Alien Tango

taken eleven years prior and I couldn’t recognize the guy I’d lost my virginity to without help said a lot about Christopher’s skills as an imageer and Martini’s as a sexual impresario.
    That Brian recognized my voice after ten years was both impressive and confusing. I didn’t have to look at him to know Martini had no love for Brian in his expression. I was willing to bet Christopher didn’t, either.
    But Brian was only looking at me. “C’mon, Kitty, I don’t look that different.”
    He didn’t, but he also didn’t look seventeen any more. Or sound it. “Your voice is a lot deeper.” I had nothing else, and at least it sounded better than saying I hadn’t thought about him for a long while.
    Brian grinned. “Yeah, and I’m taller, and, spoken modestly, God love me, more muscular.” He was indeed. The rhythms of his speech were starting to come back to me.
    “I had no idea you were an astronaut.” Totally true. To say that my interest in space and the things related to it had only been piqued about five months ago was an understatement. I hadn’t been ignorant, but I hadn’t been overly curious, either.
    “You still in marketing?”
    Okay, heading into creepy time. “How did you know I was in marketing?” I hadn’t had any clear idea of what to major in when we were in high school and had changed my mind three times before I had to declare a major. I finally settled on Business because that’s what Chuckie was going for, and that way we’d have a lot of classes together. I’d fallen into marketing as a career, based more on what company had hired me right out of college as opposed to burning desire, so it wasn’t as though it had been a lifelong dream.
    “I still talk to Sheila.” One of my two best girlfriends in high school. Married with three kids and living on the East Coast. We were down to the holiday newsletter on her end and the occasional postcard on mine, along with some semi-regular text messaging that had dribbled down to almost nothing in the past five months—I liked lying to Sheila only a little more than I liked lying to Chuckie. But she’d certainly known what I was doing for a living, at least, six months ago.
    “Oh.” I had nothing much to add to the conversation, other than shock. “Um, well, before we reminisce, we’re here to check on you.”
    “Why? I mean, why you? I can guess the guys with you are here officially.”
    I was in jeans and a concert T-shirt. I couldn’t have looked less official if I were wearing a tutu. “I’m with them.”
    “They’re here to do a marketing campaign?”
    “No, I’m Michael’s brother.” Thank God, Gower was taking an active part.
    “Oh.” Brian looked at all of the men again. “You’re all . . . from Michael’s part of town?”
    “Brian? I’m with them. As in with-with.” I didn’t remember him being this dim. Then again, I didn’t remember him being smart enough to be an astronaut. I was having trouble coming up with what I did remember.
    “Ah. Do you do their marketing or something?” He was really hooked onto the marketing.
    “No. Brian, we need to ask you about the flight, okay?”
    “Sure. I’m sorry. I’m just . . . well, shocked to see you here. I’ve been thinking about you a lot recently.”
    “ If we could get on with it,” Martini snapped.
    “Sure, sorry. What did you guys want to know?”
    While Gower did the questioning, I ran over what I could manage to remember about Brian. Funny, I couldn’t remember a lot. We’d dated for over a year. He’d been a great dancer. Had a wicked sense of humor. Was really proud of being Black Irish. We were on the track team together, though he was a distance runner. That was how we’d met, because I sucked at distance and was always getting left behind in the desert. He stayed with me, every time, so I wouldn’t be out there alone.
    I’d thought I was in love with him, and I probably was at sixteen. He’d been gentle in bed—getting my virginity hadn’t been a conquest for him, it had been an honor. My parents had really liked him. And he hadn’t wanted to break up with me.
    I couldn’t remember why we’d broken up. All I could scrape up was the memory that I’d been the one who made the decision and he hadn’t liked it. But we’d remained friendly through graduation. On grad night, he’d told me something, but damned if I could remember what it was.
    Brian’s answers were the same as the other astronauts, though. Something