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“You said partner,” Dan said. “As in, long term?”
“Two years together. We’ve known each other for almost three years.”
“That’s longer than Jerry and I have been together!”
“You’ve been seeing someone theentiretime you’ve been at NASA, and we had no idea.” Mark was still shaking his head. “Is he here? Or is he back home?”
Sasha’s shoulders slumped. “Back home in Moscow.”
“Long way away.”
“The separation is difficult.” Understatement. The separation was a black hole in his chest, a whirlpool of loneliness that clawed at him all the time.
“Is he coming to Family Day?” Dan asked.
Family Day was NASA’s private, behind-the-scenes party for the graduating NASA trainees. Once they completed their training and officially became astronauts preparing for their missions, the moment was marked by a weekend with the astronauts’ families. Sasha started shaking his head.
“I know, I know,” Dan interrupted, before he could speak. “You’re probably thinking no, definitely not, but Sasha, you should bring him. Family Day is completely private. No press. No public. It’s just the astronauts. Just NASA. We take care of our own here. If there’s something you want to keep quiet, it willstayquiet. No one will ever know, not unless you give the okay. Jerry was not a secret, but I didn’t want to be a symbol, or some kind of curiosity. You know?” Sasha nodded. “So you didn’t know about him until you saw him with me last night. NASA respected my wishes to keep my personal life private. They will do the same for you. And theywon’tlet it get back to Russia and the Kremlin.”
Sasha chewed on his lip.
“Lindsey would love to meet your partner. She’s excited to meet you after everything I’ve told her,” Mark said softly. “And Dan is right. If you want to keep your sexuality a secret, NASA will put it in the vault. Along with the aliens on the moon and secret DOD missions.”
Sasha chuckled. “There’s no aliens on the moon.”
“That’s what you think ’cause the truth is in the vault.” Mark winked. “Please, think about it. You’re welcome at NASA exactly as you are. Everyone would be thrilled to meet your partner. And I’m sure you want to show him everything you’ve done here. He should get a chance to see you and be as proud of you as we all are.”
Sasha’s throat clenched. He nodded, a weaving head bobble, somewhere between a yes and no. “I’ll ask him,” he finally breathed.
Dan reached across the table. He rested his fingers on top of Sasha’s, still shredding his paper label to scraps. “You can be gay and be at NASA, Sasha. NASA wantsyou. All of you. This can be your home. A good home, where you never have to fear anything. You will never be thrown out of here because of your sexuality. Ever.”
* * *
4
Kremlin
Moscow, Russia
Morningsin the Kremlin were a contradiction of desperation: Sergey agonized over the spinning minutes on the clock, waiting forever for his phone to ring.
And once it did, he wanted to climb inside the clock and stop the gears, hold the minute hand still as if he could bend time around both Moscow and Houston and give him and Sasha endless minutes and hours together.
He sipped his coffee and swiped through his tablet, catching up on news and briefs from around the world. As always, he flipped through news from NASA and Houston first. Weather today for Sasha was thirty-five degrees Celsius, sunny and humid. Sasha would be miserable unless he was inside, in air conditioning. Sasha had never kept his own place, never had to lease an apartment or own a home in all his thirty-plus years. He’d lived in barracks his entire adult life, and then the Kremlin with Sergey, and pesky details like utilities and bills had been taken care of for him.
Sergey still chuckled over Sasha’s outrage at his first month’s electricity bill in Houston. Over $600 for a tiny one-bedroom apartment, thanks to keeping his air conditioning at near-Siberian temperatures.
Sasha had been adorably out of his element in the move. Sergey had instructed the consulate in Houston to help him with everything. A consular representative met him at the airport when he landed and gave him an envelope full of cash to use until his US bank account and NASA paychecks were settled. Sasha was officially a Russian government employee and was promoted to Air Force Captain, with special cosmonaut pay, and he earned a magnificent 5,600 Russian rubles a month. That came out to around eighty-seven US dollars.
Luckily, NASA made up the difference, paying him the salary for his commensurate rank in the United States Air Force.
Until that kicked in, though, he needed rubber-banded wads of hundreds and guidance from Breasha Turgenev, a stout, dour woman who was second-in-command at the consulate. Even Sergey stood up straighter when speaking to her over the phone. Breasha helped Sasha settle into his apartment across the street from Johnson Space Center and personally took him to get his American driver’s license. Breasha and Sasha fought over buying a car, he was told by both of them, with Sasha absolutely refusing to buy the sensible used Honda Breasha recommended and waiting until his first paycheck came in from NASA to go off on his own.
Sasha sent Sergey a picture of a ridiculous, gigantic pickup truck.I always wanted one, Sasha had texted. Russian pickup trucks ranged from golf carts on monster tires to clown size, something that would fit in the bed of the truck Sasha bought for himself.
He’d texted back,You need a hat to go with a truck like that, and, six weeks later, when Sasha came home for his first training break, he clambered off the presidential jet in a no-shit Texas cowboy hat, his cheeks as red as Sergey had ever seen them. He took it off quickly, but Sergey brought the hat out again later that night, and more than once over the next few weeks it made its way into their bedroom.
Somehow, his adorably hopeless Sasha managed to buy groceries—hot dogs, milk, and Fruit Loops—civilian clothes, and mismatched, utilitarian furniture for his apartment. He’d made a home for himself in America, in Texas.
