Page 16 of Space Oddities

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“Okay, great!” She runs her hands together and scrutinizes our choices. “I think I’ll start with an eggroll.”

For a while, our talk revolves around the food. What’s good, what’s amazing. She always looks like such a lady with her perfectly applied makeup, heels, and nails. And of course, there’s her accent, which makes me think of slow dripping honey, hot, sweaty nights on a porch swing, and a bunch of other things that are definitely not appropriate in a family-oriented food truck park.

“How often do you come here?” Trish asks after taking a bite of my gyro. She isn’t shy about stealing food.

“Not very often.” I shrug. “But I follow the park’s page on Facebook and keep an eye on which food trucks will be here on the weekends.”

“They have a Facebook page?”

“Yep. And they update it every day with which vendors will be here, who’s scheduled to play music, that sort of thing.” I sneak a slice of her quesadilla. She squints at me before smiling and popping the last bite of gyro in her mouth. “Sometimes they have events. Do you know Rebecca Sato? She works at NASA.”

“Yeah, the NASA doctor. She married that hot young fireman.”

I pause at her description of Rebecca’s husband. “Yes.”

“What about her?” Trish wiggles her fingers over the table, trying to decide what she wants to nibble on next. I wish she’d nibble on me.

I clear my throat, focusing on not letting the lobster slide out from the slice of quesadilla. “Becca’s holding an animal adoption event next month.”

Picking up some utensils to slice into the waffle, Trish nods. “Cool. Are her husband’s co-workers going to be here to help?”

My quesadilla smacks back down on my paper plate. “You have a thing for firemen?”

Trish smirks down at the chicken and waffles plate as she cuts a small piece. “Who doesn’t have a thing for firemen?” She looks at me before sliding the bite of waffle off her fork. A drop of syrup rests on her lower lip.

I manage an answering grunt, making Trish laugh.

Her tongue sneaks out, catching the drop. “I always wanted a dog,” she muses, looking around the table for her next selection from our smorgasbord.

“We’ll go, then.” I’m taking the opportunity to make a date with her, firemen be damned. “You can try more food trucks, and we can look over the dogs needing a home.” A vision of the two of us playing catch in my yard with our dog makes my chest feel tight. It’s such a normal, mundane sort of thing, living in the suburbs, owning a dog, but I want it.

Reaching out toward the whoopee pies, Trish pauses, glancing up at me. “I won’t be here next month.”

The food in my stomach churns, my chest now feeling hollow. “Oh, yeah.” We both stare at each other for a moment before Trish finally blinks and focuses back on the treat in her hand.

Trying to move past the uncomfortable truth, I clear my throat and grab a pie for myself. “You don’t have to wait for the event, then. The Space City Animal Shelter is right by NASA. You can stop by anytime and play with the animals, see if there’s one meant for you.”

Trish nods absently. “Yeah, but it wouldn’t be fair to the dog.”

“Why?”

“I move around so much, and it isn’t like the temporary hookup spots in trailer parks have large, fenced-in yards. It would be cooped up or on a leash all the time.”

I let that sink in, as well as the sad expression on her face. “Then why do you move around so much? You could sell the trailer and get an apartment, or even use the money for a down payment on a house. The housing market right now is great.”

She doesn’t say anything.

“Or you could set up your trailer more permanently if you bought some land. If you did that, you could put up a fence.” I realize I’m sounding a bit desperate. But if she won’t stay for herself, or her friends, or me, then maybe a dog? Yeah, that’s pretty desperate.

“No. I can’t do that.” She won’t meet my eyes.

Sliding my hand over hers, I squeeze gently. “Why do you move around so much, Trish? It’s obvious you want to stay.”

I don’t think she’s going to answer until her full lips part. “I—”

“Audrey?” A woman a few years younger than Trish steps up to our picnic table.

Trish stiffens and yanks her hand from mine.