“Great,” she says, her voice wavering. “I should probably go.”
I peer through the peephole in the door. “Maybe wait a few minutes to make sure he’s gone.”
Rooney holds her hands up in the air. “I’m getting under the blankets then,” she says quietly. “We can talk in a normal volume. The walls can’t be that thin.”
“I’m going to… sit in that chair,” I say, pointing across the room. At this moment, thankfully, notifications light up my phone. “It’s Sprinkles.”
Rooney pulls the comforter up to her chin so that only her head pokes out. “She learned to text? They grow up so fast.”
I chuckle, and the worry melts out of me. Everything will be okay if Rooney and I never do what we did in the Rocket Garden ever again. We got the residual tension from New York out of our systems.
“They’re camera notifications. I set them up so I could keep an eye on Sprinkles and see what she’s up to.”
“Ohhh,” Rooney says playfully. “That makes a lot more sense. What’s she doing?”
I analyze the video, zooming in. “She’s curious to know about everything. Every time she walks or jumps in front of the camera, I get an alert.”
“I bet she misses you,” she says, lowering the blanket a few inches to free her arms.
“Gong Gong comes by twice a day to check in on her. Sometimes three,” I say, placing my phone on the table. “I hope Sprinkles isn’t mad that I’m gone for so long.”
“She’s probably excited to have all that space to herself. I bet she thinks she now owns your apartment,” Rooney says. Her eyes linger on mine. Typically it’s her eyes that draw me in and undo me. Now, though, with her in my shirt and in my bed, I try to focus on her eyes and nothing else.
“Let’s talk about something, just for a few minutes until the coast is clear,” I say quickly. “Have you enjoyed your time at NASA so far?”
Of course, work was the first thing I bring up. A metaphorical bucket of ice water. Actually, that’s perfect.
“Jack, we don’t have to make small talk, but work is a great topic,” Rooney says while fiddling with the shirt collar.
I will myself to concentrate on the words Rooney is saying. I’m certainly not going to think about her in my button down that I’ll be wearing tomorrow.
“Okay. So. Work,” I mutter, hoping my overheated face isn’t completely giving me away.
If Rooney’s aware of my bumbling, she doesn’t let on. “You asked me how I view success. Now I want to know how you define it,” she says.
I lean forward to ground myself, resting my elbows on my thighs. “Moving up in my career. Being excellent at what I do. Proving that what I chose as my career was worthwhile.”
“And is what you do worthwhile?” she asks, watching me.
“I think so,” I admit. “It satisfies me to make scientific advancements. To help push the limits of our universe’s boundaries.”
“To run experiments that involve more than balloons and glitter?” she asks.
“Honestly, NASA’s lack of glitter usage in experiments is a missed opportunity,” I say in a mock-serious tone.
“Especially when it comes to running tests in the clean room,” Rooney says with a laugh. She drags the pillow higher behind her, propping herself up. The movement causes the edge of the comforter to flip over itself, revealing more of her. This alone sends my imagination to off-limits places, even though she’s still mostly covered.
“From where I lie, then,” she continues, “it looks like you’ve already proved whatever it is you needed to. And it sounds like you’re going to be moving on up pretty soon.”
I bounce my knee, my arms bobbing with it. “We’ll see.”
The heat finally kicks on, the vent rattling as it dispenses hot air. The noise drowns out our conversation, and we fall into an easy silence. I look out the dirty hotel window. The moon is a thin sliver against the charcoal night sky.
“Hey, can I ask you a serious question?” Rooney asks, resting her cheek in her palm. “Every time you look up at the moon, does it make you think of work? Because that sounds exhausting.”
What’s exhausting is refraining from kissing Rooney. From telling her how I feel about her. I better get used to being fatigued.
I smile in response as I convince myself that keeping our distance is for the best. If the past two months were hard, the next ten will be even harder.
