“No they truly don’t it’s remarkable I’ve told her she’s more beautiful than starlight---”
“Oh that’s good I’m going to use that one—”
“Go ahead---”
“But back on topic, there are other things in your life, you have your daughter, call her talk to her, you have that,” he points out.
“I’m not supposed to make plantside calls,” I sulk.
“Has that ever----even once---stopped you?”
“Okay, no.”
“Right, so you have your little girl, you can call and talk to her---you have your old cadet, you like him I got him assigned as your flight partner pulled fifty strings to do that I thought that’d make you happy---”
“Oh that does I like him he’s not as stupid as the rest of humanity---”
“I thought as much---and you have me, I haven’t found plastic or food coloring or intestinal irritants in my food in weeks, you haven’t been yourself,” he says.
“Oh, that’s true I haven’t actively been making your life miserable lately,” I say.
“Yes, exactly torture me---why am I saying this to you?---make illegal phone calls to your little girl, and go on,” he says, clapping me on the shoulders.
“All right, you’re right,” I say, taking a deep breath, “Thank you, for the talk. I can always count on you for a mind numbingly simplistic solution that will never work. “
“So you aren’t going to try to do what I said?” he asks, tiredly.
“No, I am, everything I’ve thought of that really should work hasn’t, so I might as well try the completely unlikely,” I say, going out the door.
“Why did you accept the post flying with him?” Terrance isn’t leaving me alone about something I shouldn’t be left alone about. I sigh. I should date somebody who isn’t so good for me and my life would be easier.
“When Commander Thorn says ‘your assignment is flying with Major Card’, who happens to be a living legend in the Space Forces and in fact Kepler wide, when you’re seventeen and mr. peasant nobody from no where with no family background nothing---nothing but a couple of good test scores showing by some miracle of genetics you actually have more brain matter than the average simpleton--- you don’t just say ‘I’d sooner not if it’s all the same to you’,” I say, folding my arms. I’m hoping that pulling the ‘I’m poor and born of inbreeding of stupid poor people’ card will make him feel sorry for me and leave me alone. how wrong I am.
“That’s not what I mean and you know it,” he says, blocking the door so I can’t leave, which was my next move, “You bid the Ulyssess---”
“We both bid here, to be together---”
“You chose it, though, you could’ve chosen any---any job you wanted and put pilot as secondary like I did you didn’t,” he says, folding his arms too, “Why?”
“Why are you so angry? I told you I wanted to why can’t you accept that?” I ask.
“Because I’ve flown with him too on bloody simulators---dear god, he said himself it’s as close to dying as you’ll ever come in life----that’s not a good thing, Quinn---you hated it, you said it yourself. You said it made you feel too real. What’s changed?” he asks.
“Maybe I need to learn how to feel more real,” I say, evasively.
“I thought you said I’m here to teach you that,” he says, hurt.
“You are,” I say, reaching out to touch his face but he moves away. I sigh.
“Fine don’t tell me if you don’t want to---”
“There’s nothing to tell---”
“There is you know there is and why don’t you want me to know?”
“Why do you care?” I ask, “It’s a job, like any other. I’m not more likely to die. He’s the best pilot in the force---”
“And you’re still flying missions they call them Suicide Squads for a reason, Quinn, it’s because taking the assignment is suicide,” he says.
“It’s not I’m not---you say you think I’m the cleverest person you’ve met can’t you trust me to come home to you?” I ask, it’s my turn to be angry.
“Oh my god, that’s it---you can’t stand that he’s---I’m going to go with the only---person in the universe as clever as if not the least bit cleverer than you, and you can’t stand it. You want to learn from him so you can be better than him, because you have to be the best at everything,” he says, accusingly.
“Is that the worst thing in the universe?” I ask, annoyed, because of course he’s right.
“It is when it gets you killed,” he says.
“It’s not going to---”
“It takes two of you twenty minutes to get one CanDrive?” Major Tom, who we were supposed to be getting a drive for, comes in.
“We were---”
“We had to---”
“It was very---”
“I actually have no excuse.” That was me of course.
“Whatever, just meet me in the control room whenever you find the solution to Kepler Peace or whatever you’re doing,” she says, taking the item herself from a box and going back out. we sigh simultaneously.
I wake up, six wonderful minutes before I actually have to get up. I slide lower under the sheets, pressing my face into Jo’s warm chest and wrapping my arms around her. she’s still asleep, mostly but she does wake enough to sort of try to shove me away.
“I get to hold you for five more minutes,” I say, kissing the small of her neck.
“Shut up, you’ll wake up the baby,” she mutters, her head still in the pillow.
“Good,” I say, stroking her belly, to my relief, to feel the gentle movement of our unborn child. I should be more relaxed than I am, but I could not believe it was even real until I felt the child moving inside her. until then I was too dismal to hope it could live, my own paranoia was too great, after my previous attempts to father a child. It didn’t help that HER paranoia led her to refuse to see a doctor. That was a point of contention after she’d admitted the pregnancy. I, after several failed pregnancies with my previous partner, was solidly paranoid that I could not father a living child, and wanted the confirmation of a heartbeat in order to have anything like hope . Jo, still, however flatly refuses to see any sort of medical professional. I yield to her, of course because it is actually in her body, and she gets upset at the mention of it. I just yield and don’t make her tell me why. I’m not good at talking about things that upset me either. However, I would think she would want checks to make sure this child is healthy. But no, she refuses. And I do suppose people had babies for thousands of years before we had scans and things. It doesn’t make me feel much better though.
“You can say that, he’s not kicking you,” she says, shifting a little and getting up for good.
“What makes you think it’s a he?” I ask, contentedly, closing my eyes, my hand still resting on her stomach, which is still moving ever so slightly with my child’s kicks, or punches.
“I don’t know, that just feels better than saying ‘it’ it might be a girl,” she says, “Why what do you want?”
“It to be okay,” I say, honestly, “I’d say I don’t know how to care for a girl, but we’ve already got a girl so that’s a moot point.”
“I was going to say that I don’t know how to care for a girl either, but fair enough, I suppose we have got one,” Jo says, stroking my hair, “It’s time to get up.”
“Yes, if I don’t soon—”
“You’re going to miss your train,” Lizzie informs us, coming in and crawling onto the bed to stare at us with her big blue eyes.
“Yeah, thanks,” I say, sitting up, “Hand me my legs then scoot, you’ve got to get ready as well.”
“I’ll make you something to eat on the train,” Jo says, getting up as well, now that I’m off of her.
“You don’t have to,” I say, as Lizzie hands me my legs one at a time.
“I’m not going to lie here while you two get ready,” she scoffs.
“As you like,” I say, shrugging, slid
ing to the edge of the bed to put on my legs. “Lizzie, grab your toys, I need to stop at the environmental office before we catch the train.”
“Okay,” Lizzie says, crawling off the bed and running through the curtains. Yes of course we are in their warehouse. I like it better than the flat and it has more space for the electronics and machines I fix and then resell, the semi-legal trade I’ve picked up since leaving Space Forces.
“You don’t have to do this you know,” Jo says, picking up one of my shirts from the chair and examining it for stains before putting it on. She has only been able to fit into my clothes for past month or so, since just stealing my stuff makes much more than sense than wearing real maternity clothes. When I brought up that we could actually get her stuff that fit, she asked if I could imagine her wearing maternity clothes. Or a dress. Or anything remotely matronly. I admitted I couldn’t.
“I don’t mind,” I say. I’m going to see her parents this afternoon, to tell them about the baby. Yes, that’s a bit late but it’s not delivery room late. in our defense, we waited to tell anyone, until after the first trimester, or what we thought was the first trimester, after the risk of miscarriage. Then we had the delaying/getting up courage/how do we do it aspect of telling people which took admittedly another month and a half. Then arranging for me to go see her parents two weeks ago. I say ‘what we thought was the first trimester’ because Jo looks and weighs much more than the five months we estimate. She’s gained about thirty pounds already, all around her middle into a very recognizable lump, which leads me to suspect our timing was off and she’s more like seven or eight months. Or our timing wasn’t off and she just didn’t tell me as soon as says she did that’s really possible. Either way, before the baby decides to come out and meet us, we are going to have to tell our respective parents. And we decided I would tell her parents and she would tell my mum.
“I got the easier end of the deal,” she says. My mum needless to say, will only be upset I’m not telling her which I’m not doing because she and I will only get emotional about Ginny----the last baby either of us ever interacted with, and I hate it but I don’t want to think about people I’ve lost right now. I’d rather talk to her later when she’s over it and just excited. That’s selfish I know but whatever.
“As it should be,” I say. My mum really likes Jo, of course, and she’ll only be happy about the baby. Jo’s parents are a different matter. “You don’t need a scene with them, it isn’t good for you what with the baby.”
“It wasn’t good for me before I was pregnant,” she says, a hand on her stomach protectively, as she stands and watches me finish putting on my legs.
“Right, so you don’t need them now,” I say, wth a sigh, finally sanding up. I shake off the thought that this will take way too damn long when there’s an infant crying to be fed or a toddler running around needing attention.
Jo must notice my expression because she says, “You know, we should get the crib or something set up soon—right here by the bed would work so we can get to this little needy thing without getting up.”
“Yeah,” I say, knowing she’s trying to make me feel better about my inadequacy as a prospective parent. It’s okay. I know it will be it just irks me. I won’t even be able to get out of bed and run to my child when it cries in the night.
“Come on,” she says, tugging my arm, “Smile, it’ll be okay.”
“Yeah, it will,” I say, kissing her. I wish I could believe it.
“Your child is as nervous as you are, it only moves like this when you’re around and talking,” she says, almost wincing, putting both hands on her round belly again.
“We just want to meet each other, don’t we eh little one?” I say rubbing her gently, feeling the steady shifting inside her.
“I’ve got my stuff, you take forever,” Lizzie says, coming back in, fully dressed, wearing her backpack and ready to go.
“Well when you’re grown up and in love, you’ll take forever too,” I inform her, keeping my arm around Jo as we follow Lizzie out to the main room which is really just the rest of the warehouse.
“Ugh,” she says, wrinkling her nose, “I hope not.”
“Wait till you’re having a baby and are fat and can’t fit through doors, then you’ll really take forever,” Jo teases her. admittedly she is quite large with the baby, but she was rather small to begin with so it’s more noticeable, I think.
“You took forever before you were having a baby,” Lizzie says, sitting down at the table.
“We’re coming, we’re coming,” I say, glad she’s actually so eager to go out for once. She’s come a long way since we first met and she was quaking in fear of me. Now she just has to tell us what her real name is and where her real family is so we can give her back. No, I don’t want to give her back, but I would like to know where she’s from or who her biological family is. Clearly it’s nothing good or she wouldn’t be here but even so.
Chapter 14
“Y
our move,” I sit at the foot of Billy’s hospital bed, playing chess with him. He’s dying so I let him win. I don’t think he can tell I’m letting him win, but if he can then he’ll know it’s out of affection.
“I’m kinda tired,” Billy says, yawning and leaning back. He has oxygen running into his nose and an IV to his arm. He can’t eat anymore so they have a g-tube in his stomach. He’s shown it to me. it’s nice and gross.
“Okay,” I say, leaning back a little, “Do you wanna watch something on the tablet?”
“No,” he says, slumping down, “I’d like to sleep a little if that’s okay.”
“Yeah, I’ll go get ice cream from the cafeteria,” I say, agreeably, picking up the chess board.
“You don’t have to spend the whole day with me,” he says.
“I want to,” I say. Nobody else is. And that doesn’t feel right. I know he doesn’t like being alone. so I’m with him and he’s not alone.
“It’s a nice day out, I know you like going to the park,” he says, but his eyes are drifting closed.
“I’ll go outside while you nap, then we’ll play some more,” I say, hopping up and going to the door, “Just go ahead and sleep.”
“Okay,” he says.
His nurse walks in past me as I go out. she smiles a little. She thinks I’m a good friend. I smile too because I’m little and look sweet. As soon as I round the corner, I tap my wrist pad and turn on my earbud.
“We have to do something,” I say, a soon as I hear the buzz that it’s been answered.
“I’m assuming you are referring to your dying little friend Billy?” my dad asks, “Or something to do with your exams or is it far too hope, my love life?”
“Major Tom still isn’t talking to you?” I confirm, sympathetically since he’s been concerned about that since before I could walk.
“No, thank you for your not at all heart-felt concern,” he says, “Now, since our combined intellect cannot do anything about that situation, what is your current problem?”
“Billy’s still all alone. He doesn’t mention it anymore, but I know he wishes his parents even cared,” I say, sadly.
“I tried, Tess, neither of them left information on the website,” he says, sympathetically, “Their information was old, the addresses were no longer valid, at this point any attempt to track them down would end in rejection anyway.”
“We still have to do something. Since Aiden died I’m the only person who’s here for him---”
“Aren’t there like, teachers or somebody who is supposed to provide empathy to you---?” he asks.
“Yes, they come sometimes, but it’s their job and he knows it. And I’m as emotionally supportive as a bag of rocks,” I sigh, coming to the end of the hall and looking out the windows.
“Poor analogy, pick a better one,” he says.
“Sack of small lumps of ingenious substrate?” I offer.
“Better, moving on, I understand your concern however it is well known that simply a famil
iar presence can be comforting and in fact create a bond---”
“He’s manifested a familial attachment and little else will do he’s dying---”
“So it’s going to be over soon---”
“So he should get at least one wish; he wants a family. What would you want somebody to do if you and I didn’t have each other----like if you died or something, and I was alone?” I ask.
“I wouldn’t want them to contact your mum,” he says, “She didn’t leave information either, Tess.”
I typically feel no remorse for lying but with Tess it’s more fear that one day she’ll find out that I’ve been lying and quit speaking to me. I’m probably ruining me and her as well. But there’s nothing I can do. I told her, and Major Tom for that matter, that Tess’ mother had not left updated information. That got really tricky because Major Tom helped me stalk the woman, but I managed to convince her I’d gotten the wrong woman because the address wasn’t good. That took some doing but really she’d not wanted to talk to me as it was so I got out of it all right.
“I know, but if I was dying and I wanted someone there, wouldn’t you want someone there for me?” she asks.
“I would be dead I’m sure I’d be thinking about many, many other important things---but yes in theoretical sense that if you required emotional support at that time I would wish it for you,” I admit.
“Well, then, we have to do something to help him,” she says, “You could try looking again---”
“Tess, people don’t change,” I say, “His parents don’t care.”
“He shouldn’t have to have that when he wants them,” she says.
“Life isn’t fair, Tess, things don’t go the way we want,” I say.
“But they should. You make things go the way you want,” she points out.
“I try,” I say, thinking of Major Tom. “Look, I’ll think; you do too. I should go now, I’ll call you back.”
“Okay,” she says, with a sigh.
“Love you,” I say.
“Love you too, Dad,” she says, “Thanks for the help.”
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