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About his thoughts on The Lottery.

On our mission.

How he and Robert have been keeping their relationship secret for weeks. How grateful they both are that the rules have changed. That I was the one who changed them.

When he is done, Ivan takes a long breath, meeting my gaze with his own. His cheeks red and his eyes uncertain.

At first, he does not seem to register the look on my face. My lips twitch into a genuine smile, but perhaps he interprets it as sardonic.

Growing up gay in Russia must have been excruciating. I have known Ivan for nearly two decades and it never once occurred to me… I shake my head. Was I too preoccupied to see the truth? Finally, on a spaceship bound for Mars, away from the social structures and outdated beliefs that dictated his life before, he found the freedom to love in his own way.

A feeling of euphoria momentarily shuts down all other thoughts.

It brings me great joy to see someone I care about so deeply find love.

And it frees me of some of the guilt I have harbored in my feelings for Azalea. Before I could only hope that our affair would not bring pain to Robert, a decent man who did not deserve to be hurt by us. Now, I know Robert’s attentions were never on Azalea.

My Azalea.

He had eyes for another.

I chuckle to myself at the cosmic mismatch of it all.

“Why do you smile like that?” Ivan asks, his eyes narrowed in suspicion. With no one else around, we fall into our mother tongue effortlessly.

Realizing how hard it was for him to tell me about Robert, how frayed his nerves must be, I simply pull my old friend in for a hug.

“Because I am happy, comrade,” I whisper.

Ivan gives me a questioning look, then smiles. Given what life must have been like for him in Russia, I could very well be the first person he has revealed this part of himself to who was not a lover. I feel deeply the weight of that trust.

And I feel winds of hope sweep through all four of our lives.

Ivan is happy.

Robert is happy.

Azalea is allowed to be happy.

With me.

And I...I feel a kind of happiness that transforms me, a kind of happiness I hope can transform us all into what I believe we are capable of.

“This unburdens my heart,” Ivan says, his voice cracking a little. “I had great fear about telling you.”

“Lay those fears to rest, Ivan.”

“I will leave you, then,” he says, turning toward the door.

“Wait,” I say, stopping him in his tracks as I head to the small fridge in the corner of my suite. I open the door and pull out a tall, velvet bag.

“My plan was to open this at landing,” I say with a small, self-deprecating smile, “but things have been a little hectic. Now seems like the right time to toast.”

I reach into the bag and reveal a slender glass bottle, deep blue with gold lettering that reads Billionaire Vodka.

In many ways, I hate this bottle. I find the name childish and indulgent. It was made by the absurdly rich, for the absurdly rich. The effort and cost behind the production could have been used in so many other ways.

But the vodka within is exquisite.