Chapter 4

Chapter 4

Johnson Space Center, Houston, Texas

One year ago

It’s not that I’m shocked to see him.

That would be, honestly, pretty idiotic. Too idiotic even for me: a well-known occasional idiot. I might not have seen Ian Floyd in over four years—yup, since the day I had the best sex-and-it-wasn’t-even-really-sex-God-what-a-waste-of-my-life and then barely forced myself to wave good-bye at him while the mahogany of his office door closed in my face. It might have been a while, but I’ve kept up with his whereabouts through the use of highly sophisticated technology and cutting-edge research tools.

I.e., Google.

As it turns out, when you’re one of NASA’s top engineers, people write shit about you. I swear I don’t look up “Ian + Floyd” twice a week or anything like that, but I do get curious every once in a while, and the Internet offers so much information in exchange for so little effort. That’s how I found out that when the former chief resigned for health reasons, Ian was chosen as head of engineering for Tenacity, the rover that landed safely in the de Vaucouleurs Crater just last year. He even gave 60 Minutes an interview, in which he mostly came across as serious, competent, handsome, humble, reserved.

For some reason, it made me think of the way he’d groaned into my skin. His viselike grip on my hips, his thigh moving between my legs. It made me remember that he’d wanted to take me to dinner, and that I’d actually—appallingly, unfathomably—been tempted to say yes. I watched the entire thing on YouTube. Then I scrolled down to read the comments and realized that a good two thirds were from users who’d noticed exactly how serious, competent, handsome, humble, reserved, and likely well-endowed Ian was. I hastened to click out, feeling caught with my entire torso in the cookie jar.

Whatever.

I think I expected my Google search to lead to more personal stuff, too. Maybe a Facebook account with pictures of adorable ginger toddlers. Or one of those wedding websites with overproduced pictures and the story of how the couple met. But no. The closest was a triathlon he did about two years ago near Houston. He didn’t place particularly well, but he did finish it. As far as Google is concerned, that’s the only non-work-related activity Ian has partaken in during the last four years.

But that’s really beside the point, which is: I know quite a bit about Ian Floyd’s career accomplishments, and I am well aware that he’s still at NASA. Therefore, it makes no sense for me to be shocked to see him. And I’m not. I’m really not.

It’s just that with over three thousand people working at the Johnson Space Center, I figured I’d run into him around my third week on the job. Maybe even during my third month. I definitely did not expect to see him on my first day, in the middle of the freaking new-employee orientation. And I definitely didn’t anticipate that he’d spot me immediately and stare for a long, long time, as though remembering exactly who I am, as though not wondering why I look familiar or struggling to place me.

Which?.?.?. he isn’t. He clearly isn’t. Ian appears at the entrance of the conference room where the new hires have been parked to wait for the next speaker; with a slightly aggravated expression he looks around for someone, notices me, chatting with Alexis, about a millisecond after I notice him.

He pauses for a moment, wide-eyed. Then weaves through the clusters of people chatting around the table, marching toward me with long strides. His eyes stay fixed on mine and he looks confident and pleasantly surprised, like a guy picking up his girlfriend at the airport after she spent four months abroad studying the courtship habits of the humpback whale. But it has nothing to do with me. It’s not because of me.

It cannot be because of me, right?

But Ian stops just a couple of feet away from Alexis, studies me with a small smile for a couple of seconds longer than is customary, and then says: “Hannah.”

That’s it. That’s all he says. My name. And I really didn’t want to see him. I really figured it would be weird to be with him again, after our not-quite-orgasmless first and only meeting. But?.?.?.

It’s not. Not at all. It just feels natural, nearly irresistible to smile at him, push away from the table and up on my toes for a hug, fill my nostrils with his clean scent, and say against his shoulder, “Hey, you.”

His hands press briefly into my spine, and we fit together just like four years ago. Then, a second later, we both pull back. I don’t do blushing, not ever, but my heart is beating fast and there’s a curious heat creeping up my chest.

Maybe it’s because this should be weird. Right? Four years ago, I came on to him. Then I came on him. Then I turned him down when he asked me to spend orgasmless, space-explorationless time with him. That’s what I wanted to avoid: the male, awkward, ego-wounded reaction I was sure Ian would have.

But now he’s here, disarmingly pleased to see me, and I just feel happy to be in his presence, like I did back when we coded our afternoon away. He looks a bit older; the day-old stubble is about one week old now, and maybe he’s gotten even bigger. For the rest, though, he’s just himself. Hair is red, eyes are blue, freckles are everywhere. I’m being forcibly reminded of his uniform initialization in C++—and of his teeth on my skin.

“You made it,” he says, like I really did just get off a jet plane. “You’re here.”

He’s smiling. I smile, too, and furrow my brow. “What? You didn’t think I’d actually graduate?”

“Wasn’t sure you’d ever pass your Water Resources class.”

I burst out laughing. “What? Just because you saw me, with your own eyes, put zero effort into my assignment?”

“That did play a role, yeah.”

“You should read the stuff I BS’d about you in that report.”

“Ah, yes. What STDs did I have to battle to get to where I am today?”

“What STDs did you not?”

He sighs. A throat clears and we both turn— Oh, right. Alexis is also here. Looking between us, for some reason with saucer eyes.

“Oh, Ian, this is Alexis. She’s starting today, too. Alexis, this is—”

“Ian Floyd,” she says, sounding vaguely breathless. “I’m a fan.”

Ian seems vaguely alarmed, as though the idea of having “fans” befuddles him. Alexis doesn’t seem to notice and asks me, “You two know each other?”

“Ah?.?.?. yeah, we do. We had a?.?.?.” I gesture vaguely. “A thing. Years ago.”

“A thing?” Alexis’s eyes widen even more.

“Oh no, I didn’t mean that kind of thing. We did some kind of—one of those—what are they called?.?.?.??”

“An informational interview,” Ian patiently provides.

“An informational interview?” Alexis sounds skeptical. She stares at Ian, who is still staring at me.

“Yeah. Kind of. It devolved into a?.?.?.” Into what? Us almost fucking on NASA property? You wish, Hannah.

“A debugging session,” Ian says. Then clears his throat.

I let out a laugh. “Right. That.”

“Debugging session?” Alexis sounds even more skeptical. “That doesn’t sound fun.”

“Oh, it was,” Ian says. He’s still staring at me. Like he’s found his long-missing house keys and is afraid he’ll lose them again if he looks away.

“Yeah.” I cannot help making my smile just a tad suggestive. An experiment. I seem to do lots of those when he’s around. “Lots of fun.”

“Right.” Ian finally looks away, smiling the same way. “Lots.”

“How did you guys meet?” Alexis asks, more suspicious by the second.

“Oh, my best friend is Ian’s cousin-or-something.”

Ian nods. “How is?.?.?.” He briefly stumbles on the name. “I want to say Melissa?”

“Mara. Your cousin’s name is Mara. Keep up, will you?” I fail to sound stern. “Have you not talked to her since she put us in touch?”

“I don’t believe we talked back then, either. Everything happened through—”

“—Great-Aunt Delphina, right. How’s the Home Depot video?”

“Lowe’s. I hear it’s making a resurgence since Uncle Mitch started hosting Thanksgiving.”

I laugh. “Well, Mara is great. She also graduated with her Ph.D. and recently moved to D.C. to work for the EPA. No interest in space stuff. Just, you know?.?.?. saving the Earth.”

“Oh.” He doesn’t seem too impressed. “It’s a good fight.”

“But you’re glad someone else is shouldering it while you and I spend our days launching cool gadgets into space?”

He chuckles. “More or less.”

“Okay, this is very?.?.?.” Alexis, again. We both turn to her: her eyes are narrow, and she sounds shrill. Honestly, I keep forgetting she’s here. “I’ve never seen two people?.?.?.” She gestures between us. “You guys are clearly .?.?.” Ian and I exchange a baffled glance. “I’m going to leave you to it,” she says inscrutably. Then she turns on her heel, and Ian and I are alone.

Kind of. We’re in a room full of people, but?.?.?. alone.

“Well?.?.?. hi,” I say.

“Hey.” The pitch is lower. More intimate.

“I kind of expected this would be unpleasant.”

“This?”

“This.” I point back and forth between us. “Seeing you again. After the way we left off.”

He cocks his head. “Why?”

“Just?.?.?.” I’m not sure how to articulate it, that my experience is that men who have been rejected by women can often be scary in a million different ways. It doesn’t matter anyway. It sounds like he put what happened between us behind him the second I stepped out of his office. “Doesn’t matter. Since it’s not. Unpleasant, that is.”

Ian nods once. Like I remember from years ago. “What team have you been assigned to?”

“A & PE.”

“You don’t say.” He sounds pleased. Which is?.?.?. new, mostly. My parents reacted to the news that I was hired by NASA in their usual way: showing disappointment that I did not go into medicine like my siblings. Sadie and Mara were always supportive and happy for me when I got my dream job, but they don’t care enough about space exploration to fully grasp the significance of where I ended up. Ian, though, Ian knows. And even though he’s now a big shot, and A & PE is not his team anymore, it still makes me feel warm and tingly.

“Yeah—this random guy I once met told me it was the best team.”

“Wise words.”

“But I’m not going to start with the team right away, because?.?.?. I’ve managed to get them to pick me for AMASE.”

His smile is so unabashedly, genuinely happy for me, my heart leaps in my throat. “AMASE.”

“Yup.”

“Hannah, that’s fantastic.”

It is. AMASE is the shit, and the selection process to take part in an expedition was brutal, to the point that I’m not quite sure how I made it in. Probably sheer luck: Dr. Merel, one of the expedition leaders, was looking for someone with experience in gas chromatograph-mass spectrometry. Which I happen to have, due to some side projects my Ph.D. advisor foisted upon me. At the time, I aggressively bitched and moaned my way through them. In hindsight, I feel a bit guilty.

“Have you been there?” I ask Ian, even though I already know the answer, because he mentioned AMASE when we met. Plus, I’ve seen his CV, and some pictures from past expeditions. In one, taken over the summer of 2019, he’s wearing a dark thermal shirt and kneeling in front of a rover, squinting at its robotic arm. There is a young, pretty woman standing right behind him, elbows propped on his shoulders, smiling in the direction of the camera.

I’ve thought about that picture more than just a couple of times. Imagined Ian asking the woman for dinner. Wondered if, unlike me, she was able to say yes.

“I’ve been there twice, winter and summer. Both great. Winter was considerably more miserable, but—” He stops. “Wait, isn’t the next expedition leaving?.?.?.”

“In three days. For five months.” I watch him nod and digest the information. He still looks happy for me, but it’s a little?.?.?. subdued. A split second of disappointment, maybe? “What?” I ask.

“Nothing.” He shakes his head. “It would have been nice to catch up.”

“We still can,” I say, maybe a bit too fast. “I’m not leaving till Thursday. Want to go out and—”

“Not get dinner, surely?” His smile is teasing. “I remember you don’t?.?.?. eat with other people.”

“Right.” The truth is that things have changed. Not that now I go out for dates—I very much still don’t. And not that I’ve magically become an emotionally available person—I’m still very much not. But somewhere in the last couple of years, the whole Tinder game got?.?.?. first a bit old; then a bit tiresome; then, eventually, a bit lonely. These days, I either focus on work or on Mara and Sadie. “I do drink coffee, though,” I say on impulse. Even though I find coffee disgusting.

“Iced tea,” Ian says, somehow remembering my four-year-old order. “I can’t, though.”

My heart sinks. “You can’t?” Is he seeing someone? Not interested? “It doesn’t have to—” be a date, I hasten to say, but we’re interrupted.

“Ian, you’re here.” The HR rep who’s been showing the new hires around appears at his side. “Thank you for making time— I know you need to be at JPL by tonight. Everyone.” She claps her hands. “Please, take a seat. Ian Floyd, the current chief of engineering on the Mars Exploration Program, is going to tell you about some of NASA’s ongoing projects.”

Oh. Oh.

Ian and I exchange one long glance. For just a moment, he looks like he wants to tell me one last thing. But the HR rep leads him to the head of the conference table, and there’s either not enough time or it’s not something that’s important enough to be said.

Half a minute later, I sit and listen to his clear, calm voice as he talks about the many projects he’s overseeing, heart tight and heavy in my chest for reasons I cannot figure out.

Twenty minutes later, I lock eyes with him for the last time just as someone knocks to remind him that his plane will board in less than two hours.

And a little over six months later, when I finally meet him again, I hate him.

I hate him, I hate him, I hate him, and I don’t hesitate to let him know.