Save it for later.
Maybe for drinking in their quarters tomorrow night, if I’m lucky.
Hey, it’s one of my unofficial mottos. If I can’t get laid, at least I can get drunk. Not like I get blitzed and tear up a bar or something, either. I like to get my happy on, and sex and booze are my only vices. The booze usually doesn’t happen on the nights I’m getting sex, either.
We take a lift down a few levels, and I follow Olarte along one last corridor, until we reach their door. They activate a biometric lock and motion for me to go first once the door slides open.
I do, stepping to the side so Olarte can walk past me. They lock us in and turn on the light.
It’s…small. I mean, not a fraction as small as some personnel quarters I’ve been in, but my quarters on the ship are almost as large. It’s tidy, with little in the way of personal effects on display. They also have an exceptionally large holo-vid port, which is currently dark.
“What do you usually display on your window?” I ask.
They look where I’m pointing. “I usually set it to glow green or blue. Or, sometimes, I set it to show pictures of my family. It never feels real when I set it to look like a window. Those colors are soothing to me. It’s too distracting otherwise.”
Note to self—green and blue…
I have a thought. “If you want to get your shower, I don’t mind hanging out for a few minutes. Just point me to where you keep your glasses.”
“That would be ideal.” They walk into the kitchen area and open a cabinet. There are only a few glasses in there, and mugs. “I do not have wine glasses. I opted for the basic kit that came with the apartment.”
“You don’t entertain much, I take it?”
“No. Colarmin has been here before. I let phem stay with me for two days while phey awaited a vessel phey were here to catch for a brief off-world mission.”
“Your family doesn’t come up and visit you?”
“It is not necessary for phem to. When I have leave of more than a day or two, I return home. Otherwise, I cannot spend much time with phem if phey are here, because I am working. Please excuse me. I shall return momentarily.”
They step into the bedroom area and slide the divider shut. A moment later, I hear water running.
I grab a coffee mug from the cabinet and set it on the counter. Out of curiosity, I peek in their fridge and see a few tubs of homemade food in there. On the counter, clean and neatly stacked, are two empty food containers that match the ones in the fridge.
If I had to guess, Olarte’s family sent food back with them after their most recent visit.
The stinging prickle of tears in my eyes catches me totally off-guard, making me angrily twist the cap off the wine bottle and fill the mug nearly to the brim. Seeing concrete proof of a loving family does something to my insides. Not about Olarte personally, but about the fickleness of life in general.
My last memory of my parents is them hugging me good-bye and telling me they loved me. I told them I loved them, too, but I was in a hurry to get to school early so I could possibly spend a few minutes talking to Loche Pracke, who was a fifteen-year-old guy in my Quantum Math II class, and I had a crush on him.
Obviously, had I known it’d be the last time I’d see my parents alive, I would have held them longer, tighter.
Told them I loved them over and over.
Begged them to take me with them so I wouldn’t be left alone and terrified.
The wine was in a chiller in the store. I take several long, deep swallows, welcoming the cold bite of it against my taste buds to divert my thoughts.
Family.
There are a lot of things my brain can get me in this universe—money, recognition, respect for my skills, bragging rights, and laid—but the one thing that’s always eluded me was a sense of belonging.
Of family.
* * * *
I don’t make too much of an ass of myself, I suppose. Not when, a couple of hours later, Olarte agrees to have dinner with me again the next night.
This time, with a delightful catch.
