Page 87 of Space Balls: Houston, We Have Liftoff
My eyes snap to his. “What?”
The crinkles deepen, his expression self-satisfied. For once, his sexy laugh lines don’t make me swoon. Instead, I yearn to slap them off his face. “I scheduled a vasectomy for after the holidays. I even cleared the procedure with NASA to make sure it doesn’t mess with the upcoming flight plan.”
This… this isn’t right.Can’tbe right.
Vance. Normally sweet and considerate Vance wouldn’t do this.
Not the guy who tickle-wrestled his nephews. Not the guy who held my hair back as I threw up. The guy who came by every night to make sure I was eating properly during exams without a thought to getting any of his sex benefits.
He wouldn’t go so far as clearing a vasectomy with NASA to ensure it wouldn’t derail his flight schedule but not mention it to me until now.
Right?
But as I continue to stare at him, to study his hopeful and unrepentant face, the truth of it all sinks in.
I concentrate on breathing in and out through my nose in an effort not to vomit all over him and his stupid eye crinkles.
I pull my hand back, jerking it out of his grasp.
Vance’s smile falls. “Rose?”
In and out. In and out.
“Absolutely not.” I tighten my hands into fists under the table. “No.”
“No?” Vance can’t hide his hurt. But what he’s feeling is nothing compared to the pain he’s carved in my chest, though I fight not to show it.
I’ve always been a fantastic emotional poker player.
I’ve had to be. All my life. When my father left. All the times my mother left. When my grandparents died. When my brothers shipped me off. When one by one, all my friends fell in love.
I nod once, short and fast. “I need more than that.”Weneed more than that.
“What do you mean more?” He leans back, frowning.
That small distance helps me breath. Helps me find the courage. “I love you.”
Vance’s mouth drops open.
“And I want all those things you seem so sure I don’t want. Like a serious relationship, kids, and happily ever after.”
His ass slides back in the seat, as if trying to get as far away from me as possible. “We said…yousaid…”
I shrug, pretending his lack of reciprocation doesn’t hurt. “Things change.”
One of the hands that was holding mine so tightly just a moment ago rubs down his face. “I didn’t believe your brother when he said—"
“Whatdid my brother say?” Anger, only one of many emotions swirling inside me, surfaces.
His eyes widen at my tone. “At dinner the other night, he mentioned how you go all out for the people you love.” He shifts in his seat, looking down. “And I”—his empty hands begin to fidget—“didn’t believe him. I mean, you said you weren’t looking for a boyfriend. So why would you—”
“Love you?” I’m questioning it as well.
In the back of my mind, I recognize the truth of his words. Ididsay I wasn’t looking for a boyfriend. And until this moment I never said differently. But seeing him shell-shocked instead of elated over my confession hits me hard. Subdues any grace I may have felt obliged to offer. And any desire to tell him about being pregnant.
About the baby whose surprise existence has made me feel complete and resolved.
I close my eyes for a beat, letting my newfound sense of purpose settle over me. Give me strength for what I need to do next. “I’m ending this.”
