Page 44 of Wish For Me

“Thanks.” I’m still not used to traveling outside of coach. In fact, all the red carpet treatment I’ve gotten since returning earth side makes me deeply uncomfortable most of the time. But now that I get thronged by people when I’m trying to buy toilet paper at the grocery store, I can see the appeal of these private, secluded first class lounges.

Larry says the fans won’t last—not to this degree, anyway. He acts like this is a sad fact.

I nurse the drink as I read over the contract the university sent me, but I’m having trouble concentrating. Normally I wouldn’t have a drink at all. I always want to be clear-headed when I arrive back in Quince Valley. But I’m going back early this year. I’ve wrapped up my work. My apartment’s packed up, en route to California, and for once I have a whole month to spend there.

As for Noelle, just like every year before, we haven’t made plans. No commitments. No promises.

But nerves have made my chest tight since the minute I left my apartment. Hell, since I landed back on earth almost a year ago.

I want to make promises.

“Another, sir?” the bartender asks.

I glance at my watch. My plane doesn’t leave for another hour.

I’m good, I think. But am I? Part of me wants to drown myself in the dull numbness of booze. I’m not much of a drinker, but at times like this I can see the appeal.

I don’t even know how she feels. I know she cares about me. I know we’re best friends—the weirdest kind of best friends, but still.

But she didn’t go through a roller coaster of emotions I did up there.

She didn’t see the earth looking like a giant marble, knowing I could hardly breathe knowing she was there; so vulnerable in the vastness of space.

She also didn’t set foot on the powdery emptiness of a space rock and cry tears of joy while leaping in the place that felt like it should have been only for immortals.

“Sir?”

The bartender’s waiting for me to answer.

“Try a bitters and soda,” a voice says to my right, startling me from my thoughts. “It’s barely alcoholic but still feels like a treat.”

I glance over to see an older woman two stools down from me. I take in a silver bob, and giant black rimmed glasses, and a long, gauzy leopard print jacket over a black turtleneck. I’m ashamed to say I didn’t notice her earlier, even though she stands out. An obscenely large green stone on her ring glitters as she takes a sip of her martini.

How the hell did I not notice her before?

Connie says older women become invisible at a certain age. That’s why I smile at her and nod at the bartender. “That sounds good.”

A moment later the bartender passes me the drink—she was right, it tastes like a fizzy cocktail.

I’m just about to thank her when she says, “They tell me you want to write a book about the great questions in the universe.”

My stomach drops. “Do I know you?”

The woman takes another sip of her drink. “Only you can tell me that.”

I frown. Is she government? Doesn’t look like it. Private contractor? Maybe.

She looks at me for the first time. Her lips are painted bright red, her eyes huge behind those thick frames. “Is there a special woman in your life?”

Before I can answer, she says, “I ask because there are other opportunities out there for space men than cushy professorships and elementary school tours. Not that those aren’t noble pursuits.”

“I’m sorry, we must have met.” Maybe I just don’t remember. Lots of people know who I am, despite my attempt at disguising myself by not letting scissors or a razor near my head

“There are people interested in the same things you are.”

“And what’s that?”

“The theoretical nature of the universe, of course.”

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