Page 93 of Space Balls: Houston, We Have Liftoff
“Oh, it did, but politics drove me to therapy, so—” He shrugs.
“So what do I do about it?”
“Fuck if I know.”
I laugh despite the sudden need to blink back my emotions.
Ian holds the ounce of Jameson over his beer. “Let’s drink and see if we can’t figure it out.”
I grab my shot. “Sounds like a plan.”
We drop the shots and chug.
Twenty-Two
#rideordie
Rose
I may have gone overboard.
Emerging from my new minivan, I push the button for one of the two side doors to slide open.
Doug, the valet, hustles over, pausing when he sees a few of my purchases tumble out of the van. “Hey, Marty!” Doug calls over his shoulder, eyes still on the plethora of baby items piled inside. “We’re gonna need the dolly cart.”
“Good thinking, Doug.” I pop up on my tiptoes, looking over the bags and boxes in the one hundred and forty cubic feet of storage that my new seventeen by six-and-a-half-foot vehicle allowed me to haul. “I want to—"
“What. In God’s name. Did you do?”
Startled, I pivot on my sandals toward the front of my building where Jules, Trish and Jackie stand, mouths agape. Trish and Jackie look confused while Jules’ shock takes on a more personally affronted vibe.
“It’s one kid,” Jules says, like I don’t know how many babies are in my belly. “Why the hell do you need a minivan?”
“And why is it covered in glitter?” Jackie asks.
“Are those spinning rims?” Trish squints at my newly jacked-up, twenty-five-inchers. That do, indeed, spin.
“I’m pretty sure that isn’t a standard factory color,” Jackie remarks.
I shrug as they come closer. “I’m not going to be your standard mom.” The Texas sun glints off the surface of my newly refinished holographic rose gold glitter car paint, making me smile. “Plus, it’s one kid now. Who knows what will happen?”
That stops all of them in their tracks.
“And a minivan is like, super safe.” In case they didn’t know. Because they’re looking at me like I’m crazy instead of a responsible thinking adult about to have a child.
“So is a tank,” Jules deadpans. “Which would also be less embarrassing to drive.”
“It’s so…blinding.” There’s a hint of wonder in Trish’s voice.
I grin wider. “I know, right?”
“What do you mean by one kidnow?” Jackie asks.
I decidenotto tell them about my newfound plans for becoming the old lady who lived in a shoe with her immense number of children. Except, you know, make it the young woman who lived in a penthouse.
After I left Brass Tacks, I promised myself that with or without Vance, my kid was going to have a large family. Brothers, sisters, aunts, and uncles. The whole shebang. Whether that means I need to become Houston’s Angelina Jolie and adopt a hoard of orphans or visit a sperm bank to make withdrawals, I’ll ensureallmy kids are surrounded by nothing but love.
I’m saved from answering Jackie when Martin rolls up with the dolly cart.
