Walks in the woods.
Maybe whatever passes for domestic pets on this planet.
Family.
Olarte’s family, because my parents have been dead for so long that I can barely remember the sound of their voices without watching vids of them and me.Thatme was just a kid. I lived through the vids I watch, but some of them I can barely remember when they were taken now, like I’m watching strangers interacting and being happy, laughing.
Being a family.
They have been dead now longer than I was alive when I lost them.
It was supposed to be a routine shuttle trip to the other side of the moon the space station orbited. Mom had to go check on something on another space station under construction. Dad had the day off from work and went with her, just to hang out.
They were supposed to be home before I returned from school. Instead, I was met at the apartment by my mom’s teary-eyed coworker and a military rep, who was the organization providing law enforcement and related services for the space station.
My parents’ life insurance helped start my nest egg, though. Even if I hadn’t gone to secondary, I would’ve been okay doing something else for a living.
Losing them made me even more determined to follow through with school. They were so proud of me for being singled out for my talents and courted to be an ether-jump nav.
Part of me feels guilty I’m alive and they aren’t, but I take comfort knowing they were together when it happened. They wouldn’t want me to die—they’d want me to live. To be happy. To chase my dreams.
It’s what they always encouraged me to do, after all.
They were my biggest cheerleaders.
They wanted me to be happy.
Olarte’s presence in my life has exposed the glaring error in my thinking throughout the years.
IthoughtI was happy before I met Olarte, but I wasn’t.
I’ve beenexisting.
There’s a huge difference.
Maybe at one point Iwashappy. Something in me, some switch flipped—no pun intended—when I met Olarte.
Now?
I strongly suspect my life is about to undergo a series of drastic changes.
I can only hope they’re good ones.
But if my past experience is any indication, it probably will be a damned bumpy ride.
Finally, I reach Olarte’s door. I feel a little silly standing out there in the corridor with all my shit on a porta-sled and taking up most of the walking room. Fortunately, it’s still early in the morning, before most of the station’s residents are arising to go to work, so I haven’t had to dodge a lot of people like a fish swimming upstream.
Terror fills me and tightens my throat as I reach up and press the door chime button.
When the door slides open, I’m already looking up, where I know I’ll see their golden gaze staring down at me.
Without thinking it through, I reach up, drape my arms around their neck, and pull them in for a long, passionate kiss.
And they return it. They taste even better than they smell and I have to force back the deep, greedy moan struggling to break free from my throat.
Fuck, they’re not the world’s greatest kisser, but it’s the best kiss I’ve ever had.
The one I will remember the most, I’m sure.
