Page 60

Seeker

Together, we meander through the park.

The trees are changing hues. This marks the second time I’ve witnessed this spectacle.

Children call out to one another, frolicking away the final hours of daylight.

Somehow, just walking with Jen, holding her hand, saps my negative emotions.

Nothing has been resolved, so I don’t know how our story ends.

But I’ll walk the path with her.

“This is one of my favorite places,” she says. “When I wander around here, I always think about getting a dog.”

“Do you want one?”

“Scotty and Spock tolerate Mr. Snickers when Nancy travels, but they hide a lot. I don’t think they’d enjoy a permanent canine roomie.”

“That seems accurate.” I gaze into the distance, studying the structures on either side. “What are those?”

Jen follows the trajectory of my regard and smiles, showing teeth. “Those are picnic pavilions. People bring food and eat al fresco with friends or family. They usually need to be reserved ahead of time. Anyone can use the tables over there.”

“I’m always learning. Why do they transport food to eat outdoors?”

“It’s fun? I’m not sure, honestly. I’m not an outdoorsy person. I like a walk now and then, but I’ve never understood people who leave comfortable homes and sleep in the woods.” She walks on, shaking her head slightly.

“On my homeworld, there are those who go on sabbaticals, attempting to unfetter their creativity. Is that why such wilderness retreats occur here as well?”

“People go for lots of reasons. To get a break from modern life, clear their heads, commune with nature.”

“I see.”

Jen heads for a red bridge arching across a creek that filters into a pond nearby.

We pause, facing the water that reflects the last embers of daylight.

Ducks glide across the surface, leaving ripples in their wake.

They are curious creatures; I enjoy the variety of life present on 97-B, even if I don’t always agree with the stewardship.

A venerable human couple stands before the water, joined by their hands. Her hair is silver. His back is bowed. They are tearing something apart and flinging it into the water. The avians are most interested in the offering.

Jen laughs. “They’re feeding them kale.”

“Is that unusual?”

“Kind of. People used to give the ducks bread, but it was bad for them. I guess people can learn new things, even at their age.”

“It bodes well,” I say.

“I’ve been thinking about what you showed me before. Your homeworld,” she adds, as if it’s possible for me to forget a memory walk.

“Have you?”

“Of course. It was so beautiful. Like paradise compared to here.”

“Maybe. But it didn’t have you.”

She emits an amused sound. “That was buttery smooth.”

“It was honesty, not an attempt at charm.”

“I’m not used to anyone feeling that way about me. I’m the weird one, not someone who receives romantic declarations.”

“You are now,” I say.

It is irrelevant to me how other humans perceive her. To me , Jen is a small miracle.

We cross the bridge slowly, reaching a grassy area that leads down a winding path to the pond some distance from the couple offering treats to the local fauna.

“I’ve never told anyone this… I mean, Mom and Glynnis know, obviously. But…it’s so embarrassing. Do you know what prom is?”

The term is unfamiliar. I have consumed a great deal of human entertainment but there’s still much for me to learn. “No. Is that an abbreviation?”

Jen tilts her head, seeming surprised by the question.

“You know, I have no clue. Just a second.” She checks her phone, then says, “I guess it is. It’s short for ‘promenade dance.’ Basically, it’s a social occasion in high school.

You get a date and dress up. Lots of people lose their virginity that night too. ”

“It seems like a coming-of-age ritual,” I say.

“Do you have those on your world as well?”

“Assuredly. Affirmation Day is an important one. But don’t let curiosity prevent you from finishing your story.”

“Right. Anyway, all my friends had been asked already. The only people who hadn’t been were the forever-alone types. Including me. And Glynnis was teasing me. My mom asked if I wanted my cousin Ronnie to take me.”

A cousin is a biological relative. Since this promenade dance is meant to be a romantic outing, there must be a stigma attached to participating with one’s own kin. But I ask for clarification instead of making assumptions. “What did you say?”

“I said I would take care of everything. I ended up asking everyone I knew, even people I barely knew or liked. Rejections everywhere . I’ve never been so sad or humiliated before or since.

I was so desperate to go—to fit in—that I even bought a dress without having a date locked in.

But in the end, I didn’t go. I was too embarrassed. ”

“I’m sorry.” Though I can entirely understand her pain, it’s clear to me that this is a memory that causes her great discomfort even now.

“I wish I’d been bold enough to say, ‘To hell with a date. I’ll have fun on my own. It doesn’t matter if others don’t see me as a viable partner.’ I could have tagged along with Drew and Nina.

“But I didn’t want to butt in or make them feel obligated to include me. Because of that, afterward, I dated anyone who showed the slightest interest, even if we weren’t a good fit. And secretly, I thought I’d end up living alone with cats for my entire life.”

“You like cats.”

Jen laughs softly. “It’s true. I do. When I gave up on the idea of having a traditional romance, that’s when I met you.

And I’m determined not to mess things up because I’m scared.

Mind you, I agree that we have stuff to figure out.

There are…challenges. But I think we found each other for a reason. ”

Now I understand why she shared this story. Just as I didn’t fit on my world, she’s always felt out of step in hers. But together? We are two halves of a whole with moving parts that still function somehow.

“I agree.”

Since she shared with me, I indulge the impulse to reciprocate. “I was supposed to create something great, a lasting work for Affirmation Day.”

“What is that, by the way?”

“It is a cornerstone of our culture, a day where we gather.”

“Like a festival?” she asks.

“More personal. It’s about connection and reflection. We affirm each other’s value, contributions, and dreams. And to have your artistry acknowledged on that day of days… There can be no greater honor.”

Jen’s eyes gleam in the waning light. The elders have left the pond. “We have nothing like that here. Maybe we should.”

“Perhaps.”

“Okay, so you were working on a project for that? How old were you?”

“Young. It was my first Affirmation Day after coming to majority.” She moves her hands in a gentle gesture that tells me she’s listening but she doesn’t want to interrupt.

I continue, “I tried so hard to find the inner guide that Oona was always talking about. The one that would help me create beauty or find the hidden images in the stone.”

“It didn’t work?” she guesses.

“In the end, all I could do was rebuild a machine. One that had been discarded. I reconfigured it to a more pleasing aesthetic and called it ‘The Resurrection.’ It was about bringing something dead back to life, giving it purpose again. But when I unveiled it…”

“Tam.” Just my name. Then she touches my side. Warmth eases through me, making the confession less painful.

“They saw only a refurbished device. I tried to explain: it was more than that, it was a metaphor. But…my piece was disqualified. Oona was so disappointed I didn’t take the challenge seriously. That I didn’t even try .”

The pain is stunning, even now. Oona was gentle in their judgment, inexorable in their pitiless assumptions. As I know all too well, weary disappointment can be the most cutting weapon in a loved one’s arsenal.

“But that was your best.” Somehow she knows .

Jen knows that whatever living impetus exists in others that allows them to breathe life into colors and shapes, I lack that spark.

On my homeworld, that’s practically the same as being born without a soul, at least as my people reckon them.

It’s a human word, but it applies to the spirit of creation too.

“Things like that are considered super creative here. People make art out of scrap metal, trash, whatever they can fuse together. Just because they didn’t get it on Tik…” She tries to say the name of my world and fails. “Anyway, you’re wonderful. Just as you are.”

I bask in the realization that none of that failure matters. Not to Jen. Because I am complete in her eyes.