12 Days of Fiction 2018, Day Eleven
Unexpected Time Travel
“I’m sorry. I know you didn’t expect this.”
Pause. The mild surprise in his face is already receding.
“It’s alright. I… didn’t expect it, but it’s nice. Any chat is nice. I mean, sorry, that didn’t sound… Oh, it’s nice, and thank you.”
Pause. He sounded as awkward as she.
“It’s OK, I understand. Look, sorry, but I don’t know how to put this. You.. I mean, I… we have a daughter.”
Pause. It’s long. She sees him waiting, then when he hears, his jaw drops, and for a few seconds nothing happens. She wonders if something is broken. Then his answer comes.
“A daughter? But… how… I mean, I know how, but how is it…?”
“I’m sorry…”
They interrupt each other and all they hear is garbled, so they stop and start again.
“Look, let me explain. I’ll speak for some time, I’ve rehearsed this, don’t interrupt me. It was a mistake, OK? Something went wrong, either with you, or with me, or both. It still happens. What chances did I have to be in the 0.01%? Anyway, it happened, and we had already split, and what with your job, so it was my decision. Alone. I expect you’ll understand that, and don’t speak, not yet. So I thought what to do and I considered not having it. She was still it, back then. I seriously considered it. Mind you, I had always thought I’d like to have at least a child, somewhere in the future. I could have chosen not to, but you know, that wasn’t me. But in the future? Certainly. And then I found myself in that situation and, well, it’s not like if we lived in the twentieth century or something anymore, and each time it looked better, and… I decided to go ahead. It was my decision, and I don’t regret it, and she’s such a beautiful baby. But then I just thought it wasn’t really fair for you. On the one hand yes, it was my decision, and you would have never expected it. On the other, well, we split, but I got to know you, and I thought you would like to know. And I’ve been sitting on this for weeks, and I finally decided you deserved to know. So there.”
Pause. A long one, as the whole message arrives. She sees all the reactions in his face, even through his false stoicism. They really got to know each other, given the short time they spent together: that apparent lack of reaction was one of the things she hated. Of course, perhaps that was exactly why he had his job: keeping a calm demeanour in the face of an emergency, no matter how he feels inside, must surely be a boon for him.
He comes through then.
“What’s… what’s her name?”
Pause. Oops, true, she hasn’t told him. She can also see he’s still processing it all and the question gives him some extra time.
“Iyana. Her name’s Iyana.”
Pause.
“Iyana… It’s nice. Sanai, I… I don’t know what to say…”
“It’s alright, Kade…”
They’ve interrupted each other again, so they stop. She raises a hand, meaning she’ll wait.
“Sanai, I don’t know what to say,” he repeats. He sighs, then draws a breath. His face changes. He has made up his mind. Hell, that treat of him was also annoying, she thinks, but again it must be so useful. “Well, here’s what I propose. I cannot do much, but what I can, I want to do it. If you want. I understand it’s your decision only. I’d like to meet her, and talk to her as much as we can. You know how that will be… In the future that will really mean one-directional messages only, but I’d still like to do that. Are you OK with it?”
Pause. She’s the one who stops for a while and thinks now. She’s not like him: she needs time. She needed time to decide whether to have her child or not. She needed time to decide whether to tell him or not. She’s going to need time to decide whether to let him in or not. She says so.
“I need time.”
Pause.
“I understand. But please remember that time is not a resource I’m going to have for… well, for some time.”
Pause.
“I know.”
She doesn’t speak for a few moments. Neither does he, waiting. She finally raises a finger.
“How long do you have still?”
Pause. He answers.
“Our mission has just started, Sanai, you know that’s why we still can speak like this. Inconvenient, but we can still have a conversation. We’re more than ten years from Alpha Centauri, and the minimum stay there will be five years, plus ten and a half back. Of your time, not mine.”
Pause. She thinks about it for a second.
“She’ll be a grown woman when you’re back,” she says.
Pause. She hasn’t said ‘If you come back’; she doesn’t need to. She hasn’t added that she’d be an old woman by then, either.
He doesn’t answer, raises his hand showing he’s waiting.
She finally speaks.
“Yes. Yes, you can.”
Here’s the second part of this story: The Toils of Parenthood.
