Derrick and I are literally inseparable. We always have been, ever since our first date when he took me out for drinks at the dive bar directly below his apartment. He’s my partner in crime. My better half. My rock. I love Derrick to the moon and back—at least, I thought I did. But we still have 46 hours left in this round-trip lunar expedition, and honestly I think I might kill him.

I thought space was going to be the most romantic time of our 10-month relationship. That’s why, before we left, I got three new rompers and a bikini wax. You can imagine how I felt when we strapped in for take-off and I realized Derrick was wearing his “weekend” sweatpants—the ones with a distinct hot Cheetos handprint on the crotch. That’s when he decided to tell me that instead of using vacation days for this voyage, like a normal person, he quit his job. He says he thought we’d be gone for years. He swears I never told him it takes a day and a half to get to the moon. And that’s because Derrick is a ferret-faced liar.

Derrick promised me he wouldn’t bring weed to the moon. In fact, he told me he doesn’t even like to “blaze up” anymore. But as soon as we made it past Earth’s atmosphere and into orbit, he locked himself in the bathroom. Twenty minutes later, he came out giggling and ate all of our space food. Three days’ worth of freeze-dried rations, right out of the packet. I was like, “DAMNIT, DERRICK—YOU’RE SUPPOSED TO ADD WATER.”

That night, I had a dream I poked a hole in his spacesuit and let all the oxygen drain out.

Being on a spacecraft means sharing basic chores, like vacuuming, sorting trash, and applying a fresh coat of anti-caking agent to the urinal hose. So far, I don’t think Derrick has done any of it. He did try to tell me his chores were done when I caught him playing Zelda on the Nintendo Switch he smuggled, but I wasn’t buying it. I was like, “I know a dirty urinal hose when I see it—I WASN’T BORN YESTERDAY, DERRICK.”

I imagined myself opening up the main cargo hatch, giving Derrick a little nudge, and waving goodbye as he spirals off toward the sun.

I’ve never been the jealous type. I’m not threatened by other women, even the ones Derrick tells me he thinks are hot. But this morning, something in me snapped when I overheard him tell Tory from Mission Control that she has a sexy voice. Of course, he tried to tell me that I’d heard wrong, and that’s when I really lost it. I floated over to Derrick, looked him dead in the eyes and said, “Every time I ever laughed while watching Family Guy together, I was faking it.”

Well, this set off our biggest fight since the time he let his boys crash my birthday dinner at Applebee’s and they all blacked out on two-for-one Bahama Mamas. I was like “I’M TURNING THIS SPACESHIP AROUND—NOW NOBODY’S GOING TO THE MOON,” and Derrick was like, “DON’T YOU DARE. I QUIT MY JOB FOR THIS.”

While I was busy igniting the left-side propellers and redirecting us back to Earth, I didn’t know Derrick had put on his spacesuit and left through the rear cargo hatch. By the time I noticed his distant figure barreling toward the moon, it was too late.

I was scared to tell Mission Control what happened, but they’re actually being pretty cool about the whole “leaving Derrick on the moon” thing. Even Tory was like, “We met Derrick. We get it.”

But despite our fight, and my abandoning him in space, I still think there’s something there. So, we’re going to try the long distance thing for a little—at least until NASA figures out how to bring him back to Earth before he dies of exposure.

If this voyage taught me anything, it’s that I do love Derrick but only to the outer edge of Earth’s atmosphere.

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