Rocket Science

by Emily Mayer

She spent the entire lunch trying to convince me online dating was an excellent idea, while I shoveled French fries into my mouth and mentally named my future cats.

Who needed a partner to share your life with when you had cheesecake and reruns of Buffy the Vampire Slayer?

“There’s a new Marvel movie coming out Friday. I was going to invite you—” Paige interrupted. “Does it have a Hemsworth in it?” “Nooo,” I drawled. “You know my rule about superhero movies. No Hemsworth, no Paige.”

“Mashed potatoes and mac and cheese?” Sebastian asked. “Are you carb-loading for something or just opposed to vegetables?” “I prefer to avoid vegetables, and let’s be honest, who’s going to choose asparagus over gouda mac and cheese?” I was practically drooling at this point, visions of cheesy noodles dancing through my head. “People who are concerned for their health?” he fired back, looking way too pleased with his response. “I ate really healthy as a kid, so I got it all out of the way when I was young.” Sebastian was clearly skeptical. “I’m pretty sure that’s not how it works.” “Eh,” I responded, waving a hand. “Who’s to say?” “Oh, I don’t know, anyone in absolutely any of the health fields. Doctors, dieticians, nurses—” “And all of those people would be crying over their asparagus watching me eat gouda mac and cheese,” I interrupted. “If you stop now, I might let you have a bite. But just one bite.”

Do you want red or white wine?” “Uh, red, it’ll pair nicely with Sour Patch Kids,”

My alarm startled Boomer and he flew around the room, knocking everything off my nightstand in the process. Did I think it even remotely strange that I apologized to the cat dangling from my curtains while I cleaned up the mess left in the wake of his terror? Not even a little bit.

The daily menu board proudly announced that it was “Tofu Tuesday.” “Tofu Tuesday?” I turned to Janie in horror. “Tofu Tuesday? What fresh hell is this?” I tried so hard to convince myself that the tofu nuggets tasted just like my beloved chicken nuggets, but my body refused to accept such treachery.

Sebastian sent me a text telling me to be ready at six—and to wear athletic gear. My excitement over seeing him turned to dread. Nothing good ever came from the words ‘athletic gear.’

I told him that athleticism and I were polar opposites, but it somehow led to me explaining that the phrase ‘polar opposites’ referred to diametrically opposite points on a sphere. And then a small—teeny, really—speech about how the north and south poles are polar opposites but they both get the same amount of sunlight. So, clearly, I was nervous.

“Where’s the Tardis when you need it?” “Tardis?” Sebastian asked, glancing up at me. I pretty much shrieked, “Are you kidding me right now? How can you be British and not know about Dr. Who?” “That’s a show, right?” he responded, sounding completely serious, much to my horror.

I was much more excited about the whole thing than she was, but I was determined to make this work and Paige was a firm believer that a person’s energy was contagious. I was going to be the flu of excitement, dang it!

All that glorious skin was still on display and my hands were still exploring it as if the secret to world peace were written in Braille on his chest and abdomen—but

I looked down at the baby snuggled into the stroller with a blanket and big floppy hat keeping the sun from touching any part of his body. He was so chubby it looked like his cheeks had eaten his eyes.

“We call them the Real Housewives of the Novas. They’re all really terrible human beings who spend their time doing Pilates and bathing in the blood of virgins.