peeks out over the water too.
    “Can we still do this when we’re in college?” Baker asks, her voice bare.
    Hannah nods very carefully, not wanting to betray her insistent heart or the steam inside of her. Then Baker turns her head—Hannah can sense it with every nerve inside of her—and kisses Hannah’s cheek. Hannah stills all over, begging the steam not to spill out, begging her heart to stay balanced where it is, until Baker moves away from her, as casual as a breeze on the bayou, and opens the refrigerator.
    Hannah picks up the ladle for something to do and swirls the macaroni around the pot. Her body feels flushed all over, but she answers as nonchalantly as she can when Baker asks her if she wants some Coke.
    “Sure,” she says. “But is there any caffeine-free? I don’t want my heart to start racing.”
    They fall into bed with their stomachs full of macaroni and cheese and their teeth coated with sugar from their Coca-Colas. Baker wears one of Hannah’s old t-shirts—the softest, best-loved one—and a pair of