At last, he brings our lunch to the table (unrecognizable alien food that tastes kind of like a battered and fried banana but that has the consistency of granola) and clears his throat.
“Yes.”
“Yes?”That’s all he’s going to say? Alright then.
He shoots me an annoyed look, one I’m infinitely familiar with. It’s hiswhy can’t I be left in peace?look.Although…thinking about it, maybe I’ve misinterpreted that look—if it’s true that he doesn’t hate my company. Maybe that frown means something else entirely, and I’ve been getting it wrong this whole time.
The thought has my butterflies leaping into action, and I shovel food into my mouth to avoid thinking too closely about why I have butterflies at all.
“Yes, I do,” Killan says in a stilted voice. “I like that I can see the shape of my life.”
“You mean, er, your future? You like knowing what you’re going to be doing tomorrow?”
He nods. “Mayhaps some things will change as the years pass. We might add more lakes to the farm. We might expand the reach of our charity beyond Ril I to other planets. My brothers might father younglings with their Mates—” He gives me a sidelong look, as if he has predicted how I’ll react and wants to check he’s right. I pick at my food, avoiding his gaze and determinedly keeping my expression neutral.
Sure, it’s occurred to me that Briar and Harlee might have kids. And, yes, Killan’s silent assumption that the thought annoys me is also correct. It’s another reminder, when another reminder is not needed, that Briar and Harlee are happily letting go of their old lives.
“But, essentially,” he continues, “my life in ten years’ time, or in twenty or thirty or forty years’ time, will be the same as it is today. We will seed the lakes, and then we will harvest the lakes. Seed, harvest. Seed, harvest.”
“That isn’t?—”
He must guess what I’m asking before I’ve finished saying it. “You might look at the unwavering line of my life and see nothing remarkable,” he grumbles. “But when I look at my future, I see my sister’s legacy. She died, and I will work every single day in her name so that no other Ril’os family has to suffer the same pain my family suffered.”
I still. This is the first time I’ve heard him mention Roa. “You don’t ever talk about your sister.”
“You don’t ever talk about your family,” he grumbles.
“Touché.”
“Too shay?”
“It means you made a good point.”
He cocks his head, clearly surprised.
I’m surprised, too, by how much that had sounded like me complimenting him. “I’m guessing you’re a typical type A personality,” I diagnose. “Like me.” Which is the opposite of a compliment and makes me feel a fraction better. A fraction more in control of myself.
“Akh…type A?”
“We love a good plan,” I extrapolate. “It gives us a sense of control over our otherwise uncontrollable lives.”
“I see.” He nods, watching me too closely for comfort, and I feel like I’ve accidentally shared something of myself with him,despite my best efforts not to. Suddenly not hungry, I push the rest of my lunch around my plate.
Arguing with Killan is so much easier than whatever this mess of a conversation is. We’re not supposed to be getting along. I need him to be annoyed by me. Because if he doesn’t find me annoying, how am I supposed to find him annoying? And if I don’t find him annoying, what’s to stop me from inadvertently getting comfortable living in his house and working on his farm? Before I know it, a year will have passed. I’ll have forfeited the lease on my bakery and started a new life here, on a planet devoid of croissants and sour cherry pies.
I hunt around for something rude to say, determined to turn the conversation around to a more comfortable subject, and settle on a brutal, “I never talk about my family because you’ve never bothered asking about them.”
There’s a tight silence, during which my butterflies disintegrate into a hard ball of guilt. But I’ve had a lot more practice dealing with guilt than with nervous anticipation. If being annoyed by Killan is what keeps me motivated on Ril II, then guilt is what keeps me motivated on Earth—guilt and a hearty slice of ambition pie.
“Do you miss your family?” Killan asks through gritted teeth.
I jump, honestly not having expected him to take the bait. Suddenly, the question hangs over my head, and I’m the idiot who put it there.
Karma’s a bitch.
“Umm…yes.” I clear my throat.
He gives me the exact look I’d given him not ten minutes ago.Is that all you’re going to say?
