19. surface operations
NINETEEN
SURFACE OPERATIONS
Vance
“Dr. Sato?”
Dr. Rebecca Sato, NASA flight surgeon, glances up from her phone. “Oh, hey, Vance.”
I step out of the elevator and into the white polished tile medical lobby. “You’re back from maternity leave?”
“Just.” She slides her phone into the pocket of her lab coat. “Today’s my first day back.”
I run a hand through my hair, stalling. “Congratulations, by the way.” When I called earlier, I was told I’d have to see the interim doctor, since Dr. Sato was on maternity leave, which was A-OK with me.
Even though I know that everything on my medical record is available to all NASA doctors and Rebecca will see it anyway, it would’ve been nice to not have to have the conversation I’m about to have with a brand-new mother.
“Thanks.” Her smile dims as I shuffle from foot to foot in front of her. “Did you need something?”
“Yeah.” I sigh, giving in to the inevitable. “I have an appointment to get a referral. But I think it’s with the interim doctor.” I can’t keep the hope out of my voice.
“Referral?” Her professional mask drops into place in an instant. “I was just going to go through paperwork today, but I have time to see you.” She glances at her watch. “I think Dr. Zamir is still at lunch.”
“Oh, that’s okay.” I curse myself for coming early. “I don’t want to bother you.”
“No bother at all.” She grabs the iPad resting on the lobby front desk and starts tapping on it. “Let’s talk in my office.”
I follow her down the brightly lit hallway and into her new office with a wall of windows. A marked difference from the old medical building that was retrofitted with modern conveniences and cluttered with furniture past vintage and heading into antique territory.
“So,” Dr. Sato says once we’re seated on opposite sides of her large, glass-topped desk. “What can I help you with, Vance?”
Ten minutes later a frowning Dr. Sato guides me out of her office, and I have the referral appointment reminder card in my pocket.
“Just do me a favor and think about this a bit longer, Vance.” She closes her office door behind us. “As much as soap operas like to say otherwise, this really isn’t reversible. Once you do it, there’s no going back.”
I nod. “Sounds good to me.”
The V between Rebecca’s brows deepens. “I?—”
“There you are.”
We both look up to see Ryan, Rebecca’s husband, pushing a double stroller into the lobby. “I was wondering what was taking so long.”
“Didn’t you get my text?” Rebecca pulls her phone back out and checks the screen. She sighs. “Sorry babe, I forgot to hit send.”
“No problem, the kids and I just took a stroll.” He looks down at the twins, sleeping soundly in their seats. “Knocked Emma right out.” The baby in blue waves and smacks his lips, drool sliding toward his chin. “As usual, Charlie doesn’t want to nap.”
Rebecca’s eyes light up as she leans down to unbuckle Charlie from his stroller seat, picking him up.
I’m not one for babies, as the piece of paper burning a hole in my pocket can attest to, but even I must admit that these two are damn adorable. The mix of Rebecca’s Japanese heritage and Ryan’s classic all-American looks made for two cute kids.
Guilt over my reason for being here hits me, and I cover my pocket with my hand.
Rebecca sees my move and assesses me. “I need one more minute.” Dr. Sato shifts Charlie in her arms and kisses her husband’s cheek. “I forgot to sign off on something.”
“Sure thing, babe.” He reaches for his son, but Rebecca turns to me.
“Here.” She holds out her son, and my arms lift by instinct.
Before my brain can register the soft weight in my arms, she walks back down the hallway to her office.
As Charlie settles in against my chest, my initial spike of panic fades.
Ryan grins. “You’re a natural.”
“I have two nephews.” Though I don’t remember holding them as babies very often. I don’t believe I let myself, come to think of it.
Ryan’s wearing his Houston Fire Department shirt. The sight of that and the reason for the appointment card in my pocket converge. “Aren’t you worried?” The words shoot out of my mouth before I can think them through.
“Worried about what?” Ryan’s Thor-like muscles in his arm flex as he pushes the stroller back and forth, rocking his sleeping daughter.
“About dying?”
Ryan pauses, looking at me with wide eyes. “Isn’t everyone?”
I only just register his comical expression. “No. I mean, because of your job.”
“My job?” He’s looking at me like maybe I need more than just a physical doctor.
“Firefighting is dangerous.” I say this as if he doesn’t already know.
Ryan just laughs. “So says the astronaut.”
Gently, my thumb traces the bridge of Charlie’s nose. He closes his eyes from the soft touch. “But I don’t have a family.”
When Charlie’s breath evens out, I look up to see Ryan staring at me as if all my fears are written across my face.
“Yeah.” He nods, his voice resigned. “Fighting fires is dangerous. And unfortunately, I know of quite a few families who lost a fireman parent in the line of duty.” Ryan’s eyes suddenly look much older than his twenty-something years. “But?—”
“Okay, ready.” Rebecca, lab coat gone, walks over to me, holding her arms out. “I’ll take him now.”
I frown at Ryan, wanting him to finish his thought. Thinking maybe what he says will make me understand why he’s so willing to risk hurting the ones he loves. But he’s focused on his wife now, his normal grin sliding back into place.
“Okay.” I shift the now-sleeping Charlie from my chest and hand him over, the loss of his tiny warm body leaving me with an unfamiliar longing in my chest.
At the same time, the appointment card in my pocket lies heavy against my leg.
Rose
“ I heard your presentation was perfect.” For once, John is not tapping his fingers on the desk. He’s leaning back in his high back rolling chair, legs crossed, his tapping hand still on the shiny mahogany wood.
“That’s what they tell me.” I shift in my seat, my khaki pants sliding across the hard wood.
It was perfect, but boring. Afterwards, one of the professors asked if I was feeling okay.
I think she’d been expecting a laser light show and streamers, and was disappointed with my well-designed, but standard, PowerPoint.
“Have you given any more thought to what we discussed last time? About what you want to do next?” His stillness is more unnerving than his habitual tick.
Or is it because I’m dressed like a young professional, having taken the time to de-Rose myself?
No glitter, no stripper shoes. I even tamed my hair into a low chignon, sans sequined clips.
My usual extra-ness dimmed by the rogue stowaway in my uterus.
I didn’t realize how much I cared about John’s opinion until I woke up this morning, our final meeting reminder glaring at me from my phone’s calendar app. I tug at my shirt collar.
Crossing my legs, I lay my hands on top of my knee and clear my throat. “I decided not to enroll in the master’s program.” My voice is level and clear, ready to defend myself if needed. Just as I practiced.
“Okay.”
There’s a beat of silence.
“Okay?” I ask when he doesn’t say anything else. “Is that all?” His right hand is still not moving.
Both bushy, steel-gray caterpillar eyebrows arch. “You seem surprised. What did you think was going to happen?”
Smoothing out my khaki material on my top leg, I speak to my knee. “I thought you’d be disappointed.”
“Why?”
Exasperated at his calm tone, I sigh, my arms flying out to the side. “ Because whenever I come in, you tell me about the program. You’re always saying how it will help me take over West Oil Industries.” I catch myself making wild hand gestures and still.
Meanwhile, John stays calm and collected, looking completely unfazed by this turn of events. “I mostly gave that speech because I knew it annoyed you.”
My mouth falls open.
John’s lips twitch. He leans forward in his chair conspiratorially. “It was my small form of payback for all the antics you enjoy bringing to my door.”
I snap my mouth closed.
John chuckles.
“Well played, John. Well played.” Then I laugh with him.
He smiles. “Thank you.”
Forgetting my pre-planned professional stature, I scoot my chair forward and lean both elbows on his desk. “You know, I might have given you a raft of shit the past few years, but you are, by far, the best counselor I could’ve asked for, Johnny-boy.”
“Again, thank you.” He nods. “For both acknowledging the, um, raft , and for the compliment.”
We bask in mutual admiration for a moment before he sits up, donning a more professional air. “Honestly, though, what can I help you with?” The right side of his smile lifts. “What’s next for the great Rose West?”
Swallowing, I remember my plan. I’m going to tell him that I’m still thinking about it. That I’ll be in touch. Then go home, send him a gift basket that includes a raffle ticket to a large sum of money that he’ll “win.”
“I’m pregnant.” Whelp. There goes that plan.
At first, John’s expression seems nonplussed. But I notice a small rise to his eyebrows. Not much, but enough for me to know I’ve surprised him. “I see.”
I try to laugh, but I just sound awkward.
“Can I congratulate you or…” He trails off, probably not wanting to ask the question that first comes to mind when a young, unwed woman finds out she’s pregnant.
“You can congratulate me. I’m keeping it.” That is the only thing I’ve been sure about since I peed on the stick.
His smile grows. “Well then, congratulations.”
I feel stupid by how happy his congratulations make me. “Thanks.”
John’s expression turns carefully blank. “And may I ask about the father?”
“He’s my boyfriend.” Sort of. “And we were careful, but…” I shrug.
“These things happen. I just hope he took the news well.”
“I’m on my way to tell him.” I stare at the floor, remembering both my relief and nervousness when Vance finally responded to my texts after my presentation yesterday.
“Well, I hope this boyfriend of yours knows how lucky he is.”
I look up. “Lucky?”
“Yes, of course.” He looks bewildered by my surprise. “He not only has you in his life, but now you’re the mother of his child. He is very lucky.” John’s smile is softer and more real than any I’ve seen from him before. “Because you, Rose West, are going to be an amazing mother.”
I swallow through the sudden tightness in my throat. “You think?”
“I know.”
“But, I mean, you always seem so exasperated with me.”
He thinks for a moment. “Did you know I was going to retire three and a half years ago?”
The semester I enrolled. “Uh, no, I didn’t.”
John’s eyes move to the side to where a gold picture frame rests.
On one of my previous visits, I snuck a peek. In the picture John has his arm around a woman with short, dark hair, both smiling. It had to have been taken earlier, as John’s hair is darker in the photo, and he’s more salt than pepper now. I figured it was his wife.
“Diane passed away from breast cancer just before you enrolled.”
“Oh.” My mind blanks on anything else to say.
“I was having trouble getting up in the morning.” John’s voice is flat, as if reading from a script. “Getting to and doing work was even harder.”
I flash back to all the antics I put him through right from the start of my college career. The inappropriate jokes, the stripper clothes, that one time with the roller skates. “John. I am so sorry.”
He blinks a few times, coming back to the present. “Don’t be.” He smiles. “I’m telling you this to thank you.”
I point to myself. “Thank me ?” My incredulous tone makes him chuckle.
“Yes, you. Because it wasn’t until you came bounding in, trailing glitter, popping bubble gum, and throwing out terms like YOLO, which I had to look up later, that I found myself looking forward to something again.”
“Ugh.” I drop my head in my hands. “Don’t remind me of my YOLO phase.”
John laughs and reaches out to take my hands.
I give them to him, still looking down.
“Rose.” He waits for me to lift my head.
“You not only have a knack for lighting up the room, but you also do it while managing to make deadlines, write publish-worthy papers, and ace exams. You think you’re being covert, but I know all the times you’ve helped pay for a student’s tuition or their living expenses through fake scholarships that you made up on the spot.
” He squeezes my hands when I start to look away.
“Only you would name scholarships The Oliver Clothesoff Foundation or The Drew P. Weiner Fund.”
I snicker. “Drew P. Weiner. Classic.”
“Yes. Classic Rose West.” He stares intently at me. “I could never be disappointed in you.”
I am not crying.
“And you are going to be a fantastic mom.”
I may be crying.
When the first tear falls, we both mutually pull back, me mumbling about hormones, him straightening his desk blotter.
Though I’ve always cared about John and knew he cared about my academic career, this is the first time we’ve gotten personal.
I clear my throat. “So what you’re saying is it only took three and a half years for me to drive you to retirement?”
The joke falls flat, but he smiles nonetheless. “That’s right. You’re my swan song.” He clears his own throat, both of us pretending we aren’t emotional idiots. “And I couldn’t be prouder.”
“I’m glad you’re not disappointed that I’m not doing something noteworthy or monumental.” I put on a snooty accent. “Something deserving of the West name and status.”
“But you are doing something worthy and monumental.” He gestures to my stomach. “And I really couldn’t care less about the West name and status.” His eyes narrow, assessing my expression. “And neither should you.”
That earns him a watery smile. “You’re one cool dude, John.”
He raises his hands, accepting my compliment with a smile. “That’s what they tell me.”
As the tension of the emotionally charged moment dissipates, I lean back in my chair, my legs falling open into a full-on man-spread.
I’m lighter now that all my pre-meeting anxiousness is gone.
That’s when I notice his non tapping hand.
His wedding ring hand. Which, for the first time since I’ve known him, is bare.
“John, John, John.” Pulling my hairband out, I use both hands to give my hair a good shake, bringing back its volume and crazy. Feeling more like myself than I have since I found out Vance slipped one past the goalie. “I’ve got a great retirement gift for you.”