Page 115 of Space Balls: Houston, We Have Liftoff
“Hmm. Maybe she’s sleeping.”
A crunching sound has me pulling the phone away from my ear. “Are you eating?”
“What? We’re hungry.” More crunching. “The boys made popcorn.”
“Wait. What do you mean ‘we’re’? Am I on speaker?”
In answer, Jase shouts, “Climb up to her like Romeo, Uncle Vance!”
I pinch the bridge of my nose, the headache growing.
“She’ll love it,” Jacob pipes up, his voice garbled. Probably from popcorn.
“I thought this romantic stuff would go against your new feminist principles.” I wonder if they can pick up on sarcasm yet.
Someone scoffs.
“Please,” Jase says, sounding like he does, in fact, recognize sarcasm. “Everyone knows that romancing a woman is the most feminist thing you can do.”
“Yeah, everyone knows that,” Jacob adds.
I’m not sure what this says about my mental state, but I take my pre-teen nephews’ advice and evaluate the area. “The porch doesn’t wrap around to the back,” I tell them, running my hands across the wood siding. “All I’ve got to work with is smooth board and batten planks.” I step back and look up to the second-floor windows. “There’s not a foot hold, trellis, or tall enough tree in sight.”
“Climbing up Romeo-style would be an awesome grand gesture,” Brit says, followed by more crunching.
“Jesus, Brit, it’s not like I can fly—” My eyes catch on something leaning against the barn.
“What? What is it?” Brit sounds slightly panicked, which makes me mildly less annoyed with her.
“Did you get caught?” Jacob asks.
Squinting into the soft glow of the tiny white lights, I make out wooden rungs. “I’ll be damned. There’s a ladder.”
“Yes!” I’m pretty sure all three of them fist-pumped when they shouted that chorus style.
With a promise to call them back as soon as Rose forgives me (they have way more confidence in both me and their Romeo plan than I do), I hang up, needing my phone’s flashlight feature to guide me across the rail fenced enclosure.
If Jules could see me now, Flashlight with his flashlight, I’d never hear the end of it.
Surprisingly, I make it to the tiny barn and get back with the ladder without stepping in shitorrunning into Cookie the pet cow. She must be sleeping.
But whatever luck got me to this point ends when I set the ladder under the window Ithinkbelongs to the bedroom Rose took me to at the wedding. Upright and up close, the ladder is old, worn andnotstructurally sound. The engineer in me screams,“Abort mission, abort.”
However, as it’s all I’ve got to Romeo to Rose—up I go.
Rose
Tap,tap, tap.
Opening my eyes, I study the ceiling fan above me. Is it unbalanced?
Tap, tap, tap.Not the fan. It’s coming from the hall.
Rolling on my side, I slide off my bed, walk to the open doorway, and stick my head out into the hall, my loosely secured top-knot wobbling.
Knock, knock.
Louder now. From the guest room. Maybe a bird flying into the window?
