Page 93 of Space Oddities

Looking more herself than she was a minute ago, Jackie pushes her glasses up her nose. “How did you draw that conclusion?”

I take a breath, the sweat, liquor, and questionable decisions sadly familiar. “I think it’s pretty obvious. I mean, Rose is an oil billionaire, and both you and Jules are astronauts. And I’m…” I shrug again. “Just plain old me.” I shouldn’t be sad about this. My averageness is what is going to make my departure less hurtful. It’s why I strive to stay so under the radar.

Jackie leans back, then grabs the tabletop with both hands like she’s fighting for balance. “That isn’t sound reasoning. If we go by your observations,we’dbe the odd ones.”

“What do you mean?”

Carefully, she pries her fingers off the wood top, smiling when she doesn’t tip over. “How many oil billionaires are there when compared to the rest of the population? How many astronauts? Rose, Jules, and I are a small percent of a larger population. That makesusodd.” A piece of tulle falls forward again, and she blows it back. “Andif you take into account our personalities, you’re most definitelynotthe odd one. I’m too inside my own brain, Jules is smart but abrasive, and Rose is… well, Rose. If we didn’t have you, we wouldn’t work.” She blows at the tulle again. “If you ask me, the logical conclusion is that you’re theleastodd out of all of us. You’re what makes us work.”

Touched at her drunken reasoning, even if the conclusion is faulty seeing as she doesn’t have all the information, I lean forward and flip the fabric back off her face again.

Her eyes track to the back of the room to where Jules is attempting to give Rose a standing lap dance and Rose is pretending to ride a horse. The horse being Jules. “But then again, youarea one-time stripper and now a best-selling romance novelist with a secretive past. One could argue that makes you just as unique as a billionaire and a couple of astronauts.”

My hand stills halfway to my glass. “Secretive past?” My eyes move to my handbag, trapped over the back of my barstool. The one stuffed with my Dear John letters.

“Uh huh.” Jackie fishes inside her large bag, half falling out of her chair.

“I don’t know why you would think that.” My tongue feels heavy in my mouth as I ready myself to come up with more lies. I reach out with my foot and steady Jackie’s rocking stool.

“You don’t?” She looks up at me, frowning. “I thought it was kind of obvious.”

I flag down our cocktail waitress again. Intuition has me realizing I’m going to need a stiffer drink for whatever my genius friend is about to say.

Jackie points one finger in the air. “One, you never use credit cards. You always pay in cash.” She tilts her head, thinking. “Probably why you like working in bars as you get paid in cash tips. I’ve also heard that bars tend to pay ‘under the table.’” She tries to air quote but ends up making jazz hands instead. “Two, you never talk about yourself, deflecting every time someone asks a question. Which works well with those two”—she points to our friends still gyrating on the dance floor—"as they are more self-centric and happy to take the attention.” She holds up four fingers. “And three, you move around all the time. When you add all that up, it’s not irrational to believe you’re hiding something or hidingfromsomething.”

With my hand still in the air for our waitress, I stare, open-mouthed, at my drunk but way too astute friend. If my grandmother were alive, she’d tell me to stop trying to catch flies with my mouth.

A waitress I’ve worked with before, Amanda, steps up to our table, staring at me oddly. It takes a second to realize my hand isstillin the air. She sets down more drinks, and Jackie brightens, only to deflate when she realizes they’re all filled with water.

I take a large swallow of mine before clearing my throat. “I’m also gonna need a double Monkey Shoulder. Neat.”

“You got it, Trish.”

Something in my voice must have tipped her off, because she doesn’t stop at any other tables after she leaves ours, instead heading straight for the bar.

Giving up on being polite, I grab the rest of the drink Jules left behind when heading off on her dance crusade and down it. “Why didn’t you ever say anything?”

Jackie shrugs, disturbing the tulle around her head once again. “Honestly, I didn’t give it much thought until I saw how hard you denied liking Ian at the first dress fitting. I kept wondering why you would do that, when it’s obvious to everyone you like him. It was very ‘the lady doth protest too much.’”

Only Jackie would bring up a sixteenth century playwright while intoxicated in a Texas strip club.

“Well, I’ll be damned!” Rose bumps into our table, making Jackie scramble for the edge again. “The Yankee can dance.”

“Hells yeah I can.” Jules drops into her chair, sweat dripping down her temple.

“So who won?” Jackie asks, completely unfazed about the inner turmoil she just set off in my chest.

“I did,” Jules and Rose say at the same time.

“Whatever.” Rose waves her hand in the air. “Let’s call it a tie. I’ll change your ringtone.”

Jules nods, then glances between Jackie and me. “What’re you guys talking about?”

Jackie opens her mouth, and I brace for whatever she’s about to say. “Shakespeare.”

“Jesus, really?” Jules stands and waves at Amanda, already on her way back with my whiskey. “That calls for more shots, don’t you think?”

Jackie bounces and claps happily in her seat. “Blow Jobs?”

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