Page 105 of Space Balls: Houston, We Have Liftoff
Me. A man who flies at breakneck speeds and has stared into the abyss of the unknown but instead of recoiling, jumped out into it, linked to safety only by a simple tether.
And I’m scared of a baby.
My phone vibrates in my pocket, my mother calling for the twentieth time. I roll my shoulders, her attack from earlier still smarting. From what she heard me say in the strip club, I’m sure she has some idea why I reacted the way I did, but I’m not sure Mom’s the person I need to talk to right now.
I lean back and wipe cold sweat from my forehead. The more I think about it, the more I realize there’s only one person who’d be able to understand me. And she’s either going to help me or leave me to my own dumpster fire of emotions.
I never can tell with my sister.
Ten minuteslater I ring my sister’s doorbell. She lives in a newer neighborhood in League City, about fifteen minutes from Mom’s house in Clear Lake. The lots are smaller, the houses bigger. Her house is the one with the rotating light projector casting the front of her house in dancing snowflakes.
From the long windows on either side of the solid wood front door that’s more than half covered in a monstrous home-made Christmas wreath, my sister peeks out, surprise written all over her face.
I raise a hand in greeting, feeling as awkward as I probably look.
My sister pulls the door partway open, staring at me with a string of tangled Christmas lights. “Vance?”
“Hey, Brit.”
She continues to frown at me. “What are you doing here?”
I tip my chin up, gesturing behind her. “Can I come in?”
“Oh.” She pushes the door open all the way and stands back to let me pass. “Of course, yes.”
I get that I’m unexpected. Not only did I not give her a heads-up, but I can count on one hand the number of times I’ve been to her house.
She’s invited me plenty, but if it wasn’t a birthday or holiday, I always had a reason not to go. And even then, I might not have shown up.
Stepping inside, I grin at the shiplap feature wall in the dining room that Matt was complaining about at Thanksgiving. As the wall isn’t flat but has an inset where Brit’s put a china cabinet, I can see why Matt said it’s a pain in the ass.
It looks good, though.
Her whole house does, especially decorated for the holidays. Two feet away from where I stand, a large, twelve-foot tree decorated in all shades of white and silver lights up the space.
Even devoid of color, I know Rose would love it for how it sparkles.
“What can I do you for?” Brit asks, closing the door.
I shove my hands in my pockets, rocking back on my heels. “Would you believe me if I said I just wanted to stop by and see my sister?”
“On a Sunday afternoon?” Her mouth flattens into a sardonic expression. “Nope.”
“Yeah, didn’t think so.” I look across the foyer at the office. Or the room that realtors would list as an office, but which Brit has converted into a craft room devoted to all things Pinterest. In the middle of the space is yet another tree, this one a more manageable eight feet.
And pink.
The house is quiet. “Where are Matt and the boys?”
“Football game.” Brit steps around me. “They always try and skip out when I start adding to my tree collection.”
“Collection?”
She smirks. “I’m up to six, but I’ve got my eye on a multi-colored tinsel tree for the boys’ game room.”
I chuckle, feeling sorry for my nephews.
“So what’s up? You okay?” She pauses in trying to untangle the cords in her hands, panic in her eyes. “Oh shit, isMomokay?”
