Page 100 of Space Balls: Houston, We Have Liftoff
Her eyes blank. “Maybe.”
Not enough then.
“The reasons I told you about not wanting kids still stand. I made that decision because having kids meant having a family. People who cared if something happened to me.” I’m rushing my words, afraid she’ll leave again before I can explain. “But ifyoucan come to terms with that danger, I can’t help but be selfish enough to want to be with you.”
“Wait.” Rose pulls back, shaking her head. “You’re telling me that the only reason you didn’t tell me you loved me and that you don’t want to have kids is because you’re worried something will happen to you in space?”
“Vance…” my mother’s soft plea barely registers.
“Lots of people with dangerous jobs have kids, Vance,” Rose says, sounding exactly like Ian. “My dad was a race car driver.”
“Yeah, and he’s dead.”
Rose flinches.
“Vance.” The shocked, disappointed tone of my mother’s voice whips across my back.
“Yes. He’s dead.” Rose takes another step back, the distance between us growing. “And so is my mother. But not from racing.”
I frown. “You said they died in a car crash during a race.”
“Yes, anunsanctionedrace during which my mother had no business being in the passenger seat. And they were probably under the influence of something.” Her neck juts out. “You can’t honestly tell me that you work like that? That you’d take those kinds of chances?”
“No, of course not.” But neither did my father.
“Then why do you think it’s such a sure thing that something will happen?”
“Because it might.” Because it did.
“Might and will are two different things.” Her exasperation ignites my anger.
“I’m not taking that chance.” I slice my hand across the air, like I’m drawing a line in the sand not to cross.
We’re silent. There’s no music, Bing Crosby having finished his song a few heartbeats ago.
“Rose.” I raise my hand to her cheek, thankful when she doesn’t dodge it. “We… we don’t need to decide this now. We don’t have to argue about what ifs.” Taking a breath, I try to order my thoughts and emotions. Things, which around Rose, become scrambled. “If, in ten years, after you’ve settled into your career and I’ve completed more missions, you’re still set on having kids, we can talk then. By that time, I could retire early.”
One tear slips between the fingers cradling Rose’s cheek. And just like that tear, I feel Rose slipping away from me as well.
“Don’t you see how much I’m already bending? How much I’m already risking by loving you?” Shaking my head, I plead, “Don’t ask me to risk more. Not now.” I wipe away the second tear that falls. “We have plenty of time.”
She covers my hand with hers, holding it tightly before letting both fall. “No, we don’t.”
A black hole opens in my chest. “What do you mean?”
With her head turned to the side, I watch tears drop like glitter onto the stage.
“Rose?” I reach out to hold her, but her hand moves between us, warding me back.
Finally, she looks at me, and Iknow. I know without her saying anything. I shake my head back and forth.
She nods in answer. “I’m pregnant.”
Everything stops. Even my breath. Blackness creeps along the edges of my vision. It’s hard to swallow the onrush of salvia in my mouth. The black hole in my chest grows, consuming me, leaving me exposed and vulnerable.
Rose apologizes and says something about the IUD failure rate. I don’t really hear it. Her words are drowned out by the pulsating rush of blood through my veins, the echo of rapid heartbeats in my ears.
Her hands fall to her abdomen, a small smile lighting up her tear-streaked face. Her lips keep moving, but I can’t make out the words.
