Chapter 26
Chapter
Twenty-Six
TIA
I t truly is the best and worst week of my life.
Days go by, and Rem’eb doesn’t talk about going home. He meets everyone on Icehome Beach, fishes with the kits, sits with Noj’me, Set’nef and Tal’nef for language lessons, and tries to be helpful and pleasant to all. It’s easy to see the chief’s son in him. He’s responsible and caring to everyone he meets, and is quick to offer a hand to help, no matter the situation.
He spends time with the brothers and Noj’me, ensuring that they feel welcome and secure. Noj’me, of course, is absolutely loving this. She’s soaking up everything she can like a sponge. Set’nef seems way more interested in the scenery than the people, and poor Tal’nef looks overwhelmed with everything.
“He struggles,” Rem’eb confesses to me. “His brother will never return to my people, but Tal’nef? I think he does not yet have a reason to stay. I think he regrets leaving, even though he feels he must be at his brother’s side.”
“And you?” I ask, tapping his arm. “What about Rem’eb?”
“I wish I could be in two places at once,” he admits. “Back with my people, and here at your side.”
We spend time together in the days that follow…and we flirt.
Lord, do we flirt .
I lick my fingers at every meal…and sometimes he licks them for me. We grind in the mornings before breakfast, his dick to my backside, but he never pulls down my panties and tries anything. I strip-tease in front of him when I wash up, and he watches me with hungry, avid eyes…and makes no attempt to help me out. We kiss. We touch. We cuddle.
And…that’s it.
Even with resonance droning in our ears and making both of us crazy, Rem’eb won’t push for more. He watches me, waiting for some signal to continue, but I won’t give it. Not until he decides that he wants to stay with me.
Rem’eb doesn’t choose me, though, so we just exist together in the cuddliest, sweetest, most infuriating case of blue balls ever.
He speaks of going home often, letting me know quite clearly where I stand with things. “I will carry this information back to my people,” he says when he learns a new way to spice things, or a different fishing method. He makes it obvious that they come first, and Tia comes second.
And he never, ever asks me to come with him.
The idea of it strikes me one night as we lie together, panting and full of need. “I must go home,” he tells me, his dick hard with need, his khui singing to mine. “Please understand. My people need me.”
It’s on the tip of my tongue to say take me with you . I bite the words back just before I say them, though, because he hasn’t asked me. He hasn’t ever indicated that he wants me with him long-term. I don’t want to be the one to force it, either. It has to be his idea.
But he never asks, and I die inside a little each day, waiting for that ask. I tell myself that it’s because of the wall. That he wouldn’t force me behind it. It’s a little surprising to me that I’d go with him. Live underground with a bunch of strangers who have never seen a human and don’t speak the language? But haven’t I started over twice before now? With nothing but strangers around me? I’m getting pretty good at new beginnings, and the caves were warm and they have looms. Best of all, Rem’eb would be there, and it’s not as if I couldn’t visit the other tribes now and then.
And then there’s the whole wall situation, but Rem’eb has also made it clear that he wants to do away with that. So either the whole “free the women” is bullshit to get into my pants, and he’s not asking me to go with him because I’d be behind a wall…
…or he just doesn’t want me with him.
I’m trying not to think about either scenario. I’m focusing on the good, reveling in the sweet ache of unfulfilled resonance. It’s an ache that grows less sweet and more demanding by the day. It’s lovely to be at Rem’eb’s side, to wake up next to him. To see his smile first thing in the morning when I wake and last thing at night when I go to sleep. I love his delight in the simplest things, like when it gets dark outside or when he sees his first sunrise. I love his fascination with the ocean, and that he enjoys clams and mussels as much as I do.
I love that he’s helping me set up the loom, and some nights we just sit together and try to puzzle it out.
I could be happy with him, I realize.
If he’d let me.
If he’d fall in love with me, choose me before everything else. I wouldn’t care where we went.
He’s so easy to love, Rem’eb. He’s the perfect mixture of playful and serious. It’s the chief’s son in him that makes him take everyone very seriously, down to the kits that show him how to fish. But with me, he loosens up. He flirts, and he loves it when I tease him. He never gets angry that I turn him on with kisses and never seal the deal. He’s not mad that we haven’t fulfilled resonance. It’s refreshing to know that I can flirt with him as much as I like, and it amuses him. That when I’m acting my sultriest, he’s fascinated. And when he realizes it’s just another tease, he laughs, delighted at my sass.
I can’t help but compare him to I’rec, who thought a tease was a promise and would get frustrated and stomp away when I never agreed to be his. Flor’s a good match for him, because she doesn’t take his shit seriously. They both look really happy together, and even now, I’rec’s been going around camp putting together a big marriage feast behind Flor’s back because he says it’s important to her.
It’s sweet, and I’m happy for them, and I’m far, far too distracted by my own resonance to even think about what might have been.
But…I don’t know how to make Rem’eb love me.
Eight days after we’ve “returned” to the surface, I wake up with resonance humming through my veins, and the achiest, hungriest need deep in my belly. Rem’eb is curled around me in sleep, his arms all over me. He sleeps peacefully and hasn’t woken up yet, which means he was probably up late last night, long after I drifted off. I know he’s stewing with worry over his people. That every day away eats at him and he imagines the worst possible scenarios. His father has been dethroned. His father has stopped eating. The rebels have taken over. More sickness has swept through the camp. All the worst-case scenarios probably rush through his head over and over again, and it makes me want to comfort him with kisses and caresses.
Even now, I’m itching to play with his thick, soft hair, but I don’t want to wake him up.
Last night, he figured out that Veronica was a healer. He knew something was up with how often people visited her tent, but it wasn’t until Raashel accidentally whipped her line and snagged a fishhook in Rem’eb’s finger that he realized why everyone goes to Veronica.
Veronica did her thing, healing his small wound within moments, and Rem’eb was utterly stunned. He spent a lot of the evening with Noj’me, making her translate about healers.
How did Veronica become a healer?
Does it work on everyone?
Do we have more healers? Can she heal sickness? What about broken bones? Does it work on all peoples?
Does it work even if she, say, did not wish to heal?
Can she give the gift to someone else?
How often can she heal? What about healing an entire village?
The questioning goes on for so long that Veronica gets rattled and uneasy, and Ashtar gets possessive. I’ve never seen the drakoni in any mood but a good one, but he starts eyeing Rem’eb like he’d like to tear him to pieces, and after that, I dragged Rem’eb back to our hut and tried to distract him away from healers with more loom-finagling.
It makes me wonder if he was up all night, wondering if he needed to kidnap Veronica…and if so, how. It stings, that Veronica is more valuable to him than a resonance mate. It’s not surprising to me, though. It’s just the same old shit when it comes to poor Tia. I take my resentment and bury it deep inside, and climb out of bed.
Rem’eb stirs, reaching for me. “Tia?”
“Go back to sleep,” I tell him. “Gonna pee.”
He kisses my fingertips and lets me go, because he knows the words for “gonna pee” after a week of living with me and my small bladder. Once he’s asleep again, I finish wrapping myself in furs and put boots on, heading out not to pee, but to talk with Gail.
Gail and Vaza are the oldest here on the beach, and act like a mom and dad to all of us. Right now I could use some advice from someone older than me instead of a peer. A peer would tell me that I don’t need Rem’eb and that I can just fuck him, get pregnant and go on with my life as a single mom. Hell, Raven said that to me last night at dinner. But that’s not what I want to hear.
So off I go, seeking advice. Or a dose of reality. Something.
I just know I can’t keep on going as we are or I’m going to break.
Gail isn’t by the fire, and a blonde stranger is cooking, along with the only human man that’s been dropped on the planet. I don’t know either of their names, but they both seem a pretty easy-going sort, with the guy tasting the warming pouch of shrimp tea and making an approving face. “Has a bit of a dashi taste to it, don’t you think?”
“What the heck is dashi?” asks the blonde.
“That stuff,” he says, taking another sip. “Kinda weird to have it instead of coffee, though.” He notices my arrival and picks up one of the bone cups. “You want some?”
I hold up a hand, declining, because I don’t mind a lot of things we eat on Not-Hoth but shrimp before breakfast is not one of them. “I’m actually looking for Gail. Have you seen her?”
“Someone ripped their pants and we’re making breakfast on our own,” the blonde says, and uses a ladle to point at Gail’s hut. “I’m just not sure what we’re supposed to be making.”
“Do we want to go savory or sweet?” the human guy asks. “And do we even have sweet?”
“What was dinner last night?” I ask, moving forward. I want to abandon them and find Gail because I need to cry my troubles out to someone, but leaving newbies in charge of food supplies feels like a recipe for disaster. “That fish stew stuff. Is there any left?”
“Yeah, in that big bowl over there. The covered one.” The blonde says, pointing. “I wasn’t sure what we were supposed to do with it.”
Nodding, I gesture at the bowl. “Take the leftovers, heat them up, and add some chopped up roots to fill it out again. If you’re making shrimp tea, too, you can de-shell the shrimp, use the shells in the tea and the shrimp themselves in the soup. That can be breakfast.”
“It can?” The blonde asks, aghast. “Really?”
“It’s fine,” the guy reassures her. “Lots of cultures back on Earth have fish for breakfast. It’s big in Japan.”
“Okay, sure.” The blonde sounds faint but she gives us a thumbs up. “Fish soup it is.”
“Now, when you say you want us to chop roots,” the man continues, giving us a serious look. “Do you want a brunoise? A julienne? Diced? Do we need to make a roux of some kind to add flavor?”
I stare. So does the blonde.
“I don’t know,” I say. “Diced, I guess? Cut them up so they cook down.”
“Yes, but how much do we want them to cook down?” He gives me a very serious stare. “What kind of texture are we going for?”
“Edible?” I say. “Seriously, make it edible and no one will care. If they complain, they can make their own food.” I thumb a gesture back at Gail’s place. “I’m gonna go now. Are you guys good?”
The blonde gives me a bright smile and touches the guy’s arm when he looks like he’s going to protest. “We’ll make it work. Thanks for the help.”
The human guy turns away and eyes the scatter of pots around the morning fire. “Let’s find the salt. If it’s what we had last night, it needs salting, badly.”
Ouch. Poor Daisy. She tries so hard, taking as many cooking rounds as she can a week because she’s determined to learn. Dinner wasn’t great last night, but it was warm and I didn’t have to cook it, so I was fine with it. I make a mental note to find her and tell her how much I enjoyed the meal. I don’t want her to be discouraged in her efforts.
Gail’s hut doesn’t have smoke coming out of the smoke hole, and I hesitate before shaking the bone wind chime at the door, because it’s early. I don’t want to wake anyone.
“Come in,” Gail calls out.
I duck inside, moving the weighted door flap to one side as I enter. The interior of the hut is neat and cozy, and unlike my hut, Gail’s always seems like everything in its perfect spot and nothing is out of place. Fresh herbs hang in bunches from the ceiling, drying and lending their perfume to the air. The hut is empty, too, except for Gail, who sits near the silent hearth. She has a basket full of what looks like laundry in front of her, sorting pieces of clothing into two different piles.
“This a bad time?” I ask.
She shakes her head, and I notice she has pretty beaded earrings in, long and dangly. Those must be a present from Vaza, who is always showering gifts on his “lovely mate.” Gail told me once that she mentioned that she liked jewelry to him once and he’s given her delicate trinkets and hand-made baubles ever since. The dangling earrings against her graceful neck and shorn skull make her look delicate and elegant despite her surroundings. “I’m just going through laundry. If you’re looking for Vaza or Z’hren, they went hunting together. I swear, those two.” She makes a face and sets the tunic in her hands in her lap. “You want to hear what they did now?”
“Always.” Villages run on gossip of even the smallest kind, and Croatoan and Icehome Beach are no different in that regard. I take a seat across from her by the fire. “You want me to start this for you? I’m good with fire.”
Gail waves a hand. “No. As soon as I figure out what needs to be mended, I’ll head back out and help Sabrina and Jason with breakfast. As for my men, Z’hren just told me that his pants were ripped. I said which ones, and he said all of them. I asked how that happened, and let me tell you the story…”
She launches into a funny tirade about some hunting misadventures between Vaza and their son Z’hren, who must be at least six now, and the hills, holes, and cliffs they managed to fall down in the course of the last month, all without telling Gail and hiding the evidence. By the time she finishes the story, she points at her ears with a flourish. “That’s why I got a brand new set of earrings, and they’re out hunting together while I sit here and piece together all their clothing.”
“I can help with the mending,” I offer.
“Children, both of them,” she declares, but there’s a fond smile on her face and she touches her earrings, and I know she’s just exasperated but not truly upset. “And I don’t mind the mending. It’s the ridiculous stories to hide the evidence that annoy me. You didn’t come here to watch me patch someone’s britches, though. What do you need?”
I pick up one of Z’hren’s small pairs of pants, fingering the bad rip in the knee. “I need to talk to someone about my messy situation.”
“Is it messy? Maybe I should put some tea on after all,” Gail says, moving toward the firepit. “But the others do need me. Can you give me the short and sweet version?”
So I do. I tell her all about my resonance with Rem’eb and how it happened. What it was like back in their village and how they keep the women there behind a wall to protect them. Her brows go up a few times but she doesn’t comment, just listens. I tell her all about how kind and sweet Rem’eb is to me, and how we flirt but neither of us is pushing the other for fulfilling resonance. How he’s made it clear that he wants me…and made it doubly clear that he doesn’t want me enough because he’s going back home to his people.
“I know he’s waiting for me to say yes and then we’ll fulfill resonance. But I don’t want to say yes.”
“Because you feel like he’s treating you like an afterthought,” Gail states.
I blanch at her words. “It’s not exactly like that. He’s the…honestly, he’s exactly what I need. He’s funny and polite and doesn’t take himself so seriously. He’s the most caring guy. I think that’s the problem. He cares too much.”
“Because he’s got problems back at home,” she adds, nodding thoughtfully. “And he can’t let go of his obligations to come up here and live with you.”
“Yes! Exactly.” I’m so relieved someone else sees it.
“Okay then…should he?” She tilts her head, regarding me.
“Should he what?” I’m not following.
Gail gestures at me, her earrings tinkling as they brush her shoulders. “Should he ignore that his people are a real mess and need him? So he can come and frolic on the beach with a pretty stranger?”
I’m trying not to frown, but it’s difficult. I was hoping Gail would see my side. “I’m not saying we should frolic, exactly. I just want him to choose me first. Is that so wrong?”
“It’s not wrong at all. And if we lived in a bubble, I’d tell you that he’s being unfair. But we don’t live in a bubble. The world is messy and we all have obligations. You say he’s kind and thoughtful…and of course he is. Those things that you like about him are what also make it impossible for him to stay. It sounds like if he abandons his people to stay here with you, they’re going to suffer. His father is going to run things into the ground, or he’s going to fight with these rebels, and either way, it sounds bad. He might be happy to be with you—thrilled, even—but he can’t forget his obligations. And would you really want him to? Would you really want him to be the kind of person that doesn’t think about what anyone else needs at all?”
“No,” I say softly. “It’s just…”
“It’s that you need someone to choose you first, and he’s not able to do that,” Gail replies, her voice as low and gentle as mine. “I understand. I really do. It doesn’t mean you can’t both be happy on some level, but you need to talk to him and hash things out. Trust me. After two spouses and being old enough to be your grandma, I’ve learned a thing or two about relationships, and they all come back to talking things out.”
I roll my eyes. Gail makes it sound as if she’s as old as the hills, but she’s maybe fifty-five if she’s a day, and looks like she could be in her early thirties. She is absolutely not grandma material. “That’s the problem. We don’t speak the same language, and it’s hard for me to pour my heart out to him when Noj’me is sitting right there, staring. And half the time she doesn’t even get the words right, either!”
“Then you take that man to Croatoan and you get him a language chip. Or better yet, you take him to the old ship and let the computer zap some words into his head. The ship is tipped on its side but it still works.” She gives me a forceful nod. “And then you two hash it out.”
She makes it sound so simple. Why does it always feel anything but simple when the two of us—myself and Rem’eb—are alone?
It’s because of resonance. It doesn’t want to hear excuses. It just wants babies made. Doesn’t care about the rest. “Maybe we do just need to talk it out. Thanks, Gail.”
“I know it sounds like both the simplest and the hardest thing in the world, but talking things through at least gets you on the same page.”
Go get the language dump for Rem’eb. Tell him how I really feel. Why does that all feel so simple yet impossible? Is it because I’m afraid that once we can truly speak freely, without barriers, that he still won’t choose me? The thought makes a knot rise in my throat. I know what I have to do. I’m just scared to do it.
“Thanks, Gail,” I say, because if nothing else, I have a bit of clarity now.
She drops the last pair of leggings into a pile and gets to her feet. “And with that, I should probably see what’s going on with breakfast. Between you and me, Jason’s driving me nuts with the cooking help. I think he worked in a kitchen, and so he’s constantly making things more complicated. Yesterday he asked me if we ever considered making a fish rillette. I don’t even know what the heck that is.”
“A man, making things complicated?” I joke. “You don’t say.”
She snorts with laughter.