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“It’s okay.” I tried for another smile. “I don’t really know what I’m missing. I enjoy the life I have.” I squeezed Rian’s hand, happy he hadn’t moved it from where it was last.

“Your appetizer,” the waiter said, and the click of a plate hitting the table came. A meaty aroma of baked mushrooms swimming in cheese and butter hit me. “Are we ready to order?”

A slight pause in conversation. I assumed Rian and or Cindy were looking at each other.

“I am,” I said. “How about you two?”

“Yes, me too,” Cindy said quickly.

I made life eating in public easier on myself and picked steak with some sides while Rian got his usual carb extravaganza of shrimp alfredo. Cindy ordered the salmon.

The waiter refilled our glasses. “Can I get you anything else?”

“I’m great, thank you.” Rian shifted in his seat, sounding less great by the minute. He was very protective of me.

I was used to people acting like my blindness was the worst thing they could ever imagine. It was annoying, of course, and people could be utterly selfish assholes, but mostly I lived my life.

Absolutely everything in our society was centered on the idea that you could see, but this was the twenty-first century. I was a lucky bastard to be born in the era of smartphones that could work around almost every issue that came with my disability.

My mouth watered as the scent of butter, parmesan, and earthy mushrooms wafted up again. Rian served me some mushrooms, and we made small talk. The weather, our different jobs, recent movies we’d seen.

The food arrived, and I took my time cutting my steak. I kept my water on my ten o’clock and my wine on my two o’clock. I almost spilled the wine when the waiter set the glass down in the wrong spot, but I managed to recover with a wobble.

Cindy spoke easily, but I could feel her attention on me during some of the pauses. Rian helped in that sense, because his annoyance always spiked at the same time.

“I have to say, if I didn’t know better, I’d say you could see.” Cindy’s voice was still bright and warm, like it was the greatest compliment.

I could almost hear Rian grind his teeth. “And how should a blind person act?”

“I’m sorry.” Cindy sounded genuinely sorry. “I was trying to be complimentary, but I can see how that’s not…polite.”

An awkward pause. I tapped Rian’s hand, still at my three o’clock.

“It’s okay, Rian,” I said. “Visually impaired people are given extensive training on orientation and mobility.”

“I wasn’t trying to be rude,” Cindy said again, silverware clicking on her plate.

“It’s really okay.”

I was used to sighted people expecting me to grope around to find things. When I asked Rian about signing up for Cosmic Bonds, I knew we would have some basic conversations about my blindness, and I didn’t see it as too much different than talking about our personal preferences in a partner.

For example, Rian wouldn’t be able to stand a long-term relationship with someone who never picked up after themselves. We’d dated an alpha woman who was a total slob, and it only took three dates in for us all to realize it was a deal-breaker.

I didn’t see this as being too different from the normal getting-to-know-you conversation.

“The orientation and mobility training, or O&M, teaches you to keep a mental picture of where things are in space, and also how to find landmarks, listen for cues, and, if you can discern light well enough, use light sources.” I touched my water glassand then my wine glass. “I keep my drinks at ten and two o’clock to my plate, so I always know where they are.”

O&M training covered a lot more, but I didn’t want to go into the boring details, like how to make sure you were facing the right way on the sidewalk by listening to the flow of traffic.

“That’s amazing,” the beta replied. “I haven’t really thought about it, but that seems so much better than…not knowing where everything is.”

“It’s way better.” I took a bite out of my steak, the filet melting in my mouth.

“So do you use a cane, or a seeing eye dog?” She sounded interested. I associated the tone with the same people who asked me about working as a sound engineer. They didn’t understand sound engineers were the people mixing music, making songs sound like they did. It was like a fascinating new world opened up for them.

I didn’t mind talking about either parts of my world, but I forgot how nice it was not having to explain so much.

Out here, I was a blind dude talking to a sighted person who literally couldn’t picture what it was like not to be able to see.