Page 29 of Space Junk: Houston, We Have a Hottie
“My brother is the most cowboy out of anyone in my family. He runs the ranch.” Flynn runs a hand through his hair. “I was raised roping cattle and riding horses, but I took after my dad and fell in love with the horsepower in engines instead.”
“Is your dad a mechanic too?”
Flynn’s face blanks for a moment. “Uh, no. He wasn’t. He raced cars, actually.”
My stomach drops. “Was?”
“Yeah, he and my mom died in a car crash a while back.”
I close my eyes and sigh. Really, how many times can I put my foot in my mouth on one date. My face must mirror my inner turmoil, because Flynn’s quick to reassure me. “Really, it’s okay. You didn’t know.” He squeezes my hand. “We weren’t that close, really. They were always off on the racing circuit. Gramps was the one to raise us. After Gramps and my parents died, Holt stepped up and got custody.”
Silence deepens for a moment.
“My mother died right after I was born,” I blurt. “Cardiomyopathy. They didn’t know she had it. It wasn’t until her heart failed twelve days after I was born that they realized.”
He’s quiet for a minute, giving my hand another squeeze. “Jackie. I’m so sorry.”
I nod. I don’t usually tell people that, but I figure if I know about his parents, he should know about mine.
“It’s really okay. It’s hard to miss someone when you don’t have any memory of them.”
“But you can still miss not having a mom.” He brushes his fingers across my face, tucking a tendril behind my ear.
“I guess.” I’m not sure of what else to say. Leave it to me to bring out the depressing stuff on my first ever date.
“What about your dad?”
“My dad? Oh, he’s great. I mean, we don’t talk a lot or anything, but we have scheduled check-ins. He isveryregimented. Once every other week, with additional calls on our birthdays and Christmas if they fall on the alternate weeks. Otherwise it’s just email.” He gives me a look, so I rush to explain. “He’s really busy with his work. He’s a chemical engineer back East where I grew up.” I smile, hoping he doesn’t think my relationship with my father is weird. I get that others might think it is, but it works for my dad and me. And really, Flynn doesn’t need to think me any weirder than he probably already does. “We may not talk as much as other families do, but he’s never made me feel bad about being different.”
“Different? You mean super smart?” he asks, his tongue slipping out to catch the straw in his mouth. My mind momentarily blanks.
“Huh? Uh, yeah, I guess that’s a good enough descriptor.” I concentrate on folding up my sandwich wrapper. Wondering if it would be too weird to fold it into something.
“Was it a problem being that smart?” He reaches for another chip. “I can’t even imagine.”
I talk while folding down the corners of the wrapper. “At first it was just frustrating. It was like I knew everything before my teachers taught it. I was, andam, a voracious reader. I’ve always had my nose in a book.” I fold the right and left sides back up, making a diamond shape. “And when teachers would catch me reading instead of paying attention, they’d try to call me out on it, asking me questions. But I only made them mad because I could answer any question they asked.” I pause to push my glasses back up, then press down on the folds, sharpening the creases. “I mean, it’s not like I’mthatsmart. I—”
“Jackie.”
Flynn’s voice startles me and I look up into his serious expression.
“Youarethat smart. And there’s nothing wrong with that. You should be proud—it’s cool.” His fingertips graze my cheekbone. “And super sexy.”
I cough on my own inhale like the super smooth person I am, and go back to concentrating on my wrapper folding. “Well, it isn’t cool when you get skipped up two grades and no one wants to be friends with the twelve-year-old who can outsmart them. And it isn’t all that sexy when every dance, football game and weekend, I was home alone because I didn’t have a date or friends.” I shrug and fold the bottom part of the wrapper up to meet the diamond, then flip the whole thing over. “Then when I entered college at sixteen, people mistook me for the professors’ kid, when I was, in fact, their T.A.” I tuck the top folds down into the pocket I made from the bottom fold and flip it over once more.
“Wow, Jackie.” Flynn picks up what is now a somewhat grease-spotted, but expertly folded, heart-shaped sandwich wrapper. “Can I keep this?”
“Uh, sure.” I shrug, my embarrassment lifting in the face of Flynn’s surprising awe over a bit of origami. “I can make you a better one, though, if you want. You know, with non-greasy paper and all.”
Flynn reaches back and pulls out his wallet. “No,” he says, while carefully sliding the heart inside. “This is perfect.”
I smile. He really is. Perfect.
* * *
Back at my apartment complex,my nerves resurge. Flynn has the ability to both calm my mind and get my electrical synapses firing, all at the same time. It’s a unique gift of his that defies all scientific logic and leaves me, frankly, bewildered. He is uniquely gifted that way.
He’s been nothing but a gentleman. Driving me home, walking me to the door, leaving after what I am sure was a platonic kiss on my cheek. But tonight he mentioned a date. That we were definitely on a date. That changes things. Once you classify an object there are certain details and assumptions to be made based on the definition of that classification.
