22. Real Time
TWENTY-TWO
REAL TIME
Jackie
He gave me an ultimatum. Choose between Flynn and becoming an astronaut. Choose between the dream I’ve chased my entire life and the man I’ve come to love.
Love. It’s almost as unbelievable as the ultimatum. Both no less true the more I repeat the words in my head.
I haven’t seen Flynn in a week. Not since I looked at him, stunned, eyes probably as wide as those flying saucers people think the government hides in the desert of New Mexico.
When he remained stoic, jaw set, fists clenched at his side, immovable, I simply stepped back and walked away.
To my crappy car. Drove to my crappy apartment and picked up where I’d left off in my crappy life before Flynn.
And that’s the kicker. As smart as everyone tells me I am, I’d never realized just how crappy my life was, until it wasn’t.
Oddly enough, as my love life has been imploding, my occupational life is taking off like the proverbial rocket.
I’m back at my console in Mission Control, my personal problems crammed into their own little compartment in the back of my mind.
Sean is currently on his seventh cup of coffee of the day.
Jules and Bodie are safe, with the ISS back in full working order.
I even had my astronaut interview yesterday.
I was able to break free from the haze that Flynn’s conditional demands had thrown me into long enough to answer the questions Roger McAllister, the Chief of the Astronaut Office and Jorge Salazar, the Director of Flight Operations Directorate threw my way with a modicum of intelligence.
And though it’s been two weeks since the NASA EXT emergency, news outlets and reporters are still camped out at NASA.
I’ve done all the sound bites HR has required of me, and that’s it.
But my reticence hasn’t prevented reporters from referring to Jules, Bodie and me as the saviors of the ISS.
I gave myself a headache when I eyerolled after I heard that one.
Whoever came up with that headline should have their journalistic credentials stripped.
But I’m sure that’s not what the PR team I just spent a few hours with wants me to say in my upcoming interview on Fox News. The one NASA insists I do.
Deep breath.
I’m going to ignore everything in my life that doesn’t involve this moment in Mission Control.
I’ll pretend everything is back to normal.
Normal, everyday real-time decisions with the crew and the station’s technology.
No imminent space junk, no hotwiring, no car honking text notifications and most assuredly, no more tears.
Just my normal, everyday life, crappy or not.
“Jackie?”
I swivel in my chair to hush whoever’s calling my name only to have the words stick in my throat.
“It is you!” Walking toward me is Brian Hampson, the new shortstop for the Houston Astros and the man who popped my cherry.
This is so not normal. But still very crappy.
He’s with a group of four very tall, very large men. To round out their group is a woman with a camera and a press badge around her neck. Brian pulls me to my feet and engulfs me in a hard hug before I have a chance to respond. A camera flashes.
“No flash photography!” Sean whisper yells. The journalist shrugs, but adjusts her camera.
Brian leans back, looking me over, all while keeping a perfect angle for the photographer. “How’ve you been?”
“Um, great?” A quick glance around MCC has me wishing I called in sick, or took that vacation everyone said I deserved. I try to will away the blush that’s threatening and clear my throat. “You?”
He turns us so that we’re facing the photographer, with the Mission Control sign behind us. “Fine, thanks,” he says, talking to me but posing for the camera.
And he is. Fine, that is. He’s always been, but the past few years have broadened his shoulders and sculpted his arms into steel bands. Steel bands that are still around me.
I adjust my glasses and step back. “What are you doing here?”
He gestures to the men in front of us. “I’ve been signed to the Houston Astros, so they wanted me to see the sights.
” He poses again, slightly shifting his weight, and I think…
yes, he’s flexing his arm. His hair is longer.
Gone is the buzz cut from college, replaced by a man-bun.
He has more hair styling ability than I do.
“A few of the boys on the team are taking me on a tour of NASA. Good PR, what with the recent news coverage.” He scans around the room, much like a socialite probably does at banquets, trying to find more important, wealthier people.
Brian seems resigned that I’m all he has to talk to at the moment.
“I see.”
“You’re the big hero at NASA! It’s all over the news,” Brian says, drawing a lot of attention from my co-workers.
Before I can shush him and maneuver back to my console, the photographer jumps in, corralling me over until I’m in the middle of all the baseball players, and takes more pictures.
“As much as I love all this bullshit reunion crap—this is Mission Control, and you guys need to shut your traps. Some of us are working here,” Sean says from his console.
“Sorry, Sean,” I say.
“Can’t get too mad at the hero, now can we?” Sean winks and I feel my face heat. “Besides, your shift’s over.” He motions all of us toward the door. “Go take your celebrity friends out to eat, Jackie.”
“I really don’t think?—”
“That sounds great,” Brian says. “Thanks for the idea, big man.”
It’s nearly worth seeing Brian again just to witness the look of pure outrage on Sean’s face from being called “big man.”
Nearly.
I’m sitting across from Brian, the crusher of my virgin heart, at a table for two.
In a sushi restaurant, that, according to Brian, is the place to get lunch. Of course Brian would want to eat at a high-profile restaurant.
I don’t even like sushi.
When we left NASA, Brian steered me to his two-seater Audi. The other ballplayers took off to get BBQ. They hadn’t even said good-bye, which I thought was rude until I remembered…Brian. I’m sure he’s pissed people off on his new team already.
When the waiter comes over, Brian orders for both of us without even consulting me.
“So, what have you been up to all these years?” Brian asks. “Besides saving the Space Station and all.”
I would’ve been shocked at his interest if his tone hadn’t been so obviously derisive.
I’m suddenly thrown back ten years, sitting in the library, tutoring him in basic math while his buddies snicker from a few shelves down.
As if from muscle memory, my shoulders start to roll forward and my eyes dart down to the table top.
“Nothing much,” I say, pissed at myself for being so weak.
“Yeah, I guess in between all that geeky stuff you were always into, there isn’t a lot of time left over for anything fun.
” He picks up some sort of bean pod a waiter brought over and starts straining the beans out with his teeth.
He continues to talk around his food. “That’s part of why I came.
Give you a good time, take you to a few things coming up around town.
” He’s gesturing a lot with his hand. The one holding an empty bean pod husk.
The green slimy sliver flops back and forth with each motion.
“Maybe treat you to some publicity events for the Astros.”
I look at him blankly. He can’t seriously be asking me out. Not after what he did in college. Not without even acknowledging it or apologizing for being such a…. What had Rose called him? Oh. A “legit dick.”
“Figured I’d do you a favor. Take you out of nerd central, let you see how the other half lives. There are a few banquets I should have a date for, and you’d be perfect with all the publicity you’ve been getting lately.”
Wow. He is serious.
In the past few days I’ve been bombarded with requests from the higher-ups at NASA.
From public relations people. From reporters.
From Rose and Trish via text. And studiously ignored from the one person I’ve ever loved.
All of which I’ve felt completely ill-equipped to deal with.
Being ill-equipped does not sit well with me.
I’m so very tired of being ill-equipped.
I roll my shoulders back and look Brian square in his pretty, obnoxious face. “No.”
He drops the limp bean pod to pick up his chopsticks. “Yeah, there’s some big shindig in River Oaks later this week, plus a charity ball next weekend. Figured the whole Astro-Astronaut angle will go viral.” He chuckles, apparently amused at his own cleverness. And apparently not listening to me.
“No,” I repeat louder.
Brian’s hand pauses halfway to his mouth, a piece of raw fish falling from his chopsticks. “No?”
“That’s right. No.”
He looks equal parts shocked and confused. Confused, probably because no one has ever turned him down before. Shocked, probably because I’m the one turning him down.
“Oh. My. Gosh.” A teenage girl comes up to our table, practically bouncing on her toes.
Brian smooths his furrowed brow and leans back in his seat, looking her over. Probably assessing whether or not she’s of legal age. “Let me guess, Astro fan?” He sets his chopsticks down. “You want an autograph, right?” He reaches into his pocket and retrieves a Sharpie.
The girl glances at Brian. “Huh?” She looks at me. “You’re Dr. Jackie Darling Lee, aren’t you?”
I blink. Brian’s brow creases again.
I can’t understand why she’d know my name. “Yes.” I draw the word out, unsure of where this is going.
“You are? That is so cool.” I blink in surprise as she turns to her family at a table a couple down from ours. “It is her!”
Brian speaks up. “Look, kid, you want a selfie with me or what? We’re kinda busy here.”
The girl jumps at his tone and I roll my eyes. I reach out and touch her arm, redirecting her attention. “I’m sorry, what were you saying?” I ask.