Zoe's Tale

“It makes a difference,” Hickory said. “In how they speak to each other. How they communicate with each other.”

 

 

“I suppose it does,” I said. Hickory’s observation was an understatement, actually. John and Jane didn’t just love each other. The two of them were nuts for each other, in exactly the sort of way that’s both touching and embarrassing to a teenage daughter. Touching because who doesn’t want their parents to love each other, right down to their toes? Embarrassing because, well. Parents. Not supposed to act like goofs about each other.

 

They showed it in different ways. Dad was the most obvious about it, but I think Mom felt it more intensely than he did. Dad was married before; his first wife died back on Earth. Some part of his heart was still with her. No one else had any claim on Jane’s heart, though. John had all of it, or all of it that was supposed to belong to your spouse. No matter how you sliced it, though, there’s nothing either of them wouldn’t do for each other.

 

“That’s why they’re out here,” I said to Hickory. “In the road right now, I mean. Because they love each other.”

 

“How so?” Hickory asked.

 

“You said it yourself,” I said. “It makes a difference in how they communicate.” I pointed again to the two of them. “Dad wants to go and lead this colony,” I said. “If he didn’t, he would have just said no. It’s how he works. He’s been moody and out of sorts all day because he wants it and he knows there are complications. Because Jane loves it here.”

 

“More than you or Major Perry,” Hickory said.

 

“Oh, yeah,” I said. “It’s where she’s been married. It’s where she’s had a family. Huckleberry is her homeworld. He’d say no if she doesn’t give him permission to say yes. So that’s what she’s doing, out there.”

 

Hickory peered out again at the silhouettes of my parents. “She could have said so in the house,” it said.

 

I shook my head. “No,” I said. “Look how she’s looking up. Before Dad came out, she was doing the same thing. Standing there and looking up at the stars. Looking for the star our new planet orbits, maybe. But what she’s really doing is saying good-bye to Huckleberry. Dad needs to see her do it. Mom knows that. It’s part of the reason she’s out there. To let him know she’s ready to let this planet go. She’s ready to let it go because he’s ready to let it go.”

 

“You said it was part of the reason she’s out there,” Hickory said. “What’s the other part?”

 

“The other part?” I asked. Hickory nodded. “Oh. Well. She needs to say good-bye for herself, too. She’s not just doing it for Dad.” I watched Jane. “A lot of who she is, she became here. And we may never get back here. It’s hard to leave your home. Hard for her. I think she’s trying to find a way to let it go. And that starts by saying good-bye to it.”

 

“And you?” Hickory said. “Do you need to say good-bye?”

 

I thought about it for a minute. “I don’t know,” I admitted. “It’s funny. I’ve already lived on four planets. Well, three planets and a space station. I’ve been here longest, so I guess it’s my home more than any of the rest of them. I know I’ll miss some of the things about it. I know I’ll miss some of my friends. But more than any of that… I’m excited. I want to do this. Colonize a new world. I want to go. I’m excited and nervous and a little scared. You know?”

 

Hickory didn’t say anything to this. Outside the window, Mom had walked away a little from Dad, and he was turning to head back into the house. Then he stopped and turned back to Mom. She held out her hand to him. He came to her, took it. They began to walk down the road together.

 

“Good-bye, Huckleberry,” I said, whispering the words. I turned away from the window and let my parents have their walk.

 

 

 

 

 

SIX

 

 

 

“I don’t know how you could possibly be bored,” Savitri said to me, leaning on an observation deck rail as we looked out from Phoenix Station to the Magellan. “This place is great.”

 

I looked over at her with mock suspicion. “Who are you, and what have you done with Savitri Guntupalli?”

 

“I don’t know what you mean,” Savitri said, blandly.

 

“The Savitri I know was sarcastic and bitter,” I said. “You are all gushy, like a schoolgirl. Therefore: You’re not Savitri. You are some horrible spunky camouflaged alien thing, and I hate you.”

 

“Point of order,” Savitri said. “You’re a schoolgirl, and you hardly ever gush. I’ve known you for years and I don’t believe I have ever seen you involved in a gushing incident. You are almost entirely gush-free.”

 

“Fine, you gush even more than a schoolgirl,” I said. “Which just makes it worse. I hope you’re happy.”

 

“I am,” Savitri said. “Thank you for noticing.”

 

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