After parking, we walk toward the main entrance. I get the same thrilling rush I always got as a kid coming here. Walking under the giant letters that spell “Explore,” with an array of past rocket ships displayed in the rocket garden just beyond fills my being with such hope and excitement about the stars, I can barely stand it.
When Ben gives our names to a woman behind the counter, she types away at her computer before saying, “Ah, yes, Dr. Williams, someone will be arriving in a few minutes to greet you.”
I nudge him in the arm and say, “You’re a VIP here, huh? How cool is that?”
“I’m pretty sure it has more to do with Wake Up America! than with me.”
Then we both hear a voice call out, “Benjamin Williams, as I live and breathe!”
A nice-looking man approaches us with a big smile on his face. I’m about to offer him a wave when Ben mutters beneath his breath, “Anyone but him…”
“Friend of yours?” I ask.
“Not even close.”
Twenty-Eight
Ben
Well, this is just perfect. Patrick Ennis, the Darth Maul to my Obi Wan, is here. He and I went to MIT together and we always battled for the top spot in every class. I have such a strong hatred for this man, that I paid the MIT yearbook editor a hundred dollars to put only Patrick’s first initial under his picture, so it ended up spelling “P. Ennis.” Immature I know, but he had just told a girl I was trying to date that I only had one testicle and it kept me from performing like a man, so…
Anyway, three years ago, we were both up for a lead researcher position here at Kennedy, and sadly, evil won that day. I was really hoping to avoid him while I was here because I can’t stand another “friendly” conversation about how much better his life is than mine. He’s all over the astrophysics forums going on and on about his “Star Life in Florida.”
“Patrick,” I say with a quick nod. “Good to see you.” FYI, that’s said in the same tone that I’d use to declare, “Yay, liver and onion on my hot fudge sundae.” I’m not asking him how he is because I don’t really care, and I also don’t want to give him an opportunity to gloat.
“You too,” he answers. “I see they’ve got you doing a dog and pony show on morning television.” He bursts out laughing like it’s the best joke he’s heard in his life. But I suppose in a way, it is. My face heats up as I realize he’s seen me in my banana pants. God, strike me dead right now. I mean it. Right. Now.
“Just doing my part to further NASA’s public profile.”
“You sure about that, Dr. Banana Pants?” he asks, then slaps me on the arm as if to mean he’s just goofing around.
If I’m near this man for another second, I may snap and karate chop him right in the neck. “Anyway, we’ve got to run, but you are … exactly as I remember you,” I tell him with a deadpan expression.
Ignoring my attempt at brushing him off, he says, “I never thought I’d see your ugly mug here at Kennedy. What, are you on vacation so you thought you’d come for a tour?” He laughs at his own joke while I contemplate his slow and painful dismemberment.
“I’m here for the TRAPPIST-1 Conference.”
He’s already so bored, he’s not even looking at me. Instead, he’s eying Serafina like she’s a freeze-dried salmon treat and he’s Mr. Spock (my cat, not the television character). “Nice,” he answers, even though he clearly couldn’t care less. “This must be your lovely co-host, Serafina Lopez.”
He picks up her hand and brushes a kiss on her knuckles like he’s Rico Suave. Serafina yanks it away with a look of total disgust. He tells her, “Oh, you’re as feisty in person as you are on TV. I like that.”
Before I can put him in a full nelson and bang his head into a wall, Serafina loops her arm through mine and says, “So does my Benny.”
His face falls and he points back and forth between us. “You expect me to believe you’re with him?”
“I don’t care what you believe,” she says. “As long as I wake up every morning next to this stud muffin, that’s really all that matters.” She glances up at me and bats her eyes before turning back to him. “I can’t get enough of him. In fact, we didn’t even make it into the bedroom last night, did we, sugar lips?”
I could kiss her for this. Instead, I smile at her before turning my attention to Patrick. “It’s true. We spent the night on the living room floor in our suite.”
“Gross,” he says, but I can tell by his expression, he’s filled with envy.
Serafina says, “When I want him, I have to have him right that second. Doesn’t matter where we are.”
Patrick looks decidedly nauseous and it’s all I can do not to laugh out loud when Serafina adds, “I don’t suppose you’d mind if we used your office today? You know, in case Ben gets a break from the conference?”
“I’m not … no … ew … you can’t … I don’t allow that kind of thing in my office.” Patrick adds, “There is no sex in my office. I mean, I’m the only one who can have sex in my office. Me, alone.” He says that just as two women with NASA lanyards around their neck walk by. They both start to giggle, and Patrick turns bright red.
“It’s a lot more fun with a partner,” I tell him.
“So much more fun,” Serafina says, resting her head on my shoulder. “Anyway, I’m starving, babe, and you promised me breakfast before you have to get to work.”
“Right,” I tell her. “She needs to replenish her energy for later. See you, Pat. Have a good one.”
With that, I take Serafina’s hand and we start in the direction of the cafeteria, both of us trying desperately not to laugh until we’re out of earshot. Holding her hand gives me such a warm feeling, like hot cocoa on a cold winter day. Oh boy, I’m in trouble here.
When we round the corner, I don’t let go of her, even though I should. “Thank you for that,” I tell her in a quiet voice.
Serafina grins up at me. “You’re very welcome. That guy needed to be brought down a peg or six.”
“You accomplished that swiftly and effectively.”
“It’s the Libra way.” She takes a step toward me and for a split second I think we might be about to kiss right there in front of the Orbit Café, but a family walks out and nearly runs us over. Talk about a buzzkill.
With my hand on Serafina’s back, I lead her into the restaurant. We enjoy a quick breakfast of scrambled eggs, bacon, and toast, while we rehash the fun we had sticking it to Patrick.
“How long do you suppose it’ll be before everyone in the building knows he has sex with himself in his office?” she asks as she slathers some strawberry jelly onto her toast.
“Hopefully, by lunch time,” I tell her with a grin.
“Fingers crossed.” She takes a bite of her toast.
“What are you going to do around here all day?” I ask her.
“I’m going to walk around with the film crew and talk about the early connections between astronomy and astrology,” she says, her face morphing into trepidation.