The plaque on Mama’s desk read “Delilah Wolfe-Chan, Prof. of Astrophysics.” But I knew the truth: my mother was the bearer of all the world’s knowledge. After all, who else knew the names of every star in the sky, let alone the schedule of every public bus in San Francisco? Who else could cook dinner with one arm while editing textbooks with the other? Even while sleeping, the veins in Mama’s forehead bulged, like ropes straining to hold her mind in place. Mama would sometimes read her red-inked work to us. Supernovas, parsecs, wormholes—Papa and I nodded along. To eight-year-old me, she may as well have been reading fairy tales. Forget lightyears—just leaving my city seemed an impossibly long journey. Still, I made no fuss when she lectured me on paying attention in math class, or explained time dilation while washing my hair ("Judy, sweetie—imagine that the tub drain is a black hole."). I listened with as much attention as I could muster, letting her calm, raspy voice flow into my mind. Maybe some day I could be as smart as her, I figured. "You can do better," said Grandma. She'd lived in California for forty years at that point, but Shanghai survived in her accent. Her words came out slow but jagged. The monthly dinner conversation. Mama nodded. "Yes, [i]Mā.[/i] I know." I watched them like a tennis match. "When my friends ask what you do, I do not wish to say.” Grandma’s sagging jowls made her look like a bulldog. “It seems a waste.” “C’mon, Lin,” Papa said, chewing. “Say what you want about USF, but teaching’s a fine job.” “Yeah,” I squeaked. I’d never butted into these conversations. “She’s a totally great teacher.” My contribution hung. I saw Mama’s smile. “I never said she is not." Grandma's eyes lingered on Mama. “But we did not send you to school for you to stay there. You are better.” Mama’s smile didn’t last. She stared at her food. “Yes, Mā.” That night, after Grandma returned to her condo, I sat awake in bed. In the chair next to me, Mama read [i]Harry Potter[/i] aloud, slowly, softly. Too softly. Gaining the courage to speak took half a chapter. But between descriptions of Hogwarts’ magic mirror, I threw down the words: “Grandma's wrong.” Mama froze. Then, she dogeared the page and closed the book. “About what?” “You’re not a waste.” I gripped the blanket. “You’re super smart.” “Grandma knows I’m smart. That’s why she’s angry with me,” Mama said. “She thinks I should've left the city and cured cancer or something. Anything but teach.” She stared out the window, studying the skyline. “She just wanted the best for me.” “But you wanted to be a teacher?” “No.” That left a black hole of silence in the room. “Oh,” I said, queasy. “Then what did you want to be?” “Y'know. Doctor. Astronaut.” Mama shrugged and offered me a smile. “But then I got an offer to intern at USF, and one thing led to another, so... it all worked out.” “But do you wish it hadn’t?” I asked. “If you went back, would you work someplace else?” Mama furrowed her brows—then turned towards me. “Have I ever explained multiverses to you?” I shook my head, and she grinned. “According to this theory, there are an infinite number of other universes, just like the one we live in—but with tiny changes. Like, one where I don’t wear glasses.” “Or where my hair is blonde, not black,” I said. “Right. Or: one where I did leave San Francisco, and became an astronaut, or whatever.” Mama shook her head. “Maybe that Delilah is better off—rich, famous.” She smiled at me. “But I met Papa working at USF. So that Delilah doesn’t have him. That Delilah doesn’t have [i]you.[/i]” “That’s not a tiny change,” I said. Mama laughed. “No, it’s not!” She leaned down and hugged me. “We don’t need to worry about what Grandma says, or what the other Delilah is doing. I love you so much, I would destroy every other universe just to see you smile.” My eyes widened. “You can do that?” “Well, no. Scientists haven’t even proved multiverses exist, much less how to destroy one.” “Oh.” “But who knows?” Mama said, reopening [i]Harry Potter[/i]. “Maybe one day, you’ll be the one who proves the theory.” Giggling, I wriggled under the covers. That night, I imagined the future, with Mama and I standing together, reading stardust-laced fairy tales to the world.