Page 88 of Space Balls: Houston, We Have Liftoff
“Ending it?” He looks younger and more insecure than I’ve ever seen him.
Too fucking bad.
I straighten in my seat, one more deep breath clearing the churning nausea. “Yes.” I grab my purse off the seat next to me, pulling the strap over my shoulder. “Now. No need to wait until your flight.”
It’s his turn to be verbally bitch-slapped into silence. But when I move to stand up, he rallies.
“I thought we were having fun.”
“Fun?” I snort, covering the hitch in my breathing. “Is that all I am?”
He shakes his head, as if trying to figure out how he mis-stepped. It seems I’m not the only one whose plans for today got derailed.
“No, it’s just I…” He pauses, unclear on what to say next.
Before I cry or puke, I stand. Looking down at him, I make sure to be very clear. To him, and myself. “I’m a lot more than a good time, Vance. And the fact that you don’t seem to think so only solidifies my decision to end this now.” Deep breath. “You don’t deserve me.” I press my hand to my stomach. He doesn’t deserveus.
I have a hard time swallowing, my tears choking me, but I manage. “You know, people have been underestimating me my whole life. I usually find it amusing.” Another hard swallow. “Funny how I’m not laughing now.”
With that, I grab my lemonade and sidestep our table, bobbing and weaving through the small crowd, careful not to trip on any laptop cords, and leave.
Leave before he can leave me.
When I make it to the counter, and he hasn’t called after me, I regret not throwing my stupidly delicious butterfly lemonade over his head. But I’m going to be a mother. I should start acting more mature.
Hashtag fuck that.
Spinning on my heel, I dart back to the table, popping the top off my drink as I go. I find Vance frowning at one of the ficus trees, looking sad and confused.
Well, that makes both of us, buddy.
When he sees me, he smiles, hope lighting up his eyes. “Rose, I—”
I overturn the cup, sticky blue liquid running in rivulets down his silky hair and over his eye crinkles. Dousing him like he did my hopes.
The café goes quiet. I drop the cup on the table and stalk away from him, promising myself to tip extra big the next time I come here.
I keep my head held high and refuse to make eye contact with anyone. Until I catch my own gaze in the glass doors as I exit. A mixture of determination, satisfaction, and loss stares back at me.
The tears start as soon as I step outside.
Hashtag motherfucking hormones.
Twenty-One
Adapting Support Pins
Vance
“Hey,man, you looking forward to the next mission?” Luke Bisbee, chief astronaut and the tallest astronaut to ever fly, claps me on the back as we get on the elevator.
“Yeah.” My tone belies the word. It’s been four days, and my mind is still reeling from Rose’s confession and good-bye.
Luke’s paw-like hand squeezes my shoulder. “You okay?”
“Hmm?” I shake off my mental fog. Since being doused with blue liquid, I haven’t been myself. I say the things I need to say, and I do the things I need to do, but it’s like I’m not all the way here. Like I left part of myself back at that artsy coffee house next to the ficus trees. “Yeah, yeah. I’m good.”
“You better be. Don’t think for a minute that I won’t boot your butt off that flight.” He pushes the button for the astronaut floor. “Building Bartolomeo sounds fun.”
