Space Age- Houston, Prepare for Launch

by Sara L. Hudson

  That gets a grudging smile from her. “Damn straight, I am.”

  We work our way through our simulation check list. An hour later we’re done, having run through it three times.

  “So.” I power down the module. “You free this weekend?”

  She gives me her patent Julie Star smirk. “I know you just got done telling me how awesome I am, Doc, but I just don’t swing that way. You’ve got to move on.”

  I ignore her. “I’m having a small party for the animal shelter, fire station and photography students as a thank you for all their hard work on the calendar. The calendar will be ready on Saturday, so I thought it would be a good time to unveil it.” We make our way through the Unity and then the Destiny modules. “I booked one of the conference rooms at Space Center Houston.”

  Jules heads to the exit. “I take it all the delicious fireman will be in attendance?”

  I snort. “Yes. And most likely their wives too.”

  “Oh yeah. They’re all married or practically. That blows.” She hops down from the mock-up. “Except your boy, Ryan. I should go to the party just to vet him some more.” I must make a face, because Jules drops her smirk with a look of concern. “Whoa. Did I just hit on the death in the vag thing?”

  Two people walking onto the floor stop and look up at us, startled expressions on their faces.

  “Oh my God. Stop saying that,” I force out through clamped teeth.

  “Whatever.” She waves away my outrage. “Did fire boy do something? Do I need to kick his ass?”

  Resolved to have this conversation, I try lowering my voice. “He lied.” I shrug it off, though the sting is still there. “I ended it.”

  She climbs down the metal staircase. “What the hell did he lie about?” She pauses, looking at me with wide eyes. “He’s not married too, is he?”

  I jerk back. “No. Of course not.”

  She frowns, thinking. “He really is a fireman, right?”

  “Yes, Jules. He’s a fireman.” We make it to the floor. “Kind of hard to lie about that when we saw him help put out the fire at the clinic.”

  “Oh yeah.” She elbows me in the boob. “Then what the fuck?”

  “The fuck,” I grit, rubbing my boob, “is that he is twenty-freaking-eight years old.” A few of the engineers working on the NASA Robnaut look pointedly at my hand. I quickly drop it, my face heating.

  “So?”

  “So?” My voice a higher pitch than normal. “He said he was only one or two years younger than me. I’m thirty-six. Last I checked there are more than two numbers between twenty-eight and thirty-six.”

  “Did he know you were thirty-six?” She gives me a once over. “’Cause you look younger. I didn’t even know that until I asked you outright when we met. Maybe he was confused.” She nods like she just solved the riddle of life.

  “I told him when he asked me out the day of the fire.”

  “Why would you volunteer your age when someone asks you out? That’s weird.”

  I throw my hands in the air. “You just admitted that you asked me my age when we met.”

  “Yeah, but that was because you’re in charge of my health. I can’t have some young gun, Doogie Howser keeping my vitals in check for space exploration.” Eyes wide, she shakes her head at me. “Duh.”

  “That’s not—” I run a hand down my face. I don’t know how the rest of the crew doesn’t kill her when they are all trapped inside the ISS for months at a time. One of the many reasons I do not want to be an astronaut. “You’re missing the point. He lied to me.”

  “So?”

  I tilt my head back and yell in frustration, onlookers be damned. I have never felt so unprofessionally close to hitting someone in my life.

  Jules rests a hand on my arm, her voice gentler than I’ve ever heard it. “Doc. I know I give you shit, but seriously, so what? So he’s a few years younger? So he lied about it? If a dude I liked immediately threw down his age like it was some sort of hurdle or requirement for him to date me, I’d probably lie too.” She pauses. “Although, to be honest, I’m not sure that would ever happen. Everyone wants to date me. Even you.”

  A laugh escapes me.

  “That’s better.” Then Jules surprises me even more when she braces both hands on my shoulders and looks me straight in the eyes, sincerity written all over her face. “Now tell me. Why is him being younger than you such a big deal?”

  My shoulders rise and fall under her hands. “I want to get married.”

  She removes her hands so fast I nearly fall forward. “What? Why?” Her tone is laced with disgust. She checks her hands like I gave her marriage cooties.

  I laugh again. “Because I want a family. I want a husband and kids and midnight feedings and carpool lanes.”

  Jules shakes her head, like she’s trying to jostle what I said into making sense. “Okay, okay. Moving past that. You’re saying Ryan doesn’t want these things?”

  I nibble on my lip. “No, he does.”

  Jules’ nostrils flare in the beat of silence that follows. She may be close to tit punching me again.

  “But he’s young,” I continue before she can bruise my other boob. “He says he wants all that, but that could change. That’s what young people do.”

  “Rebecca, the guy is twenty-eight, not eighteen. He’s an adult.”

  “My dad was thirty-two and he still left.” We step back, both surprised by the venom in my voice.

  “Ah.” Jules nods her head in understanding. “Yeah, dads do have a way of fucking things up.”

  “Your dad left?”

  “Oh hell no.” The scoffing noise she makes lacks any trace of amusement. “He’s General freaking Starr, an American war hero. The embodiment of the American dream and all that is secure and good in this nation. Like apple pie and Andy Griffin. He has the doting wife, two kids and even a golden retriever. There will be no breaking ranks. Divorce is not an option for a man like General Starr.”

  “Oh.” I frown, thinking over what she said about dads ruining things. “Then, I don’t get what you meant by—”

  “Eh.” She waves my words away. “Another day. Basically, it all boils down to the important roles parents play in our lives, whether for good or bad.” She turns, pulling me into her side as we exit Building 9. “Let me ask you this: How old is old enough not to leave?”

  Deja vu. “Ryan asked me the same thing.”

  “And you said?”

  “Nothing. I couldn’t answer.”

  “Exactly.” She points at me, going full lecture mode. “The divorce rate is something like fifty percent. There is no guarantee in relationships or marriage.” Her head tilts in thought. “Come to think of it, there’s no guarantee in life at all. But I do know that two people who have the same goals in life?” She looks at me for confirmation and I nod. “Great sexual chemistry?” I nod again, this time with a smile. “And love each other?” Another nod.

  My mind takes a second to catch up with what I just admitted. I freeze on the sidewalk.

  Jules pats me on the shoulder and aims a cunning smile at me. “Well, those people have a better chance than anyone. Age be damned.”

  When I continue to stand there, dumbfounded, Jules throws her arm around me again and gets me moving.

  “Come on, hooker. We got to go see a man about your vagina.”

  Ryan

  “Are you done being a mopey bitch?”

  Lying on my bottom bunk with my hands under my head, I simply drop my head to the right to see Rich standing a few feet away.

  “Does Ana know you’re using a female dog as a derogatory word? Why not just dog? Why does it have to be a girl dog that’s mopey? You’re so sexist. So much for shutting down the patriarchy.”

  His eyes narrow. I may have laid it on a bit too thick. “Fine. No more words then.” He steps forward and backhands my nuts.

  “Fuuuuck.” I crunch up protectively, nausea churning in my stomach.

  “Just checking to see if you still
had anything down there.”

  “I hate you,” I manage to wheeze.

  “No, you don’t. You probably hate yourself right about now, though. Pathetic ass that you are.”

  “You need to take a class in motivational speaking.”

  “I could freaking lead that class.”

  “Uh huh, sure.”

  He raises his hand again and I curl farther into a fetal position. “Jesus, no. Fine. You’re the king of motivational speaking. Just stop with the ball taps, man.”

  John comes in the room, taking in the scene. “Finally. Did you knock some sense into him?”

  “Into his nuts.”

  “Harsh.” He nods sagely. “But deserved.” They high-five.

  Hands still cupping my junk, I sit up on the side of the bunk. “Fuck you all.”

  John shrugs. “We just tell it like it is, Lieutenant.”

  “You need to man-up,” Rich adds. “And I don’t care how sexist that is. You’re officially the Debbie Downer of station seventy-two.”

  “You try seeing how you feel if Ana dumped your ass.” I look at John. “Or Sharon. I bet you’d be lying on your bunk feeling sorry for yourself too.”

  Rich holds up a finger. “First, that would never happen. My wife loves me and can’t live without me.”

  Even John snorts at that.

  Rich ignores him and holds up another finger. “Second, and most important, I wouldn’t let her call it quits. I’d fix whatever stupid shit I’d done to get my angel back. And I wouldn’t take no for an answer. I’d keep at her until she forgave me.”

  “Same,” John adds, then winces. “Though I wouldn’t go so far as calling Sharon an angel. That woman scares the bejesus out of me on a daily basis.” He shrugs. “But I’d still beg her ass for forgiveness.” He looks over his shoulder. “But, ah, don’t tell her that. I don’t need her to know she has the upper hand.”

  “Everyone knows she has the upper hand, Johnny.” Rich makes a whip motion with his hand. “You’re whipped as whipped can get.”

  “Hey man, I’m not the one over here calling my wife an angel. I bet…”

  Their bickering washes over me as I think about their advice. I haven’t tried calling Becca after I left Rocket Park. I just figured she’d call me. Every other time, she’s admitted she’s wrong and apologized. I just thought this would be the same.

  But what if she doesn’t think she’s wrong?

  I still don’t really know why she had such an intense reaction about my age. I guess I just expected her to handle this rationally, like she has everything else in her life. She’s so smart, but I forget how emotions can make you stupid. Like when they make you lie about your age.

  “Fuck this. You’re right.” I stand up, nearly cracking my head on the upper bunk.

  “Of course I’m right.” Rich nods hard. “But you know, just to clarify, what am I right about?”

  John smacks him upside the head and Rich lunges at him.

  Ignoring them, I pace in front of my bunk. “I can’t just give up. I need to apologize and keep apologizing until she forgives me. And if that isn’t enough, find out what is.” I glance up to see Rich in Johnny’s headlock.

  I don’t think it has anything to do with age; I honestly believe all men are really just overgrown boys when you get down to it.

  “So how do I do it?”

  “Do what?” John’s voice breaks when Rich slips free.

  “Get her to forgive me?”

  “Fuck if I know, man. I can barely figure that out myself whenever Sharon’s pissed.” He dodges Rich’s nut shot.

  “What about the party the doctor is throwing for us and the shelter people?” John blocks a slap to the face.

  “What about it?” I already RSVPed no.

  “You know,” John says. “Do that whole grand gesture thing.”

  Both of them have given up the slap fight and are bobbing and weaving like a couple of poorly trained boxers.

  They’re morons.

  “You know,” John says, bouncing on his toes, “play a boom box over your head, rescue her underwear from the town nerd, shape ugly pottery naked.”

  Rich stops bouncing, blinking at John. “So… your advice is to recreate the final scenes of classic eighties romantic comedies?”

  John stops bouncing too, frowning at us. “What? Girls love that shit.”

  “Yeah.” I draw out the word. “I think I’ll come up with something myself.”

  “Suit yourself.” John shrugs and dodges another attempt at a ball tap. “But it’s your turn to make breakfast, Lieutenant, so go get started on your weird oven-bacon-thing and get cooking. I’m hungry.”

  “Yeah,” Rich says, now reengaged in their slap fight. “What he said.”

  Rolling my eyes, I walk between them, whipping out simultaneous backhands at their dicks. Both drop, cupping their junk and moaning.

  “Sure thing, boys. I’ll get right on that.”

  Thirteen

  Combustion Company

  Rebecca

  “How did you get the Houston Chronicle to come out?”

  “I didn’t.” Jules takes a sip of her beer. “I called, but they said they were already sending someone.”

  “Huh. Wonder if someone from the shelter called them.” I shrug. “Either way, it’s great. Even just a small mention in the paper could help sales.”

  Millie waves to me from the bar, a big smile on her face. Everyone from the shelter is smiling. I am too, but I have a feeling it isn’t as bright as theirs.

  I screwed up. I was, in Jules’ words, a dick.

  Usually when I make a mistake, I acknowledge it, apologize and move on. But this time… well, this time it means explaining my feelings, feelings that aren’t rational, that don’t entirely make sense but are no less true.

  I’m not sure how to do that.

  “I thought you said that Ryan wasn’t coming.”

  “Hmmm?” I bring my thoughts back to the room. “Yes, he RSVPed no on the evite I sent.”

  “Then I’m going to go fuck his twin.” She rolls her eyes. “Unless he’s married too, for God’s sake.”

  “He doesn’t have…” I follow the direction of her eyes, my own landing on a tall, built, god of thunder-like man.

  Ryan.

  “But he said he wasn’t coming.” And yet there he is.

  “Cool. So if that’s not him, that’s a go on me getting all up on that, then?”

  My glare makes her snicker.

  Ryan whistles, and the rest of the firemen follow him out the door.

  “What is going on?” I look to Ana and Sharon and some of the other wives, but none look my way. It’s like they’re purposely trying not to make eye contact.

  “Let’s go find out.” Jules slings her arm in mine and drags me out the conference room I rented for the party.

  We wind down the staircase to the main floor of Space Center Houston, where the moon lander resides, right outside the gift shop.

  My feet, as well as my heart, stall when I see what the firemen are doing. Each one stands behind a child gate enclosure that has two or three animals inside.

  Shelter animals.

  I recognize Penelope and Thumper, and a lot more of the animals from the calendar.

  Ryan turns a large sign around that reads “Space City Animal Adoptions.”

  Millie comes up behind me, pressing a hand to my shoulder. “Isn’t it great? Ryan called me the other day to set it all up.”

  A few of the museum patrons wander over, reaching into the makeshift kennels to pet the animals. In between the firemen are shelter volunteers, answering any questions people might have.

  “Ryan did all this?”

  She nods, still smiling. “And he got the Houston Chronicle to come out for the event, too.”

  “Wow.”

  “This is a good sign,” Jules says, taking another sip of her beer. “No man would do this if they were still mad.”

  “Oh dear. Did you two have a
fight?” Millie’s smile dims. “But you’re both such a cute couple.”

  “They are, aren’t they?” Jules nudges me and smirks.

  “Ah, well...”

  Millie sighs. “Young love.”

  I scoff. “Millie, I’m not that young.”

  The brooch on her cardigan glints in the overhead lights as she shrugs. “It’s all relative, my dear.” A volunteer flags her over. “I better circulate, pass out our volunteer flyers. Maybe we’ll get some new recruits.” She heads over to the group, bright blue sheets of paper I didn’t notice in her hands at the ready.

  My eyes find Ryan again. He’s holding Penelope in his arms while Ana, Rich’s wife, is scratching her under her chin.

  “Sorry I’m late!” Mark jogs over, a few students trailing behind him with large posters. “Underestimated the traffic on a Saturday afternoon.” A good-looking man steps up beside him.

  “Silver fox.” Jules salutes the man with her bottle. “Nice.”

  The man smiles slightly, rubbing his neatly trimmed beard. Mark laughs. “Thanks. This is my husband, Michael.”

  Manners on autopilot as my mind struggles at what to make of all this, I stick out my hand. “Nice to meet you.”

  He does that gentleman thing where he clasps my hand in both of his, a sweet smile on his face. “Nice to meet you. Mark hasn’t stopped talking about the calendar.” He gives his husband a chiding look. “Or the firemen.”

  Everyone laughs.

  “Okay, okay, enough of that.” Mark turns to his students. “Match up the pictures to the firemen. Colin should be here with the easels to prop them up. I’ll set up the calendar stand.”

  The students spread out, looking down at the posters in their hands and then scanning the line-up of firemen. Soon each fireman standing behind a crate of shelter animals also has an easel with a blown-up picture of himself posing for his month of the calendar.

  “Need help?” Michael asks Mark.

  “No, no. Have a drink with Dr. Sato. I’ll be fine. I know you wanted to check out the moon exhibit anyway.” With a wave he heads toward the gift shop entrance.