“Okay,” Lee says, trusting his judgment as if he has any kind of special insider knowledge about it. They've landed now. This is not their first space flight. Surely they can handle all the rest. She'll worry again on reentry when so many things could go wrong, like for that poor Russian.
“I need a drink,” she says. There's always wine in the apartment, though she's the only one who drinks it. She still drinks much less here than she did at the Chelsea and it doesn't bother him the way her dope-smoking does. “And I don't want to cook. Do you want to order in?”
That seems best, because what if while one of them is trying to cook, something important happens on the television, and then they have to let the apartment burn down because the moon is more important?