“What’s a mechanic?” he asks, reaching across me to grab some overgrown looking edamame thingy.
“That’s a hard one, because you have no idea what cars or automobiles are, and that’s what I used to fix, but the short answer is I fix things.”
“We’re going to circle back to whatever cahhs are, but you fixing things is intriguing. So you’re telling me my flower is beautiful, wise and understanding,andsmart?” he teases. “By the stars, could a being be so blessed?”
I laugh and breathe on my nails, buffing them out on my vest. “What can I say, the gate chose wisely,” I tease.
“That it did, that it did,” he agrees, his eyes bright and his smile catching.
“So what about you?” I ask, feeling more relaxed in spite of the sweltering heat.
“Ooh, we’re on me already?” he asks with a faux nervous look.
I laugh, and he tilts his head to the side in thought.
“Well, I’m the Altern…” he starts, and I snort and give him a look that saysoh really, I had no idea.
He chuckles.
“What all does that entail?” I ask, repeating the pattern of him asking about what I did.
“Mostly, it’s me doing everything my brother isn’t interested in...which is pretty much everything not involving the war. He’s very focused on victory and not much else, which means the rest falls on me. A lot of boring planning for crops and maintaining the city and its defenses.”
“Mogus extermination,” I add cheekily.
“Naturally,” he replies not missing a beat, his smile stretching even wider.
“Do you like being the second in command?” I press, picking up on an undercurrent of melancholy in his tone.
He looks at me for a beat like he’s trying to see into my head while also trying to sort out what’s in his own.
“Would you think I’m addled if I told you no?” he asks, the smile on his face never wavering, but I don’t miss the glint of insecurity in his mismatched gaze.
“No way,” I reassure him. “I wouldn’t want the job if it were offered to me,” I add.
“And your reasoning for that would be…” he queries, trailing off.
“That’s a lot of pressure. Yes, there are perks, I’m sure. But to be responsible for all of those people, to have their safety, livelihood, prosperity, and happiness sitting on my shoulders…” I trail off, and Treno nods, his look far away.
“Maybe I’d feel different if it weren’t for the war, but the battles get tiring. We make progress, then lose ground... It’s a never-ending, stagnant trap. Lazza won’t hear anything against it; if you’re not there to discuss strategy, then he has no time for you. I wondered often what he’d be like once it’s all over, but I can’t picture it anymore,” he states evenly, his tone somewhat sad.
I watch Treno for a beat as he gets lost in some unspoken thought. He looks so sad and resigned in this moment, and I’m surprised by how impacted I feel by that. I can’t imagine what he’s been through, and it’s clear the fighting has taken its toll. I want to soothe the ache I hear in his voice and chase away the shadows in his eyes.
“So, if you weren’t the Altern, what would you be doing right now?” I ask, changing the direction of the conversation from gloomy to lighter hypotheticals.
“Wow,” Treno states, his eyes thoughtful. “I’m not sure.” He laughs and shakes his head. “One of my best friends growing up wanted to be a farmer. At the time, I thought that it seemed like too much work, but now…” He pauses. “Now, I think I’d really like that life—maybe not crops, but animals. I’ve always liked working with creatures. Just the thought of working hard, coming home to my mate and my eyas, living off of my own efforts and abilities...yeah, that sounds like a good life to me.”
Treno gives me a warm smile that I feel settle deep in my chest.
“Now tell me all about cahhs,” he requests, and I crack up.
“You sound like you’re from Boston the way you say that,” I point out, grabbing the lovechild between a plum and an Arnold Schwarzenegger sized strawberry and taking a bite.
Juice drips down the side of my mouth, and I’m forced to give the loudest, most unladylike slurp known to man to keep this fruit from jizzing all over me. Treno laughs and wipes at my cheeks with his hands in an effort to stop the greatest juice tsunami of our time. There’s no hope, and sticky sweetness drips down my vest to mix with the sweat and make things even more uncomfortable for me.
I pull the fruit away from my mouth and announce, “She’s a squirter!”
I pause for a minute as what I just said sinks in, and then I completely lose it. I start laughing so hard I must look like a braying donkey. Treno clearly has no idea what I find so funny, but apparently my gleeful giggles are contagious, because he’s guffawing in no time right alongside me.
