18. Life support system
EIGHTEEN
LIFE SUPPORT SYSTEM
Vance
I miss her.
I tap my pen over the Bartolomeo procedure plan, a speck of glitter on my finger catching in the florescent overhead lights above my cubicle.
My phone, face up on my desk, buzzes.
Rose . For her first text since she asked for space, she’s sent me a picture of the blinged-out KitchenAid mixer hanging from her self-made contraption at her brother’s car shop. Texting me that Flynn’s going to epoxy the finish for her to keep it “legit awesome for life.”
Another vibration, another text. This time a picture of Rose, tongue out, her pinky and pointer fingers making rock and roll hand signs as she stands in front of Flynn, who’s decked out in what looks like a white hazmat suit and holding a paint sprayer.
To say Flynn looks less than enthused is an understatement.
Without responding to Rose’s texts, I straighten in my chair and pick up the stack of papers in front of me.
The Bartolomeo spacewalk plan. The project I’ve been waiting for since I accepted the small American flag pin that marks me as one of the NASA elites.
I’m in charge. I’m leading NASA into the future by building a payload platform that will bridge the gap between government and commercial cooperation in space.
This spacewalk is the moment I’ve been waiting for. What I’ve been working for. What I’ve given up so much for.
I should be reading this plan over and over again. Memorizing it now so that when I’m moving five miles per second in space, my movements are second nature.
So I don’t let go of the ISS handrails when the memory of Rose joking about being pregnant crosses my mind at seventeen thousand plus miles per hour.
The papers in my hand, the work that I do, they all prove that I’m trained to handle any situation.
To figure out the unknown. With my engineering background, I’m supposed to be able to MacGyver my way out of anything.
On Earth and in space. Yet when it comes to Rose West, there’s no instruction manual to memorize and follow.
The lack of one has me feeling lost. Untethered.
And as my recent VR simulation fail taught me—that’s not safe.
I should’ve been more careful, kept my guard up longer. Maybe then her throwaway joke about being pregnant wouldn’t have spooked me so much.
I grab another pen from my father’s Army mug that my mom gave me when I was twenty.
It’s become a talisman, a reminder of the deal I made with myself to do the work I do.
That decision, made by the fissures of my mother’s grief, is so engrained it’s become a part of me.
One I’ve forgotten about since Rose West introduced me to barnyard masturbation.
The smart thing would be to walk away from Rose now. But even I know that shuttle has long since flown.
The thought of her smiling at someone else, laughing with someone else, being with someone else, stabs at my chest.
Our agreement may not include love, marriage, and a baby carriage, but maybe I can propose something else.
Something that won’t change her life for the worst, hold her back, or set her up for heartache.
Something more than friends with benefits but less than happily ever after. Something where everyone wins.
When my phone rings and I see my sister’s name, for once I don’t cringe. I take it as an opportunity.
An opportunity to get Rose and me back on track.
“Hey, Brit.”
“Wow, you actually picked up. I was all ready to leave a message.” Seeing as she isn’t being sarcastic, I must have really surprised her.
“Well, you got me.” I sound more upbeat than I feel.
“Okay, well, I just wanted you to ask Rose if she has any allergies.” Still no sarcasm, just excitement. “I didn’t know she was coming to Thanksgiving, and she didn’t seem particularly picky about her food, but I thought it would be best to ask her before Christmas dinner.”
A man announces a sale on Granny Smith apples. My sister is back at the grocery store.
I take a deep breath. “Sorry, I misspoke when we talked last week. Rose won’t be coming to Christmas dinner.”
There’s a beat of silence before Brit asks, “You misspoke?”
“Yes.” I’ve crossed the line too many times recently. With Rose and with my family. Now I need to fix it. “Actually, I might have to work, so I’m not sure when or if I’ll be there either.”
“You’re kidding me, right?” There’s an edge to her voice. “But you messaged the boys over that stupid game that you’d come. That both you and Rose would come.”
I cringe, the video gaming one more thing I need to stop. “Sorry, but you know how it is.”
“I know how you are.”
I let the barb hit. I deserve it.
“I gotta go, Brit. Talk to you later.” I hang up before she can reply, dropping my phone back on my desk.
It doesn’t take a master’s degree in engineering to know my sister is pissed. Probably ramming her cart into some grocery food pyramid and buying junk food she’ll binge eat later while cursing me,
But her being mad is better than… well, it’s just better.
Picking up my office landline, I make a call. Not to Rose, but to someone who can help make sure I don’t lose track of the promise I made to myself.
While it rings, I wipe the glitter off my hands.
Rose
“Oh. My. God.” Trish’s mouth drops open as she takes in the scene before her. She climbs off one of the four-wheelers that she and the other girls drove out to the far north field to reach my laser tag extravaganza.
I saunter out from my hiding space behind one of the many enormous, rolled stacks of hay. “You bitches ready for this?” I shoot my laser gun in the air, the tinny pew pew sound reminiscent of Star Wars .
Although I don’t remember any of the Star Wars characters wearing full camouflage jumpsuits and tactical vests.
Jules leans forward on her four-wheeler, laughing.
“I should’ve known you’d go all out.” She pushes up, looking around at the field I had prepped with six-foot hay bales, wooden fencing, an old tractor, and two kid playsets, complete with monkey bars and an elevated clubhouse.
I had each spray-painted camouflage and set on opposites sides of the battlefield.
I even had a narrow, shallow trench dug across the middle of the area and filled with enough water to create a murky, muddy mess.
Hashtag mud wrestling with friends.
The West Ranch workers who volunteered to help with “one of Rose West’s crazy ideas” are probably busy right now spending their extra overtime cash.
Hashtag everybody wins.
Jackie swings her leg off her four-wheeler. “Happy graduation.” She crunches across the hay and slides out a slim wrapped box from her pocket. “From all of us.”
“Aw, you guys,” I sing-song, taking the glitter-wrapped present from Jackie. “You shouldn’t have.”
“Yes, we should.” Trish squats down and scoops up a few pieces of the congratulations confetti I had sprinkled over the battle ground.
Biodegradable, of course.
“We probably should’ve held off and given it to you next week at your actual graduation party, but we couldn’t wait.” Jackie, looking more like a little kid at Christmas than a bona fide aerospace genius, bounces on her toes, waiting for me to open it.
Jules smirks. “Open it before Jackie passes out, will you?”
Jackie blushes, lowering her heels.
Smiling at my friends’ excitement, I peel off the paper and lift the lid. The smell of cement glue from inside the box hits my nose. I take out a piece of folded card stock. “What’s this?”
“Read it, sugar,” Trish says, all of them sharing the same eager smile.
I drop the box and open the accordion folded paper.
On the top of each folded section a different day is written.
Under Day 1 there are cut-out pictures of a clear blue water beach and one of tropical drinks with cocktail umbrellas.
Under Day 2 , a picture of people dancing, one of fireworks over the beach and another of different tropical drinks with cocktail umbrellas.
Day 3 ’s column includes a woman parasailing, a picture of Bloody Marys with cocktail umbrellas lined up on a bar, and one of sunburned people passed out on the beach.
Flipping the paper over, Rose’s Epic Graduation Trip is written in marker at the top with pictures of a resort and an airplane underneath.
“Girls’ trip!” Jackie, unable to hold back anymore, jumps up and down.
Jules smirks, shaking her head at our friend. “For New Years. Figured we’d make the most out of the built-in vacation time.”
“Just you and us,” Trish adds, making me think that maybe my carefully hidden resentment about them being in relationships wasn’t all that hidden.
“This is great, guys.” I clear my throat. All this hay must be affecting my allergies.
“I know, right?” Jules saunters over to the hay bale where I have all their matching camouflage jumpsuits, vests, and guns. “We rule.”
“And are so humble about it,” Trish mumbles.
“What’s that, Shortstack?” Jules picks up a jumpsuit, pausing when she sees the back of it.
“Nothing.” Trish blinks her eyelashes innocently at Jules.
Jules snorts. “Check this out.” She tosses the jumpsuit in her hand to Jackie.
Jackie doesn’t so much catch as gets slapped in the face with it. Pulling it off her head, she adjusts her glasses and reads the back. “Hooker.” She giggles.
Jules grabs another one, this time hers. “Commando.” She cocks an eyebrow. “Isn’t that supposed to be commander?”
“Nah.” I smirk. “I got it right.”
“Smartass.” But she laughs and tosses the last jumpsuit at Trish.
“Let me guess,” Trish starts, straightening the jumpsuit so she can read it. “It says Shor—” She blinks. “Kimble?”
All of them frown.
I can’t help but chuckle. “You know, Dr. Richard Kimble?”
Deeper frowns.
“Harrison Ford’s character?” I prod.
Jackie’s eyes widen. I knew the genius would put it together first.
I stare at Trish. “From the movie The Fugitive ?”