Page 53 of Space Junk: Houston, We Have a Hottie
“For a while I wasn’t really sure what I wanted to do.” He shakes his head. “No, that’s not true. I guess I always loved cars, but I didn’t have the guts to go after it until recently.”
I can’t imagine Flynn anything less than confident. Even the way he stood there making a breakfast he had no idea how to make, he looked sure of himself. He is so very fascinating to me.
I prop my elbow on the counter and my chin in my palm. “Tell me all about it.”
Fourteen
Egress
Flynn
Jackie likes Lucky Charms.
Turns out she’s a cereal girl who hates coffee. I love finding out these things about her. Small things. Intimate things. Like how she becomes quite the wild woman when she’s mindless with pleasure.
“I wasn’t always going to work with cars. Like I said before, I went to the standard four year.”
“Where was that?”
“Baylor.”
She nods. “That’s a good school.”
“Yeah, I guess.”
“You didn’t like it?”
“Honestly, I don’t remember much. I passed, but not with flying colors. I was still messed up over my parents and acting like an asshole. I basically partied my way through.”
“Oh.”
My shoulders tighten, thinking of my past self: a stupid kid with too much money, a chip on my shoulder the size of Texas, and full of anger over my parents’ deaths. But the hollow feeling that just hit my stomach comes from Jackie’s soft-spoken disappointment.
“I majored in business, thinking I’d…” I trail off, not wanting to get into the oil business side of my family’s ranch. Instead I wave my spoon in the air indifferently. “But thankfully I wised up and went to trade school.”
“And do you love it?”
“Yep. Can’t imagine being happy doing anything else.”
“That really is the key, isn’t it? Doing something you love.”
“I guess it is.”
“We are both very lucky that we can do what we love and make a living at it.”
I don’t bother telling her that I don’t have to make a living at anything. That even if my shop made no money, I’d be okay. That I’m luckier than she even guesses. I’m not sure why. She told me about her mom, her odd relationship with her dad and the uncomfortable memories from being smarter than all her peers growing up. The guilt I feel is more than knowing I’m purposely omitting things, it’s that I’m holding back from her by doing so. But I still don’t share.
I try asking her about NASA, but she seems more interested in my shop and restoring vintage cars. Just as when I explained hot wiring, she soaks it all up. I have a feeling Jackie will be able to reiterate everything I tell her like an expert after just this one conversation.
“Do you know about the history between astronauts and Corvettes?” Jackie asks.
“No. What about it? Do a lot of astronauts drive them or something?”
“Well, they used to.” She puts her spoon down and angles toward me.
I’m quite proud of myself when I stop myself from glancing down at her legs.
“See, Alan Shepard was a big sports car fan. A lot of them were.” She pushes up the bridge of her glasses. “Astronauts, I mean.” She looks off to the side. “I guess that makes sense, as in the early days astronauts really were the definition of adrenaline junkies. How else would you explain their drive to strap themselves into a shuttle built by the lowest bidder, attached to a rocket that literally creates explosions under them to propel them into the unknown?” She shakes her head, as if to clear it.
