by TJ Klune
“Not that different,” Art said, sounding nervous.
“Not happening,” Alex said. “She’s with us. There won’t be a moment when she’s out of my sight.”
“Unless I have to go the bathroom,” Art said. “Or I’m showering.”
“Not helping,” Nate told her.
“What? I’m not letting him in the bathroom when I have to poop, Nate. That’s just gross!”
“What do you think could possibly happen to her?” Peter asked Alex. “Here, of all places? We are safe. My people know who she is. What she is. They know how special this moment is. For all of us. This is a monumental occasion for everyone, and I get the distinct impression that you don’t trust me.”
It was odd, really. Nate almost felt bad. Peter was earnest and charismatic, and Nate felt the edges of guilt crawling along his skin. He managed to shake it off, but Peter was good. Either he was being sincere, or he was a goddamn sociopath. Regardless of what else Nate had learned in his short life, it was always to expect the worst. That way, you could be surprised when it turned out okay.
“I don’t know you,” Alex said. “I don’t know your people. But I know Art. And Nate. We stay together, or we don’t stay at all.”
Nate thought Peter would argue. That he’d push.
He was surprised yet again.
“Of course,” Peter said, bowing his head slightly. “You are our guests. I merely wanted to extend a courtesy to the Seventh—to Artemis. After all, I have known her for far longer than you have. She was part of me.”
“If anyone cares about what I want, I’d be happy to tell you.”
They all looked down at Art.
“Yes,” Peter said. “I apologize. I should not be speaking as if you aren’t capable of thinking for yourself. I… sometimes forget we’re separate. It doesn’t happen as often as it once did, but having you near again has… well. I am just happy to see you healthy and whole.”
She reached out and touched his hand. She didn’t linger. “I understand. But Alex gets twitchy when I’m not around. And even though we’re safe here, he sometimes gets in trouble and needs me to rescue him. I need to keep an eye on him. It makes me feel better.”
“She has a point,” Nate said as Alex scowled down at her.
“She does not.”
“Curious,” Peter said, staring at the three of them.
“What is?” Art asked.
“The people we choose to surround ourselves with. Me, here. And you. Maybe I don’t see it the way you do. Maybe I will be surprised.”
Nate thought they were being insulted, but he couldn’t quite figure out how.
“No matter,” Peter said, taking a step back. “If you wish to remain with… these men, then I will defer to your decision. Feel free to make use of the facilities inside the main house. You are free to come and go as you please. Dinner will be served in front of the house at seven. Please join us then.” He glanced down the stairs toward the front of the barn. “Ah, and it looks as if your bags have been brought in.”
Sure enough, their duffel bags were stacked next to the combine. Nate hadn’t even heard them being placed there.
“It is an honor,” Peter told Art. “As always. I may not understand who you have chosen to bond with, but I trust that you will help make sense of it all. You opened my eyes once before. I believe that you can do it again.”
He turned and made his way down the stairs.
They watched as he walked out of the barn.
“I still taste chickpeas in my mouth,” Art grumbled. “Being vegan is the absolute worst.”
chapter fifteen
The sky was pink and orange, and the blue was fading toward black as they left the barn a little before seven. The stars were beginning to flicker, and Markham-Tripp was blazing brightly in the north. Steven Cooper said two more days and the comet would be as close as it’d ever be.
Art walked between them, holding Alex’s hand as they stopped outside the barn. She gasped at the sight in front of them.
The front yard had been transformed. Two long wooden picnic tables had been pushed together. White tablecloths covered them. There was a line of baskets on the tables filled with flowers of almost every color imaginable.
Tiki torches had been staked into the ground, the wicks lit and burning brightly. Chinese lanterns were hung from the trees, the thin paper red and green and flickering brightly. Strings of white lights had been wrapped around the trunks of trees.
It was wonderful.
It felt off somehow.
People were milling around the tables, whispering amongst themselves. Some held glasses of lemonade. Others were setting the table—plates, silverware, and cloth napkins. The man they’d seen at the barn was grunting as he hauled an old record player down the porch steps before setting it on the ground near the table. It appeared to be hand-cranked, something Nate had never seen before in person. Dolores patted his arm before she bent over and unlatched the bottom of the player. Inside were numerous record sleeves. She flipped through them before deciding on one and pulling it out. She slid the record out and placed it on the player. She gripped the crank and turned it slowly.
A moment later, the sounds of Billie Holiday began to spill out over the yard, the sound crackly and haunted.
It was one of the most surreal moments of Nathaniel Cartwright’s life.
“This is so pretty,” Art said, eyes alight. She tugged at Alex’s hand. “Isn’t this pretty?”
“It’s pretty,” Alex said begrudgingly. Nate reminded himself to give him shit for that later.
Art tugged him forward.
The conversation stopped almost immediately as everyone turned to look at them.
At her.
“Hello,” she said. “This is very nice. You guys did a good job. I’m super impressed.”
They all sighed almost at the same time.
“Thank you,” Peter said, appearing on the porch. “We wanted to show you just how much we appreciate you. For everything that you are. Please, sit. We will begin momentarily.”
Dolores and the man from the barn walked past Peter and into the farmhouse. An older black man stepped toward them. His fingers twitched. He walked stiffly. His gaze darted from Art to Alex and back again.
He stopped in front of them. He cleared his throat. “I would be honored if I could show you to your seat.”
“You’re like a waitress,” Art told him, smiling wildly. “I like waitresses.”
Nate didn’t bother correcting her.
The man didn’t either. In fact, he seemed to relax upon hearing her words. He looked as if he wanted to reach out and touch her, but one look from Alex seemed to change his mind. He turned, and they followed him toward the end of the table. A chair had been set up, a thick cushion on old wood. He pulled the chair out for her. Art laughed as she climbed onto it, holding on to the armrests as he lifted it slightly to set her closer to the table. Alex sat on the bench to her left. He nodded for Nate to take the spot opposite him.
The man said, “Actually, sir, those seats are for—”
Alex glared at him.
He backed away slowly.
Art leaned toward Nate. “Do you think they stopped being vegans in the last couple of hours so we can have bacon?” she whispered to him.
“I don’t think that’s quite how being vegan works,” Nate whispered back.
She looked disappointed with that.
He patted her hand.
Alex’s foot pressed against his under the table.
He looked down at the tabletop, feeling his face grow warm. They hadn’t—that is to say, nothing had happened between them, not really. There was intent, oh fuck was there intent, but when you’re running for your life with an alien at your side, it wasn’t easy to act on said intent. Ever since the night in the truck when he’d seen (dreamed?) the escape from the Mountain, then pressed a kiss to Alex’s callused hand, he’d been caref
ul, not wanting to push Alex further. It was frustrating, especially with moments like this, Alex’s leg warm against his own, but he—there were things he didn’t know. Many things. The woman he’d seen the first time the bond had flared to life because of Art. The little boy. He—he knew. How could he not? But he also knew how grief worked, how it could be all-encompassing. He didn’t want to push Alex for something he wasn’t ready for. He wasn’t even sure if he himself was ready for it. It didn’t help that now probably was not the best time to even be thinking about it. Art needed to be his focus. Not this… whatever it was happening between them.
But Jesus Christ did he want.
Maybe after, they could—Nate didn’t know.
He didn’t know what would come after.
If Alex would even be coherent. He’d lost before. Someday soon, he was going to lose again. Artemis was going to leave, and Nate was going to have to pick up the pieces.
He’d do it, though. Of course he would. He’d see this through to the end.
Peter had followed Dolores and the other man into the house. They all reappeared, one after another, each carrying a large Crock-Pot filled with what Nate thought would be the winter squash and lentil soup. The Asian woman from the garden came out of the house after them, carrying two large baskets filled high with thick slices of bread.
Dolores set her Crock-Pot between Alex and Nate, in front of Art, smiling shyly as she did so. The man from the barn sat his in the middle where the two tables met. Peter put his at the other end of the table, where another chair had been set up.
Billie Holiday sang that she didn’t want her man to explain.
The people of Peter’s farm came to the table and sat. A young man with acne scars sat next to Nate, glancing at him out of the corner of his eye. A woman sat next to Alex, a quiet smile on her face as she used his shoulder as a prop to seat herself. Her fingers trailed along his bicep. Nate decided he wasn’t a fan.
Alex pressed his foot into Nate’s ankle.
Nate understood.
Peter tapped the side of his glass with a spoon. Everyone quieted down as they looked toward him. He smiled at them, taking a moment to look at each of them in turn. His gaze stayed on Art the longest.
“I have spoken,” he said, “many times about my… experiences in the place known as the Mountain. The things I saw. The things I learned. When one—when an intelligent being chooses you like I was chosen, it can do nothing but change you. When you come out on the other side, you are scraped raw, hollowed out because everything you thought was real before suddenly seems so trivial. The things that mattered, the tiny little things that we think day to day, are nothing compared to the cosmic force that works around us.”
Billie Holiday sang that she was a fool to want you, that right or wrong she can’t get enough without you.
Peter said, “It… was life-changing. I was broken down and rebuilt from my very foundation. And when I was once again alone, I knew, I just knew that I needed to make the world a better place. Or at least a little corner of it.” He smiled, gaze sweeping around the farmyard. “I like to think I succeeded.”
The people around him murmured in agreement, heads bobbing up and down.
“We’ve all had to make sacrifices,” Peter said. “Every single one of us. To be here, now, in this moment, means we’ve given up something else.” He looked at Nate. Nate tried not to flinch. “And maybe we don’t quite understand our purpose yet. But now that she is here, now that she has come, I know we’ll soon see things quite clearly.” He raised his glass from the table. “To Artemis. For showing me the way.”
His people raised their glasses toward her. “To Artemis.”
Nate and Alex didn’t move.
Artemis cocked her head.
They all drank as one.
Peter set down his glass. “Now,” he said cheerfully. “Let us eat this fine meal Dolores has so lovingly prepared for all of us. This is a celebration. Which means it’s time to start celebrating.”
He sat down in his chair as Dolores smiled at him.
The food was served, the stew being ladled out, the bread being passed around. Something that resembled butter was served in small dishes for the bread, but since it was supposedly vegan, Nate passed. He didn’t want to know what it’d been made from.
Art appeared uncertain as she stared down at the stew in front of her. She picked up her spoon and poked at it briefly. She waited until Alex took a bite before she followed suit. “Wow,” she said, overbright. “This is really good. Like. I am so happy I am having this right now.”
Nate wouldn’t look at her for fear of bursting out laughing.
He managed a few bites before he just decided to pick at the bread.
He thought maybe he’d sneak out to the truck later and see if they had any of their soup left. The image of them huddled in the barn under cover of night sneaking soup from a can caused him to snort.
He felt Alex’s boot press against his ankle.
He looked up.
Alex’s eyebrows were raised in question.
He shook his head.
It was fine.
Everything was fine.
Yeah, maybe these people were a little weird. Maybe he didn’t understand them, but hell, he’d never been through what Peter had been through. He didn’t know him. Or them. What had led them to be here. On this farm. How they had so quickly accepted these strangers. This girl. They hadn’t seemed surprised about anything having to do with her. Instead, they were almost… reverent. Like they were in awe of her.
Nate understood that more than he cared to admit.
It was probably nothing. They just… needed someone like Peter. Nate could see why. He was—there was just something about him that Nate couldn’t quite put his finger on. He barely seemed to blink. He was almost always smiling. And calm. Eerily calm.
It was fine.
Everything was fine.
The meal was over, and the people of the farm pushed away from the table, clearing their dishes and setting them into a large plastic tub filled with soapy water that had been set near the porch. No one commented on how little the three guests seemed to eat, their bowls still mostly full, bread in small shredded pieces on the plates. Nate tried to help but was quietly told it wasn’t necessary. That he was their guest, that he’d come with her and wouldn’t need to lift a finger.
Billie Holiday cooed that she was all about you, body and soul, spending her days in longing, always for you.
Nate stared in shock as Peter offered a hand toward Dolores and bowed low. Dolores giggled like a girl far younger, blushing, bosom heaving. She took Peter’s hand, and as he chuckled, he led her to an open patch of grass near the record player. He pulled her close, and they began to dance, swaying slowly back and forth.
Others joined them a moment later. A man and a woman. Two women. A group of three, all standing in a lazy circle, hands holding hands, shuffling feet as they spun slowly.
“What is that?” Art breathed. “Alex, what are they doing? Is that… is that dancing?”
“Yeah,” Alex said quietly. “It’s dancing.”
“Like that movie,” she said, sighing dreamily, eyes reflecting the lights around her. “The one with the pretty woman in the dresses. What was it called?”
“Hello, Dolly!”
“Yeah, that one.” She glanced at Alex before looking down at her hands. She looked… nervous, something Nate hadn’t really seen on her before. She looked at Alex again before smiling and fidgeting with the tablecloth.
Nate understood.
Alex did too. Even before Nate could speak, Alex said, “Do you want to dance?”
Art shrugged.
“Art.”
“Maybe a little,” she muttered.
“Do you want to dance with me?”
She shrugged again.
Oh yeah. Nate had seen heartbreak up close before. And he felt it then, too, in his chest. Rig
ht down the middle. He understood, briefly, what Peter had meant by scraped raw. There was this girl, this perfect little girl, who wasn’t a girl at all. And she wanted to dance.
Alex pushed himself up from the table.
He held a hand out to her.
She blushed.
Nate wondered when exactly he’d started to love them both. When he had allowed himself to feel something he didn’t think he was capable of.
But he was, apparently.
He had.
He knew it then.
Somehow, he had.
Art hesitated, but only for a moment, before she took Alex’s hand. Billie began singing about the wishing well, and that she’ll be seeing you, that she’ll always think of you that way, like a summer’s day.
Alex led Art to the middle of the grass. The others moved out of the way. Dolores danced with her cheek pressed against Peter’s chest. Her eyes were closed, and she looked as if she didn’t plan on moving from that spot for a long time.
Peter was watching Alex and Art.
Nate’s heart was in his throat as Alex told Art to stand on his feet. She smiled up at him, a dazzling thing that caused Nate’s hands to shake. She did as he said, gingerly stepping onto the tops of Alex’s boots, as if she feared she’d hurt him somehow. He helped her, her hands in his. Once she had her footing, he began shuffling his feet through the grass. It was awkward, and Alex was stiff, but as Billie told them she’d find you in the morning sun, Art looked as if she’d never been happier than she was right then. She smiled up at Alex, and Nate thought Billie was right. It was the morning sun.
I don’t think I got that, Art had told him. I don’t think anyone could. Not until they feel a heart beating in a chest like I have. Not until I felt the bones beneath my skin. We’re not alike. Not really. We’re separated by time and space. And yet, somehow we’re all made of dust and stars.
He hadn’t understood what she’d said. Not really. Not before. Not until this moment.
And perhaps for the first time, he truly understood the depth of how much Alex Weir loved Artemis Darth Vader.
He wondered if there would be anything left of him after she was gone.
