“I do,” I said.
“You asked me if I believe the Colonial Union is correct, that this is a great victory, and if my government would believe the same,” Hickory said. “My response is to say that once again my government extends an invitation to you, Zo?, to come visit our worlds, and to travel safe among them.”
I nodded, and looked back to the sky, where stars were still going nova. “And when would you want this trip to begin?” I asked.
“Now,” Hickory said. “Or as close to now as possible.”
I didn’t say anything to that. I looked up to the sky, and then closed my eyes and for the first time, started to pray. I prayed for the crews of the ships above me. I prayed for the colonists below me. I prayed for John and Jane. For Gretchen and her father. For Magdy and for Enzo and their families. For Hickory and Dickory. I prayed for General Gau. I prayed for everyone.
I prayed.
“Zo?,” Hickory said.
I opened my eyes.
“Thank you for the invitation,” I said. “I regret I must decline.”
Hickory was silent.
“Thank you, Hickory,” I said. “Really, thank you. But I am right where I belong.”
PART III
TWENTY
“Admit it,” Enzo said, through the PDA. “You forgot.”
“I did not,” I said, with what I hoped was just the right amount of indignation to suggest that I had not forgotten, which I had.
“I can hear the fake indignation,” he said.
“Rats,” I said. “You’re on to me. Finally.”
“Finally? There’s no finally,” Enzo said. “I’ve been on to you since I met you.”
“Maybe you have,” I allowed.
“And anyway, that doesn’t solve this problem,” Enzo said. “We’re about to sit down for dinner. You’re supposed to be here. Not to make you feel guilty or anything.”
This was the difference between me and Enzo now and then. There used to be a time when Enzo would have said those words and they would have come out sounding like he was accusing me of something (besides, of course, being late). But right now they were gentle and funny. Yes, he was exasperated, but he was exasperated in a way that suggested I might be able to make it up to him. Which I probably would, if he didn’t push it.
“I am in fact wracked with guilt,” I said.
“Good,” Enzo said. “Because you know we put a whole extra potato in the stew for you.”
“Gracious,” I said. “A whole potato.”
“And I promised the twins they could throw their carrots at you,” he said, referring to his little sisters. “Because I know how much you love carrots. Especially when they’re kid-hurled.”
“I don’t know why anyone would eat them any other way,” I said.
“And after dinner I was going to read you a poem I wrote for you,” Enzo said.
I paused. “Now that’s not fair,” I said. “Injecting something real into our witty banter.”
“Sorry,” Enzo said.
“Did you really?” I asked. “You haven’t written me a poem in ages.”
“I know,” he said. “I thought I might get back into practice. I remember you kind of liked it.”
“You jerk,” I said. “Now I really do feel guilty for forgetting about dinner.”
“Don’t feel too guilty,” Enzo said. “It’s not a very good poem. It doesn’t even rhyme.”
“Well, that’s a relief,” I said. I still felt giddy. It’s nice to get poems.
“I’ll send it to you,” Enzo said. “You can read it instead. And then, maybe if you’re nice to me, I’ll read it to you. Dramatically.”
“What if I’m mean to you?” I asked.
“Then I’ll read it melodramatically,” he said. “I’ll wave my arms and everything.”
“You’re making a case for me being mean to you,” I said.
“Hey, you’re already missing dinner,” Enzo said. “That’s worth an arm wave or two.”
“Jerk,” I said. I could almost hear him smile over the PDA.
“Gotta go,” Enzo said. “Mom’s telling me to set the table.”
“Do you want me to try to make it?” I asked. All of a sudden I really did want to be there. “I can try.”
“You’re going to run across the entire colony in five minutes?” Enzo said.
“I could do it,” I said.
“Maybe Babar could,” Enzo said. “But he has two legs more than you.”
“Fine,” I said. “I’ll send Babar to have dinner with you.”
Enzo laughed. “Do that,” he said. “I’ll tell you what, Zo?. Walk here at a reasonable pace, and you’ll probably make it in time for dessert. Mom made a pie.”
“Yay, pie,” I said. “What kind?”
“I think it’s called ‘Zo? gets whatever kind of pie she gets and likes it’ pie,” Enzo said.
“Mmmm,” I said. “I always like that kind of pie.”
“Well, yeah,” Enzo said. “It’s right there in the title.”
“It’s a date,” I said.
“Good,” Enzo said. “Don’t forget. I know that’s a problem for you.”
“Jerk,” I said.
“Check your mail queue,” Enzo said. “There might be a poem there.”