“That was epic,” Ewan yells. “Fighting the good fight up there for the world to see.”
“You certainly gave the world a lot to see,” Carla adds, glancing at my nether region with wide eyes.
My cheeks heat up and I shift uncomfortably while the rest of the team starts in with their opinions. Their words all rush together, but I pick up phrases and words like “Dr. Dogmatic,” “You got the best of her” and “pants” — lots of mention of the pants. I wait for them to finish, before saying, “We good now? Can we let it go?”
Alec whistles under his breath while shaking his head. “I’m pretty sure we’ll be talking about this until we actually land on Earth Two.”
Perfect. Just perfect. How the hell am I ever going to be taken seriously again? “Listen, the show is over, and will never be repeated. Once the top brass sees what a failure that ridiculous mission was, they’ll never let any of us near a television camera again.” I point to the screen and order, “Now, shut that off and get back to work.”
I walk into my office and close the door while letting out a big sigh. I hurry to my desk and turn on my computer, wanting to dive back into the safety of work. My phone rings and I see it’s my mom calling. My entire body heats up with renewed embarrassment as I realize the L-Triad saw my modeling debut. Might as well get this over with. “Hi, Mom.”
“You were amazing, sweetie! Just amazing. While it’s not exactly what Lita, Lynda, and I were expecting, you sure did make an impression. You could definitely be a male model if you wanted to, not that I think you should do that because you’re wildly successful already, but you could. Lita and Lynda both said so.” It’s not that I expect my mom to be horrified by my television debut — she is my mother after all, and I can do no wrong. But you’d think she’d at least be embarrassed on my behalf.
“It was a ridiculous waste of time,” I tell her. “I didn’t even get a chance to talk about the project. It was just arguing with that … that … astrologer.”
“Wasn’t she wonderful?” my mom gushes. “I already signed up for her app. She has all kinds of information like how to eat, dress, and even where to vacation for your star sign. And did you know she’s adding a dating app? Apparently, it’s being tested in New York City now, but they hope to have it go national by next year. You should totally sign up!”
“That’s a firm no, Mom. I am not interested in dating according to my star sign. I’d rather date based on my favorite M&M color.”
“I think you’re missing out on a wonderful opportunity,” she says.
It’s time to shut this down before we start arguing about her crazy beliefs. “Okay, Mom. Thanks for calling, but I really have to get some work done.”
“Oh, yes, of course. You get back to searching for the next Earth, sweetie. Love you!”
“Love you too.”
I spend the next two hours keeping my attention focused on my computer screen, in part because I really am swamped, but also to avoid making eye contact with anyone who walks past my office. While I would never admit this to anyone, I’m also trying not to think about Serafina Lopez. No matter how off-base her beliefs are, she’s quite possibly the most attractive woman I’ve ever met. Talk about irony. The last person I would ever date is an astrologer, but she’s the only one to catch my eye in what … months? Years? Could that be right?
Yes, yes, it could. Pathetic as that sounds. While I occasionally gather the nerve to ask a woman out, nothing much has ever come from it. There aren’t as many single women at NASA as you might think and, since I rarely do anything other than work, I don’t have the chance to meet many potential dates.
My computer pings and I see an email from Dev (who thankfully hasn’t made an appearance yet today).
* * *
Email from [email protected]
* * *
Subject: Wake Up America!
* * *
Hey Ben,
* * *
Caught your segment on Wake Up America! and apparently so did about thirty million other people. Waltraut, the producer, called me just now to say you’re trending under the hashtags #DrBananaPants #DrRocketship, and #MarryMeDrBen. They’ve put your segment on their YouTube playlist and it already has over two million views.
Anyway, they want you back on as a weekly segment, starting next Monday. Obviously, I said yes. The top brass said no more tight pants, but otherwise they loved it. Our project website has had ten times the views it normally gets on a Monday, so people are paying attention.
* * *
Well done, lad!
Dev
Email from: [email protected]
* * *
Subject: RE: Wake Up America!
* * *
No. Nada. Not happening. Never again. Not doing it.
* * *
Ben
Email from [email protected]
* * *
Subject: RE: RE: Wake Up America!
* * *
Atlas V Lucy Mission launches soon. Will you be there?
* * *
D
I storm past Dev’s assistant, May, not giving her time to tell me he’s busy. Without knocking, I open the door and walk in, too angry to bother with manners.
Dev doesn’t even look up from his computer. He keeps typing as he says, “Yes, you are.”
“No, I am not.”
“Will you please read the words on the name plate on my desk for me?” he asks, pointing to the triangular wooden plaque.
“Dev Grover, Department Head, NASA Goddard Institute.”
“Right, and what does the name plate on your desk say?” he asks, looking up at the ceiling as though he’s trying to remember. “Oh right, nothing because you don’t have one. And you never will if you can’t show up for the job you’ve got.”
I swallow hard, trying to calm myself down. “Listen, Dev. They made a joke of me by dressing me up like a clown. NASA can’t want us to look like fools.”
“Actually, according to Waltraut, your willingness to play along made you very popular among female viewers in their child-bearing years.”
“Is that really who we’re trying to appeal to?” I ask, raising my voice a little.
“Other than seniors, stay-at-home moms are the other demographic most likely to have the television on during the day. If we can get them excited about space-related matters, we’re going to see a lot more funding from our partners and from the Feds.”