Page 126 of Space Balls: Houston, We Have Liftoff
“Chief astronaut?” Matt asks. “What’s that?”
“My new job title,” Vance answers, eyes still on me. “Took over from Luke. Effective immediately.”
A rush of emotion hits me when I remember where I’ve heard that title before, and I fall back against the couch. My heart thumps, remembering what Jules said about her friend Luke, the tall guy at the wedding. How he wasn’t going on any missions right now because he’s in charge of all the flight rotations for the other astronauts. How she’d rather be caught dead than take that desk job, even if it was temporary. “What did you do?” I choke out the words, it suddenly hard for me to talk.
“Now remember,” Vance says, leaning away from me as if bracing for impact, “you said you wouldn’t argue.”
“But—but your flight.” I look at him, then the card, then at Helen, the boys, then back at the card. “You...”
“There will be other flights. And I’ll be on them. Just not right now.”
My eyes land on his, and I see his conviction. His commitment to me and our new family.
He taps the card in my hand. “This isn’t about me being afraid to fly up while you’re here with our child. It’s about me wanting to be here so I don’t miss out on helping you bring our child into the world.” His fingers wrap around my hand. “Though, honestly, even after one doctor’s visit, it’s pretty apparent that the sum of all my help is me just holding your hand.”
“Useless,” Brit mutters.
“But—"
“No arguing. That was the deal, remember.” And with a quick peck on my cheek, he stands, grabbing the oven mitt from Matt. “Come on, let’s go check on the brisket. I have barbecue skills to practice.” He takes a step to leave but stops, turning back to me. “Oh, here.” He pulls his phone out of his pocket and tosses it to me. “You might want to call the realtor. Even with it being Christmas, I don’t think they’ll mind taking a call if it means a cash commission.” He winks. “A deal’s a deal, right?”
With that, he finger guns me and leaves.
The bastard stole my move.
Hashtag best Christmas ever.
Epilogue
singularity
Rose
I’m wearing white.
Tradition might demand that I wear color, or ivory at the very least, since my uterus blob is now a discernible baby bump, but I look good in white.
Plus, the deep-V neckline of my white jumpsuit makes my pregnancy-enhanced boobs look legit amaze-balls.
And since my soon-to-be nephews say that having a bride wear white on her wedding days is an archaic tradition that glorifies defining a woman’s worth based on her level of chastity and not her person—I hadallthe women wear white today.
Hashtag stick it to the man.
“I can’t believe my sister is getting married in a barn.” Holt glares through the front window of the ranch house at the structure in question, shaking his head in dismay.
“Hey.” I elbow him in the ribs. “Ourbrothergot married in that barn not all that long ago.”
“Yeah, what’s wrong with a barn?” Flynn, sitting on the steps, frowns at our older, grumpy brother. We’re waiting for Jules to text Holt and give the three of us the all-clear to enter.
Holt rubs his side. “That was different. You and Jackie had a professional wedding planner who directed a team of fifty to transform the barn into a glamorous venue.” He continues to stare out the window, watching the last guests go inside. “All Rose had us do was sweep.”
“And let Brittany decorate,” I add, wondering how many Pinterest boards she made in preparation. “You haven’t seen what that woman can do. I bet it looks freaking majestic.”
“Why did you choose the back storage area and not the larger area where the stalls are, anyway?” Flynn stands, straightening his tux. “Did you not want us to have to move the horses again?”
The memory of Vance kissing my hoo-ha behind the reception curtains makes me shiver. “Think real hard about whether or not you two want to know the answer to that last question. Because as your sister, I’m thinking this might be a case of ignorance is bliss.”
“Jesus.” Flynn rubs a hand down his face.
