Space Age- Houston, Prepare for Launch

by Sara L. Hudson

  “Uh, no.” I look down at my empty glass. “Why do you ask?”

  “Just surprised to see a pretty girl by herself. You new here?”

  My cheeks get hot. Pretty. I decide I like Trish. “Sort of. I’ve lived here for about a year now, but I haven’t gone out much. Been busy at work. But I guess if I’m going to start Operation Social Life, I best make some changes. Maybe even get some boots.”

  “Operation Social Life?” Trish asks, lips twitching.

  “Yep.” I nod. “Just made that up. My friend Jules says I’m stuck. Static.” I look at the twirling dancers.

  “Static?”

  “Static. Unmoving, stationary, a body at rest, if you will.” I turn back to Trish, who now seems to be holding back laughter. “What?” I glance back down at my shirt. “Did I spill something?”

  “No, no, sugar. I just like the way you talk.” When she smiles, it isn’t the smile of someone laughing at me (and believe me, I know those), but with me. And that feels good.

  “I also like the way you talk. It’s what I imagine a fixed-width binary code would sound like.”

  “Uh, thank you?” Trish shifts her weight to accommodate a man with a waist as wide as his hat brim walking by. “Where is this Jules, then? Shouldn’t she be here ushering in your new social plan?”

  “In space.”

  “I’m sorry?” She looks at me a bit blankly.

  “Space. My friend. Jules. She’s in space. Outer space.” Trish keeps staring, but now her eyebrows are in the middle of her forehead. God, I suck at small talk. I take a breath, willing myself not to stiffen up and start again. “Jules is an astronaut at NASA. She’s currently up on the International Space Station.”

  Trish looks a little dumbfounded at this, but recovers quickly. “Well, hot damn. That’s the best excuse I’ve ever heard for letting your girl out without a wingwoman.” She looks over her shoulder at the growing crowd. “I’ve got to go make the rounds, but I’ll be back with that Coke and you can explain Operation Social Life to me in more detail.” Her smile is large and bright when she says, “I have a feeling you’re gonna be the most interesting customer of the night.” With a wink, Trish saunters off to her tables.

  My eyes drift back over to the birthday girl’s section, but holy crap-o-la is gone.

  Flynn

  I feel dirty.

  And coming from a mechanic, that means something.

  All of Rose’s friends are knocking back shots, ordering rounds and preening like a bunch of peacocks in their designer duds in a Western saloon. Like the swarm of cowboy boots really care how much their six-inch heels or Italian loafers cost.

  What makes me feel even worse? I used to be just like them.

  A few high-rolling twenty-year-olds amble off to the dance floor. I stop one as she stumbles past.

  I look down at the blonde in charge of Rose’s birthday gathering. “Pam.” She blinks a few times, like she’s having trouble focusing. “I thought you were the designated driver?”

  She wavers on her feet, her head weaving on her shoulders as she looks to my hand around her arm and back to my face. Next thing I know she’s plastered against me, her free hand gliding up my side.

  Great. Something else to make me feel dirty.

  “It’s okay, big boy. I got us a limo coming in a bit.” She tries to nod toward the dance floor, but her whole body ends up tilting, my arm the only thing holding her up. “Let’s go dance off some booze.” She tries to shimmy against me, but when I let go of her arm she stumbles back into one of the guys in their group. He doesn’t even ask her if she’s okay, just continues flirting with the waitress.

  “You go ahead.” Sweating out some of her drinks has got to be better than passing out at the table, which is probably her other option at this point. “I’m heading home in a bit.”

  She straightens and runs her hands down her body. “Want some company? Heard you’ve been lonely.”

  I scowl in response, but as drunk as she is, Pam doesn’t pick up on it. Instead she tries sidling closer. I step back out of her reach.

  She pouts. Like a child. Which I guess is exactly what she is. None of the people in this group ever grew up. They’re too rich and too complacent. And now I’m afraid Rose will become just like them. Same as I did. Frustrated, I shift my gaze beyond the partiers.

  “You can’t seriously prefer any of this low-class trash to me?” Pam asks, gesturing to the crowd in general.

  Involuntarily, my eyes flick to the dance floor, where the blonde with those thick-framed glasses has been perched all night. I’d caught her glancing over here earlier, and if I hadn’t been so busy comparing my past self to these idiots, I might’ve gone up and said hello.

  “I mean, really, Flynn,” Pam continues, following my gaze, “remember who you are, for once.”

  That snaps me back to the moment, and the anger that has been simmering all night surfaces. My anger is more aimed at myself, and I’m aware enough to recognize that, but it doesn’t stop me from being pissed at the world in general right now. Especially when I come out to wish my little sister a happy birthday, only to find her friends shit-faced and Rose virtually ignored. The same kind of friends who were decidedly unhelpful after my parents died and then virtually ignored me after one of their own fucked me over. But I guess I owe them a favor. Without that final kick to the balls, I would’ve never grown up.

  “I know who I am, Pam, and I like him a hell of a lot better than the spoiled rich kid with no direction in life.”

  “Sheesh. Mr. High and Mighty. Beth was right to dump your ass.” An evil smile curls up her face before she continues. “Too bad Holt turned out to be just as boring. Looks like neither of the West brothers are any fun anymore.”

  For a moment I think I’m literally seeing red, until I realize that the flashing red lights from the ceiling are simply mirroring my emotions.

  Fuck this.

  I shrug my shoulders, knowing the worst thing I could do to her, or any of these posers, is not care. “Well, this boring guy is heading home. Alone.” I point my finger directly in her face, uncaring how much of a dick move it is. “You’re supposed to be Rose’s friend, Pam. So sober the fuck up and get my sister home safe.”

  I don’t wait for her to respond. Really anything she says at this point will just fuel my anger. I simply side-step her and walk over to the table where Rose has stationed herself.

  “Rose?”

  When my sister sees me she smiles, raising her arms in the air for a hug. Suddenly I’m transported back to when we were kids, when it seemed Rose’s arms were always raised, wanting someone to hold or hug her. Anyone to fill the void our parents left.

  But really, Mom and Dad hadn’t been around much when they were alive, so I don’t think much would’ve changed for any of us West kids.

  I bend down and encircle Rose in my arms, pulling her into a tight hug. It’s what I should’ve done every time in the past, but I’d been too much of a self-important douche to show my sister the affection she deserved.

  “How does twenty-one feel?” I ask, straightening and stepping back.

  Her eyes are heavy-lidded when she replies, “Same day, different shit.”

  Her mixed-up words have me taking a closer look. Her legs are hooked in the barstool rungs, back slightly slumped forward, elbow propping her up on the table. “I was going to head out, but maybe I better stay. You don’t look too with-it.”

  She snorts. “It’s my twenty-first birthday. I’m not supposed to be with-it. In fact, I think I would categorically declare anyone’s twenty-first birthday a failure of epic proportions if they were at all ‘with-it.’”

  She uses air quotes at the end, which has me smiling. Some of the tension I’ve been carrying on my shoulders lifts. Rose is her own unique brand of girl. I should trust her not to make the same mistakes I made when I was younger. She’s so much smarter than I ever was. And Rose was young when our parents died, so they hadn’t quite messed her up the way t
hey did Holt and me.

  At least, I hope not.

  I tap her on the nose with my finger, chuckling when she glares at me. “Understood.” I go to pull out the stool next to her, but she blocks me.

  “Flynn, it’s awesome that you came to wish me happy birthday. I mean, that is why I wanted to celebrate here instead of downtown, but you don’t need to stay. Really. I’m a big girl.” She points to the sash draped across her chest proclaiming her legal. “All grown up.”

  “You’ll always be my baby sister, Rose.”

  “Yeah, yeah.” She rolls her eyes. “Now stop cramping my style with all the brooding. Get laid or something, will you?”

  “Christ, Rose. Don’t say things like that.”

  “Dude. Someone has to. The stick up your ass can’t be all that comfortable.”

  Laughter erupts from my throat and I shake my head. “You sure you’re okay?” I lean in and kiss her cheek. “You done drinking for the night?”

  “Yes, overlord. Pam and I will have our asses driven downtown. We’re heading back to my condo in a bit.”

  “All right.” More tension ebbs once my mind absorbs that I’ll be free of these people soon. “Love you, Rose. Be safe.”

  “You too. I left condoms in the kitchen pantry for you.” She smirks. “Remember, no glove, no love.”

  “Jesus.”

  Jackie

  I’ve never had to take a drunk girl home before. This is not what I had in mind for Operation Social Life, but here I am, trying to haul a semi-comatose birthday girl through the bar. Jules is going to think I’m a lesbian when she debriefs me on my night out. First talking to the waitress and now driving a girl home.

  Ten minutes earlier, I found Rose leaning over the sink in the bathroom, having a conversation with herself in the mirror. Something about promising herself to find new friends. Apparently, all hers left without her. She’d been attempting to call an Uber when I told her I’d give her a ride home. I don’t know why. Maybe because I know what winding up alone on your birthday feels like.

  But beyond that, I seem to have little in common with Rose. The drunk girl.

  She’s the girl I always pictured as the heroine when reading my cowboy romance novels that Jules likes to harass me about. Rose has big hair and a short denim skirt that’s topped off with a plaid button-down with genuine pearl button snaps. The front tails of her shirt are tied, making the shirt more crop top than anything. What with her high-heeled cowboy boots, she is quintessentially country.

  “Put your arm around me,” I huff.

  Rose is currently slumped against me, and at this point I’m basically carrying her. She isn’t heavy, even with her thick-heeled boots, but she isn’t light either. My only thought at this point is that I need to work out more. That and a pulley or lever system would be really helpful right about now.

  “Jackie?”

  I turn too suddenly, and Rose falls to the floor.

  “Crap.” I look down at the pile of country beauty at my feet.

  “I knew you would be the most interesting customer tonight.” By the barely restrained laughter shaking her small frame, it’s safe to say that Trish is enjoying my current situation.

  I put my hands on my hips. “You were right. The birthday girl got sloppy.” I wave my hand in the general direction of where Rose was partying. “And her friends all bailed.”

  Trish glances in that direction then back at me. “That was rude of them.” She looks down at Rose. “Need help?”

  “Yes, please.”

  I bend to pick up one arm, thinking Trish will get the other, but she turns around and whistles over a bouncer I’ve been studiously trying to avoid. “Wait! I don’t want her arrested!”

  Trish pauses in waving the big guy over. “Arrested?”

  “Uh, yeah. Don’t people get arrested for public intoxication?”

  Trish purses her lips for a moment, still fighting the battle not to laugh. “Oh sugar, if that were true we wouldn’t have any customers left.” The bouncer she whistled for shows up, looming over Rose.

  The look on my face must be comical, because Trish loses the battle and erupts into giggles. “Relax, Jackie. Jimmy isn’t going to arrest her, but he can get her to your car.”

  After some grunting on Jimmy’s part, and laughter on Trish’s, Rose is now sprawled across the back seat of my car.

  She opens one eye, surveying her position. “I know I’m drunk. But even drunk, I can tell your car is a piece of shit.” Then she promptly passes out. Jimmy walks away without a word.

  “Well, she isn’t wrong.” Trish bursts out laughing again.

  My car is old. My dad gave it to me for my eighteenth birthday, and it was used when I got it. A small, four-door compact that shakes when I go over fifty miles per hour.

  Trish stops chuckling long enough to ask, “You know where to take her?”

  “Yeah, she told me where she lived before I had to carry her out of the bathroom.”

  “Okay then. And since you’ve been drinking nothing but soda, I take it you’re good to drive?”

  “Yep.”

  We both silently ponder the drunk in my car. Me with my hands on my hips, Trish with her mouth twitching.

  “Give me your phone.” Trish sticks her hand out.

  “Huh?”

  Trish just wiggles her fingers and waits. I pull my phone out of my back pocket and give it to her.

  She looks down, sighs and hands it back. “Unlock it, silly.”

  “Oh. Yeah.” I press my thumb over the button and watch the screen wake up. Trish takes it out of my hands, then starts banging the screen with her thumbs.

  “I added myself to your contacts and called my cell, so now I have your number.” She hands it back again. “Text me once you get birthday girl and yourself home safely, okay?”

  I can feel my face light up, and I stare hard at the phone in my hands so Trish can’t see the ridiculous grin I’m probably sporting. Trish wanting to keep in contact makes me way happier than I’m sure it should.

  God, I’m such a nerd.

  “Sure thing. Thanks,” I manage around my smile.

  She takes another look at my outfit. “If you want boots, we can get you boots.” Once again, she winks and walks away.

  A grunt has me turning back to my car.

  “Rose?” I ask, peering in the rear side door.

  “Slow down! You’re driving too fast.”

  “Um, we aren’t moving, Rose. We’re still parked.”

  This gets me a flutter of lashes, like she’s trying to open her eyes, but her body’s fighting it. “Well shit.” She manages one eye again. “You better get a bucket then. This probably won’t go well.”

  Awesome. Just awesome.

  “Rose? Rose! Wake up!” I’m driving around Clear Lake Forest, one of the coolest neighborhoods around NASA. All the great astronauts used to live here: John, Gus, Alan and most of the rest of the Mercury Seven. Even some of the Apollo boys. It’s one of the few neighborhoods in the area established enough to have big trees lining the streets.

  “Rose! What was the house number again?”

  She stirs a bit from the back and lurches upright. I brace for vomit, but nothing happens.

  Rose looks left, then right, then straight ahead. “Fuck. Where am I?”

  “You’re in my car,” I say, looking at her through the rearview mirror. “I’m taking you home. What is the house number?”

  “Huh?” She starts blinking rapidly. “Wait, why are you driving me? Who are you?”

  “Seriously?” At the stop sign I rest my head on the steering wheel.

  “I’m just playing.” She laughs and points between the two front seats. “It’s up a few houses on the right. At the end of the cul-de-sac.” She slumps back.

  I pull up to a one-story house. It has a low-pitched roof, a large picture window in the front and metal scroll work on the sides of the door that is classic 1960s modern. I love it.

  “Your house is awes
ome.” I whisper for some reason. When no response is forthcoming, I put the car in park and get out.

  But before I can open the door, it’s shoved open so hard I think it might come unhinged. Rose heaves herself out and stands next to me. “It isn’t my house.” She stumbles forward, leaving me to close the door.

  “You good now?” No sooner have I said this than she face-plants in the grass. Thankfully she misses the flagstone path.

  A few minutes of huffing and puffing later, I manage to get the keys from Rose and muscle her into the foyer and down the hall to the room she slurred is hers. Too bad it’s so dark. I would love to see the house in the light. I bet it has original mid-century modern elements throughout. Maybe even terrazzo tile. With one final heave, Rose is face down, yet again, but this time on her bed. With her boots on.

  “What the fuck?”

  I whirl around to see a guy in the doorway. And not just any guy—it’s the holy-crap-o-la hot guy from earlier.

  And. He. Is. Shirtless.

  His glare is focused on the bed, where Rose rolls over so that she can flip the hot guy the bird.

  “You weren’t this drunk when I left, Rose. What did you do?”

  “Shots.” Rose giggles and starts chanting, “Shots, shots, shots, shots…”

  I press my lips together to keep from laughing.

  “Jesus.” Hot guy rolls his eyes and looks at the ceiling. “You said you were cut off. Pam said you were going to dance off the booze and leave.” He tilts his head back down and stares at the floor like he wants to pound it. “I should’ve known better than to listen to any of your friends.”

  Rose snorts. “Yeah, my friends are lame.” She furrows her brow. “But they used to be your friends too.”

  “And now they’re not. And you know why.” He widens his stance and crosses his arms, which only serves to enhance his biceps. This must be what people mean by ‘nice guns.’

  “Yeah. Sorry.” Rose closes her eyes for a moment, looking almost contrite. Then she opens them wide. “Fuck. The spins.”