Total pages in book: 33
Estimated words: 31116 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 156(@200wpm)___ 124(@250wpm)___ 104(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 31116 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 156(@200wpm)___ 124(@250wpm)___ 104(@300wpm)
We both stare at the screen, waiting for the results.
“I take it you found someone to help you out?” she asks politely, watching the screen. “Was he nice? Single?”
“He was nice.” My voice is soft, and even though it hurts to think about Ainar, I did tell him I wasn’t interested in a relationship. He’s just giving me what I wanted. I can’t blame him. No guy wants to be made a dad unless it’s his idea.
“Decent in the sack? Didn’t give you trouble?” Martina sighs, leaning against the table. “Maybe you can give me his contact information if this works. God knows I could use a winner.”
I eye her, hating that I’m jealous. I shouldn’t be. Ainar abandoned me and never called me back, never said thank you for the sex, no nothing. And isn’t that what I wanted? No strings attached? It’s just…when he showed up the next day with eager eyes and flowers…I allowed myself to hope. That maybe this could be something between us. That maybe he was as good a guy as he seemed. That maybe I wouldn’t be so lonely on this end of the universe. I could have a friend. A life partner. A lover.
“Oh, there’s your answer,” Martina says, showing me the screen.
I stare. And stare. And stare, trying to process it.
Then I glare at the readouts, suddenly angry. Fuck. I hop off the table and glance out the window at the innocuous gray building across the street, the Port Custodial Office. I bet Ainar’s there.
And I’ve a sudden mind to tell him what I think of his disappearing act, the fucker.
If nothing else, he deserves to know the results of the test. Tears flood my eyes. Stupid, stupid tears. And even though I told myself I was going to be okay with the results no matter what, I can’t stop crying.
Chapter
Nine
AINAR
I am miserable.
I’ve always considered myself a cheerful person with a desire to help others, but after a full week without Naomi in my life, I’ve never felt lower.
Rektar was right. If she’d wanted me in her life, she would have contacted me. The fact that she did not tells me that she is glad to be done with me. That she has never wished for my presence and that I foisted it upon her. It makes my heart hurt painfully. Even if she does not want me, my heart considers her my mate. It takes everything I have not to drive past her farm when I am done with my shift just so I can check in on her. I want to ask every human that comes to the custodial office if they have seen her and if she is doing well. I want to buy gifts and just have them sent to her farm to help her out. She does not even have to know it is from me.
I do not do these things, though, because if all she wants is to be left alone, then I must honor it.
But I truly am miserable. I have not washed the tunic I wore from her house. Sometimes I bring it out and breathe in its scent, hoping to catch a whiff of her instead of just flowers. I wonder if she has found out if she will be having a baby or not, or if it’s too early to tell.
I wonder if she thinks of me.
All my joy has disappeared. Rektar gives me a kind pat on the back when he sees me, and Lucy has been bringing extra baked treats for me to try and cheer me up. I know that this will not be forever. That eventually this pain will fade and I will go on.
But I wonder if I should leave Risda entirely. Find another outpost so I do not chance running into Naomi and stirring up old hurts. More than anything, I want her to feel safe here, and perhaps she will not until I am gone.
I stare at job postings on my data pad. Most of the things I qualify for involve remote outposts in space, very few of them planet-side. One is for custodial work on Tarka V, a well-known refuse and recycling planet. A garbage posting. Even when away from Homeworld, I can’t escape my heritage. With a sigh, I type in my identification to apply for the job.
The door opens to the front, the computer chiming to alert us that someone has arrived. “Your turn,” Sinath says without looking up from the game he plays on his data pad.
“Welcome to the Port Custodial Office, Colonist Flannigan,” the computer intones. “Someone will be by to assist you shortly.”
Alarmed, I jump to my feet. Naomi? She’s here? I shove my data pad behind my back and give Sinath a frantic look. “You must take this one. She will not want to see me.”