Astronaut shifted to one side on his stool in order to look back and forth between us. “You’re going to share?”
“Sharing is caring,” I told him.
Astronaut didn’t seem to think this was a great idea, but eventually shrugged, ran Calvin’s credit card, passed him the room key, and wished us luck.
I followed Calvin through another automatic door to the right and down an even narrower hall, barely the width of our suitcase. On either side were tiny doors with one round window, giving even more credence to the space station theme. They alternated between two steps down and two steps up so as to fit as manypodsinto the limited real estate as possible.
“I’m becoming suspicious of why he wished us luck,” I said quietly, mindful of the occupied rooms around us.
Calvin stopped outside pod sixteen, scanned the card, and the door popped open. He pushed it back, and the sound that escaped him was a combination of a grunt and disbelieving laugh. “I get it now.” He walked forward, awkwardly maneuvering the suitcase in alongside. As Calvin turned to look at me, he stooped a little, and I realized that his six feet and change was flirting with the ceiling.
The pod was maybe five feet deep.Maybe. The bed—one of those smart designs—was currently in a sitting position, which allowed for enough leeway at the end to wriggle around it, shove the suitcase into the farthest corner, and then slide sideways into the bathroom. Although, calling it a bathroom implied it was an actual room. Which it was not. The stall was separated by a glass wall and nylon curtain for the shower. The sink and toilet were in there too. It took “combination” to a whole new level.
I clasped a hand over my mouth as a laugh escaped. “What the fuck?” I whispered, trying hard to rein myself in before travel-delirium got the best of me.
Calvin went to the bathroom stall, turned sideways to get between the toilet and wall in order to examine the complimentary soaps, and conked his forehead against the showerhead. He swore.
I stepped into the pod and shut the door. “Are you sure about this?”
“It’ll work,” he insisted, rubbing his forehead while stepping back into the—erm—bedroom portion of the pod. “I’m going to shower.” Calvin bent at the waist to tug his T-shirt off, in order to avoid knocking his arms against the ceiling.
I sat on the mattress and picked up a flyer from the pillow that explained the room’s amenities. “Don’t give yourself a concussion.”
Calvin kicked off his Vans, unbuckled his belt, and shimmied free from his jeans and boxer briefs before he managed to get his hulking frame and magnificent ass back into the shower. The curtain was yanked into place, and then the water started.
“Mission Operations sells sandwiches,” I called over the spray. “You hungry?”
“Yes.”
I stood, grabbed the room card, and said, hand on the doorknob, “Hey. It’s a good thing we like each other.”
“Why’s that?”
“That mirror over the sink offers a very candid view of your balls.”
Calvin shifted and put his middle finger in front of his dick for me to see via the reflection.
I laughed and made my way back to the front desk.
Mission Operations’ own Jack Lousma was busily tapping away on his phone—the volume turned up and the clashes, bangs, and roars of victory suggesting all was well on the space station and that he had time to indulge in video games. He glanced up as I passed through the automatic door. “I only have the one pod,” he stated.
“Yeah, it’s small,” I agreed. “The flyer said you sold food?”
Jack paused his game, sighed again while sliding off the stool, then opened the door on a refrigerated unit behind him. “I’ve got a pastrami or tuna sandwich.”
A pastrami sandwich in a Texas airport certainly wasn’t going to be like sitting down for lunch at Katz’s, but the idea of canned fish in that closet-sized room with no windows? “Two pastramis,” I said.
Jack looked over his shoulder. “No. I’ve got one pastrami and one tuna.”
Dear God. Which of us got to eat the shitty, overpriced pastrami sandwich was really going to be the moment in which my commitment to Calvin would be judged?
“Did you want the one?” Jack asked.
I pinched the bridge of my nose and muttered, “Yeah. Just… give me a second. I’m trying to decide how much I love my husband.”
Jack Lousma must have read something in my expression—read that the hunk who had muscles to feed was going to get the sandwich and we both knew it—and maybe he felt bad, imagining me choking down bland tuna on a soggy bun, because with a few more dramatic sighs, he fetched a cup of ramen from a nearby shelf, and after I asked about candy, sold me a Snickers too.
When I returned to pod sixteen, I found Calvin sitting at the foot of the bed, naked but for a pair of boxer briefs, flipping through channels on the super-slim television mounted to the wall.
