Rocket Science

by Emily Mayer

  “That’s fine. Should be a good game.” I heard him trying to muffle a yawn. “Sorry.”

  The ticket. As in singular. As in, one for me and not one for Aaron. I couldn’t think of a single good reason why I had assumed Sebastian would be giving me two tickets, and I had already invited Aaron. I closed my eyes and let out a breath. I had to ask. I had to. Aaron would be so disappointed if I didn’t, and I really didn’t want to go to the game alone. Just the thought of it sent a shudder through me.

  I braced myself and forced the words out. “I have a favor to ask, but I don’t want to sound rude or greedy.”

  “I have a favor to ask, but I don’t want to sound rude or ungrateful.”

  “A favor?” he asked, a hard edge to his voice that made my toes curl into my slippers.

  “I know, it’s already so nice of you to offer me a ticket and I guess I should have clarified the details with you first. It’s just the idea of all those people, strangers, packed into a stadium makes me really nervous, and it’s been such a long time since I’ve been to a sporting event that I’m afraid I won’t know what to do—”

  “Lennon, sweetheart, take a breath. Do you want an extra ticket? Is that what you’re carrying on about?”

  “Would that be okay?” I asked, hoping the answer was yes. If not, I would have to find another pair of big girl panties for this game, and I was blowing through my supply of them at an alarming rate.

  “Yeah, of course it’s okay.” His voice had lost that hard edge and he sounded almost amused. “There’s plenty of room in the box.”

  “The box?” I asked, hoping he couldn’t hear the increasing anxiety in my voice.

  “Yeah, there’s a suite or box for family and friends of the team.”

  A suite? That didn’t sound ideal. I would definitely be forced to interact with the other occupants, and I wasn’t sure how I would explain my presence in that particular group. And then there was the hot dogs. I remember how unnaturally delicious the hot dogs had been at the baseball games Grandpa had dragged me to when Harrison was unavailable.

  “Oh, a suite. Are… are there hot dogs in the suite?”

  “Hot dogs? I’ve no idea. I’m sure they can bring you a hot dog if you fancy one.” His voice sounded incredulous and amused.

  Silence stretched across the line, taking us from one awkward second to the next. I didn’t know how to ask Sebastian for what I really wanted. I’d never been in this situation before, so I wasn’t sure what was acceptable. I chewed on my lower lip, wondering how I could explain myself without sounding unhinged or ungrateful.

  Sebastian made a sound, halfway between a sigh and a chuckle.

  “What’s on your mind, Lennon?”

  “Can I sit in the stands?” I blurted it out so quickly that the syllables all ran together. I took a deep breath, trying to slow my proverbial roll. “I really, really don’t mean to sound ungrateful. But I went to baseball games with my grandpa growing up and I remember how good the hot dogs were at the game. I did some research and concluded that the atmosphere of the stadium setting was likely what made the hot dogs taste so good—you know, the way you become an instant member of a group sharing a common objective.”

  Aaron would probably cry and then murder me if he knew I was attempting to turn down tickets to the family and friends’ box.

  “I want to start with the hot dog experiment, but I feel like you need me to tell you that I can get you tickets in the stands first so you can relax.” The calmness in his voice managed to soothe all the raw edges of my nerves. “I’m not mad, love. If you’d be more comfortable sitting in the stands with your friend, that’s perfectly fine. Now tell me about this experiment.”

  It did not escape me that he had used two terms of endearment during our conversation. I was greedily gathering them up and storing them like a skinny squirrel in the fall. I might have to ignore them now, but I could dig them up to enjoy later. So I told Sebastian about the late summer afternoon Grandpa, Harrison, and I had spent eating various combinations of different manufacturers’ hot dogs and buns, all cooked different ways. The experiment lasted until Harrison puked because he insisted on eating the entire hot dog instead of just a couple of bites of each combination.

  We spent another thirty minutes talking, while I tried to ignore the fact that Sebastian had chosen to spend the end of his long day talking to me.

  26.

  We settled on a Mexican restaurant that was centrally located between Spatium, the yoga studio, and Kay’s apartment for our girls’ night. Janie and I were the last ones to arrive because of traffic, and between Janie’s driving and the stress of LA rush hour, I was thinking the fishbowl-sized margaritas advertised on the board above the hostess station sounded like a very good idea.

  Janie and I slid into the open side of the booth, and I swear I experienced a moment of sheer euphoria knowing I had survived what Janie had called “evasive maneuvers” but would be more accurately described as reckless operation of a motor vehicle. We each placed an order for a fishbowl margarita and took a minute to peruse the menu, silently acknowledging our mutual understanding that the business of ordering food needed to be handled before we got down to the business of talking.

  Orders placed, I tried to sneak the index card I had written a list of items to discuss at dinner on out of my purse, but it slipped out of my grasp and landed next to Janie’s foot.

  “What’s that?” Janie asked, bending down to pick it up.

  Orders placed, I tried to discreetly sneak an index card out of my purse, but it slipped out of my grasp and landed on the seat next to Janie.

  “What’s that?” she asked, snatching it up.

  I made a swipe for the card, but it was too late. Holding the card just out of my reach, she took in the list I had spent an embarrassing amount of time procrastinating on earlier in the afternoon, when I should have been busy reviewing a thruster blueprint that was hot off the press.

  “Is this… a list of things to discuss tonight? Did you really think we would run out of things to talk about?” she asked, sounding surprised.

  “No! I just didn’t want us to miss something important, and I also didn’t feel like doing any actual work.”

  Janie snorted, handing me the index card. “Now that I can relate to. Your explosions are starting to give me hives.”

  “Explosions?” Paige asked, her eyes wide and eyebrows raised high.

  “Our last test launches with the simulator software have all ended with something exploding.” I sighed. “Think Fourth of July in space.”

  Paige and Kay grimaced.

  “Yep, but instead of going boom those explosions go ka-ching, ka-ching, ka-ching,” Janie said, absently scratching her wrist. While she was distracted I snatched the card back and returned it to my purse. But Janie wasn’t ready to let it go. [EM11]“Anyway, the first item on the Lennon’s list was updates on Kay’s life, because she missed the last girls’ night. However, I would like to make a motion to move Paige ordering extra cheese on her quesadillas to the number one slot. Paige, what’s with the cheese?”

  Paige took what I imagined was a fortifying breath and filled Janie and Kay in on her decision to go back school and the ensuing fight with her mom.

  “Wow, Paige, that’s great! I mean, obviously your mom is a total bitch, but I think it’s amazing that you’re going back to school. And that you’re back on the dairy.”

  Kay echoed Janie’s congratulations, and assured Paige that she was one of the three people on this planet who didn’t need plastic surgery.

  “Thanks, ladies. I’ve had to drop some of my normal yoga classes, so I’m hoping I saved enough to make this work. Obviously, my parents aren’t an option for help. I hear eating ramen for every meal is basically a rite of passage for college students, though,” Paige replied with what sounded like forced cheerfulness.

  I made a mental note to make sure she was not actually eating ramen. As much as I loved ramen, I had a feeling Paige was mor
e worried than she was letting on.

  “Oh my gosh, Paige!” I sat up, suddenly remembering the conversation I’d had with Harrison. “I can’t believe I didn’t think of this sooner! It’s perfect! Harrison is looking for someone to help him around the shop.”

  “Oh no—” she began, but Kay interrupted whatever argument she was about to make.

  “I love that idea! He would totally work around your class schedule, and you’d get to work with me.”

  “And you’d get to work with Harrison every day.” Janie sighed dreamily. “That is a job perk I could really get behind. Or under, or on top of.”

  I groaned. “Please stop before I barf up the salsa and am scarred for life.”

  Janie shrugged, taking a sip of her margarita.

  “I don’t know. I’m not sure I’m even qualified to work there,” Paige responded, thankfully ignoring Janie’s comments about Harrison even though I was pretty sure seeing him every day would end up in her pros column.

  “At least think about it,” I urged. “Bad Wolf could use another woman around to keep the guys in line.”

  “Amen to that,” Kay said, lifting her glass with both hands. “I think you’re more than qualified too. You’d be a great fit for the shop.”

  “Since we’re all in agreement that Paige is awesome, let’s move on to the next item on the agenda,” Janie said with mock seriousness.

  “No, no, no!” I cut her off, slapping my hand over her mouth. “Did you memorize that freaking list?”

  All Janie could do was nod and mumble around my hand.

  “Kay, what’s new with you?” I asked, hand still firmly in place over Janie’s mouth.

  “Nice try. I want to hear whatever it is you’re willing to use force to prevent from coming out.”

  Paige nodded. “You did put it on the agenda.”

  “No one was supposed to see it,” I grumbled, dropping my hand. “And it wasn’t an agenda.”

  “Lennon has a date with Patrick on Friday!” Janie blurted out as soon as my hand left her mouth.

  There was a full minute of pandemonium as all three women talked excitedly. I made no effort to even attempt to follow along. I focused on shoveling the complimentary chips and salsa into my mouth instead.

  “Are you excited?” Paige asked.

  Kay followed with, “Where are you going?”

  Janie felt the need to add, “Do you have condoms?” even though she’d told me the first-date limit was one boob grope.

  I swallowed my current mouthful and then attacked their questions in the order they were asked.

  “I don’t know, Arthur’s, and of course not.”

  “You’ll love Arthur’s,” Paige assured me. “They have the best breads.”

  “How can you not know if you’re excited?” Kay asked.

  “Because it’s Lennon,” Janie said, nudging me with her shoulder.

  I rolled my eyes. “I am excited to meet him, but I’m also pretty nervous.”

  “It’s totally normal to be nervous about a first date,” Kay assured me. “I mean, it’s been about a decade since I had a date, but I think I remember being nervous.”

  “Men are just intimidated by your awesomeness. Pretty sure Lou would go out with you in a heartbeat,” I pointed out.

  It was her turn to roll her eyes. “I would rather die alone. Lou would go out with a broom if it had boobs.”

  “That’s probably true.” As much as I loved Lou, there wasn’t much I could say in his defense when it came to women. “I’ve already started making a list of possible topics of conversation based on Patrick’s interests and our shared interests. I also did some research into the area of biomedical engineering he specializes in, so I can meaningfully participate in any conversation about his work. I think all that’s left to do is pick out an outfit.”

  “Oh, that’s an easy one. You’ll wear the emerald wrap dress with the capped sleeves.” Paige’s tone was confident and commanding. “That was not a suggestion.”

  “Emerald would be a great color for you,” Kay added, squinting like she was trying to picture me in the dress Paige described. It had been safely housed in the garment bag I’d brought it home in after Paige convinced me to buy it.

  “It’s not too much for a first date?” I didn’t want to end up looking like I was meeting the queen instead of a man I’d met on the internet. I didn’t know what the expectations were for this type of first date. My last boyfriend I met in class when I was wearing sweatpants and a T-shirt. Our first date was a game night at his friend’s apartment, to which I wore nicer sweatpants and a sweater.

  “Nope, it’s perfect. You’re a total knockout in that dress,” Paige assured me.

  “Oh, while we’re on the topic of clothing. Would it be weird to get a Nova jersey with Sebastian’s name and number on it to wear to the game? He offered to let me sit in the family and friends’ box, but I thought that would be weird. It would be normal friendship stuff to wear his jersey, though, right?”

  I was too busy eyeballing the tacos al pastor the server had just placed in front of me to appreciate the fact that silence had descended around the table. I took a bite and looked up to find three pairs of eyes staring at me.

  “Wut?” I managed around a mouthful of perfectly marinated pork.

  Janie blinked at me no less than five times before she managed words. “Hold the mothertrucking phone. Sebastian wanted you to sit in the WAGs box?”

  I shook my head. “No, the suite for family and friends.”

  “So the WAGs box.” Paige’s eyes seemed to widen with each word until I was worried they might pop out of her head. I moved my plate closer to me just in case they rolled my way.

  “I feel like we’re speaking different languages here. What am I missing?” I directed my question at Kay in the hopes that she would be the other sane person at this table and could translate whatever language Paige and Janie were speaking.

  “WAGs is an acronym for ‘wives and girlfriends.’ Also a terrible reality show that I don’t think lasted long,” Kay explained. “It’s used exclusively for the wives and girlfriends of professional athletes.”

  It was my turn to blink furiously while my mind worked to reconcile this new information with what I believed to be true.

  “Okay, well, wives and girlfriends fall into the categories of family and friends respectively, so I suppose both statements can be true.” I shuddered involuntarily. “I’m even more thankful I asked to sit in the bleachers now. Though Aaron’s going to be extra mad if he finds out I turned down those tickets.”

  “Why would Aaron be mad?” Paige was looking at me like we were still speaking different languages.

  “Because Lennon gave him the extra ticket.” Kay followed up this statement with a slightly deranged laugh that was, concerningly, echoed by Janie.

  “Oh, this is going to be good,” Paige grinned.

  I wanted to ask what she meant by that, and why Kay and Janie were exchanging conspiratorial looks. There was also the one thing I couldn’t bring myself to write down earlier, the thing that was occupying way too many of my in-between thoughts. Did it mean anything that Sebastian had called me ‘love’ and ‘sweetheart’? But just like every other time my mind started to wander down that particular road of what-ifs, I chastised myself for spending so much time thinking about Sebastian.

  The Lennon who believed in science and thought rationally knew that if you had to look that hard to prove something existed, in all likelihood, the thing didn’t really exist. You were just creating evidence to support a theory you wanted to be true. I needed to focus, to spend my energy on what the evidence supported: Patrick. Given the fact that he had asked me out on a date, I knew he was interested in at least pursuing a romantic relationship with me. I didn’t have to wonder ‘what if’ or search for hidden meanings where they likely weren’t. So I steered the conversation away from me altogether.

  27.

  And just like that, it was D day.


  Date. Doom. Death. Diarrhea. Or dick, as Janie had so helpfully reminded me via text twice already. Three times if you count the post-it note attached to the box of condoms I found on my desk this morning. ‘Ribbed for her pleasure,’ and extra-large because Janie was an eternal optimist.

  Despite the daily affirmations that Paige had been sending me since Wednesday, I didn’t feel smart, beautiful or fun. I felt incredibly nauseated. I took another large drink straight from the bottle of Mylanta I was currently on track to finish by the end of the day. I was alternating between drinking antacids and ingesting them in chewable form, depending on the setting. For example, it would have been extremely weird to pull out my bottle of Mylanta and start chugging during the long meeting we had just before lunch, so I’d switched to the cherry-flavored chews to keep down the rising panic that was threatening to exit my body in violent fashion.

  I watched as the clock on my monitor changed from 5:29 to 5:30. It’s time. I let out a nervous burp and took another swig of Mylanta just as my phone dinged. I looked at the screen. It was Janie.

  Janie: Girl, time to get that D! Meet you in your office in 10.

  I sighed. The only D I currently wanted to get was Doritos from the vending machine, but I stood and grabbed the dress hanging off the back of my door, thankful for the first time that my office didn’t have any windows. I quickly unbuttoned my shirt and shrugged it off, and then slipped off my skirt before pulling the green dress over my shoulders. I tied the little inside strings super tight, then wrapped the thicker outer bands together, securely them with a bow over my left hip. I looked down to survey how much of my cleavage was on display, and tugged the material together enough to hide the top of my scar poking out above it. I was sure nothing would kill the mood quicker than a story about open-heart surgery. That was definitely more of a second-date topic. This dress really did make it look like I had something to work with and the band around the waist gave me the appearance of having hips.