One (One Universe)

makes me look at my watch. It’s quarter to nine. How long did we spend eating pizza?
    We walk toward the main corridor of the house. Now that it’s dark, I can see that the floor tiles light up as we walk across them. Just as we’re about to step into the darkness, Elias says, “Lights please, Rosie,” and a low, warm glow fills the hallway. My breathing eases. “You’ve seen the other wing,” Elias says. “Just my bedroom, the girls’ bedrooms, and a bathroom. Here,” he motions to the first door on the right, “is the master suite. Nothing else on this side besides a bathroom on the end.”
    “I don’t need to see that,” I say.
    He chuckles. “No. Although the shower in there is pretty sweet.” He turns a handle to the room on the other side of the hall. “Here’s the movie room.” There are rows of leather chairs on a tiered floor, and a huge flat-panel TV suspended against the glass wall. “Rosie, turn on my favorite, huh?”
    The screen glows to life with — of all things — Superman, who pushes his way through the clear, blue sky and fluffy, white clouds. I plop down in a black leather chair.
    “When you just have the TV on, it’s kind of like you’re watching the movie outside,” he says. “Rosie, lights down.” The lights dim, and Elias rolls his eyes, reaches out and taps the wall. “Sorry, Rosie. Lights out.”
    “My apologies, Elias,” Rosie says, and suddenly, the room is pitch black.
    If this evening hadn’t been so strange on its own, this house robot would be seriously weirding me out.
    But soon as the lights go out, the familiar beauty of the outdoors is the only thing I can see or think about. The sky is a deep indigo now, and a few stars wink at me.
    “Oh, yeah,” Elias says, like he read my mind. “The view from here is incredible. Check it out. Kill the screen, Rosie.” The TV dims, and all of a sudden, the sky sparks to life, its intoxicating sapphire studded with a million diamonds. I can see hundreds of stars, and I gasp with the wonder of it.
    Growing up, I would have loved to have had a view like this. But I probably would have laid on the floor of this movie room, staring so long at the hazy-white cloudless summer sky, or the gray and brooding autumn one, or the bright white moon and stars against the black night, that I would never have done anything else.
    I’m totally lost in it until Elias clears his throat. “Rosie, lights please.”
    I realize that my eyes are wet and turn to leave ahead of him so he can’t see.
    We walk further down the hall, and he points to the next door. “This is the music room, and that down there at the end is the gym.”
    I turn the handle to what Elias lamely called “the music room.” He follows right behind me.
    “Lights, Rosie?”
    The room fills with a warm, golden glow, and I look inside. This is no music room — it’s a concert hall. Three of the room’s walls are glass — two sides and the front. Whoever plays in here has the stars or the clouds or the sun itself as their audience.
    The hardwood floor, the color of honey, gleams at me. Even though I’m only wearing rubber-soled flats, my steps echo gently. The acoustics in here are incredible.
    A baby grand piano sits in the center of the room, flanked by three electric guitars, two basses, and the sweetest amps I’ve ever seen. They’re all lined up and waiting for some action. But something more amazing than all that catches my eye. It’s shining and winking at me, I swear, and begging me to come sit and play.
    My freaking dream drum set.
    “Yeah, so that’s boring.” Elias says.
    “Wait,” I say, and it’s the first time I’ve said something bossy that’s also pleading, or nice in any way, in a very long time. Maybe ever.
    I move slowly over to the drum set and sit down, positioning my bony bottom over the seat that’s way too low, adjusting it to meet my body at the right height for playing. I let my hands hover over the spotless cymbals, not even touching them because they’re so perfectly shiny and gorgeous. I stare at the toms, painted a gleaming red, their clear tops unblemished. Never been played. The snares are the same color with star-shaped vents.
    “Wait a minute,” Elias says. “You play?”
    My voice shakes now, and my hands, too. “A little,” I say. “But my set is… Well, it’s not like this.”
    Elias crosses the room and rummages inside a drawer, but the drums are so beautiful that I can’t tear my eyes away