Using my phone for a flashlight, I did my business, washed my face and hands, and brushed my teeth. I ran my fingers through my hair, fixing the damn turkey tail that was the first to spring to attention any time I rested my head. I’d set my phone on the sink, and the white light shining up from below me made me look ghoulish.

The little display informed me that it was 11:00 pm. I had been asleep for at least six hours. I felt recharged and did my best to make myself look that way. I’d filled my purse with my new cosmetics, and I wanted to be beautiful for Finn, but it was almost impossible to see by the light of my phone. When I was done, I peered at myself, holding the phone close to the mirror, hoping I hadn’t made a mess of my face. The upside was that if Finn still liked me after all this, and I still liked him, then we had something. No candlelight dinners and best behavior, no pressed shirts, salon visits, and perfumed hugs. This was us. Real and unplugged.

I found I preferred real. Like I told Finn, I’d been searching for it. There had been so little of it in my life in the last seven years, so little that was genuine and foundational, that I wanted to cling to it, even if it wasn’t pretty. The problem with life is that sometimes it’s hard to know what’s real. I figured it was the reason some people weigh six hundred pounds. Because in that moment, while the food is in front of you, while it is being lifted to your mouth, and then swallowed, that moment when it hits your stomach, that moment is bliss. And it’s real. Sure you feel too full, but being too full is also real.

I turned away from the mirror, slid my belongings back into my purse, and left the restroom, picking my way across the grassy expanse that separated me from Finn. He was crouched down, rolling up the sleeping bags. He saw me coming and paused, looking up at me.

“I woke up and you were gone. I thought maybe you’d been dragged off by the brothers playing catch. I fell asleep to them arguing. It reminded me of me and Fish.”

“Brothers? At eleven o’clock at night?”

“Nah. Hours ago. You ready to roll? We’ve got to drive if we want to make it to Vegas tomorrow.”

I peered down at him, trying to make out his expression in the darkness. I brushed his hair back from his face. He’d taken off the elastic band, and it hung loosely around his shoulders. The strands I touched were damp, and I could smell soap and toothpaste. He must have woken up not long after I did.

“Where are we?” I was talking about our distance from Las Vegas, but I looked up at the stars as I asked him. The stars were brilliant, the night so still and cool that each glittering speck competed for my attention, and I wished I could turn the world upside down and fall into them, snatching them up as I floated by. Curse gravity for keeping me earthbound.

The song I’d been composing since the day before danced through my head, and I added the missing line that I’d been searching for. No matter how I try I’m bound by gravity. That was it. I could hear the melody and feel how my fingers would move across the strings as I sang the words.

“We’re in the center of the universe.” Finn had risen and now stood with his face lifted skyward as well.

“New Mexico is the center of the universe?” That seemed like a much better slogan than Nicest Little Place on Earth. They needed to change their sign.

“If you travel in any direction from this point, you’ll never run out of space.” He didn’t look at me as he spoke, but I’d stopped looking at the stars so I could look at him. “You could be anywhere on Earth, and technically you’d still be the center of the universe. We’re surrounded by infinite space.”

“All that space makes me feel like floating away. And never coming back.” I didn’t mean to sound forlorn, but I suppose I did. It just looked peaceful, and I liked the idea of being surrounded by infinity.

I told him that too, wrapping my arms around him, surrounding him as best I could, but I could tell he was still thinking about me floating away. I always managed to say the wrong thing. He was silent as we loaded our things and left the park.

We flew through the dark as if we owned it—the late hour clearing the roads, the mild weather clearing the skies. And it felt like we were indeed at the center of the universe, the fulcrum, Finn had called it. He’d turned up the music until it made the dashboard shake, listening to me tell him how I was coming “undone,” the title track to my most recent release.

I’ve lost a shoe,

A few buttons are gone

The dress I’m wearing

Has come undone

It’s come undone

But nobody stares

They don’t seem to notice

My shoulders are bare

But I’m coming undone.

Finn flipped the music off abruptly, as if he’d suddenly decided he couldn’t stand the song. Then he looked at me, the dim light from the dash highlighting the angular planes of his face.

“Did you write that song?” he asked.

“I write all my songs. They didn’t trust me on the first full-sized album, the one that came after my Nashville Forever release. Management picked most of the songs and only let me write a couple. The two I wrote out-sold and out-performed their songs in a very big way. My producer decided to let me write a few more on the next album. Same thing happened. On the fourth and fifth albums, I either wrote or co-wrote every song.”

Finn nodded, but I could tell he wasn’t thinking about all my number one hits. “Didn’t anybody wonder about you . . . after they heard that song? Bear, your gran, anyone?”