Andrek
Over the years of military command, I developed a reliable method for handling unclear situations. First, I noted the information available. Second, I identified the most probable interpretation. Then I acted on it.
It had worked for me so many times before, so, as was natural, I applied it to Dani’s withdrawal from me. Of course she withdrew after you kissed her and wrapped your wings around her. She’s your employee!
For the last five days, on the surface, she was normal.
She was still warm and friendly, completing her tasks, present at meals, and perfect with Pip.
I missed her sitting beside me in the evenings.
She did not linger in doorways or arrive in the kitchen in the mornings with her hair still disordered from sleep, prepared to disagree with me about the correct temperature for brewing grain tea.
When I entered a room something in her posture changed, as though she were pushing away from me.
The most probable interpretation was obvious, and I hated the thought that crossed my mind.
She wanted to leave.
Something during Pip’s illness had clarified for her that this arrangement was not what she wanted.
Perhaps it had been the bond itself, the empathic demand of it during the fever’s peak.
The bond drained me too. Maybe it had been the three close days we spent together with no professional buffer, seeing the domestic reality of what her life here actually consisted of.
In my mind, the conclusion was logical, and unacceptable.
On the sixth day of Dani’s coolness, I reviewed the standard contract terms during Pip’s morning rest period, which I conducted in my study with the door closed and the data pad angled so its contents would not be visible if she passed the doorway.
The terms were straightforward. Either party could initiate termination with thirty days’ notice. There were provisions for Pip’s welfare of transition protocols, and adjustment periods. I inserted those after drafting this new contract when the last nanny left.
I could facilitate Dani’s departure if she wanted to leave.
I tried to hide it, but Pip knew something was wrong.
She moved between Dani and me with a diplomatic energy, offering her presence to each of us in turn, pressing herself against our legs and into our laps.
Her tiny claws investigated our faces in the way she did when she was concerned, but she never made her distress signal sound.
She simply watched us with her large bright eyes.
I was doing a poor job of protecting my daughter from my turbulent emotions.
On the morning of the eighth day, I found Dani standing at the kitchen counter. Now or never. Things are getting worse, and you need to talk to her.
“I’ve reviewed the contract terms,” I said.
Dani looked up from what she was doing. Her expression unreadable. “Okay,” she said, her tone questioning.
“The termination provisions are straightforward. Thirty days for transition. I would propose a modified timeline given Pip’s recent illness, perhaps forty-five, to allow for a more stable adjustment.
” I kept my voice level. This was a professional conversation, and I was conducting it as her employer “I want you to know that I will not make this difficult. I understand that the situation has developed in ways that may not be what you wanted when you signed on.”
“What?”
“I also want to be clear,” I continued, because I was committed now, “that your decisions affect Pip. She is attached to you in ways that will require time and care to…”
“What,” Dani said, “are you talking about?”
Her voice held confusion and had an edge to it I had never heard before.
“The contract,” I said. “The termination…”
“I never said I wanted to terminate anything.”
I looked at her. Her pupils widened, and color filled her cheeks.
“Well, you’ve been,” I began.
“I’ve been quiet,” she said. “I’ve been… I needed some distance, I needed to think, that doesn’t mean…” she stopped and pressed her hand to her face. When she took it away, the color in her cheeks was higher. “Did you actually go and review the contract terms?”
“It seemed like the responsible approach.”
“Without talking to me?”
“I was attempting to be prepared to.”
“Andrek. I don’t want to leave. I don't want to leave Pip,” she continued, and her voice had changed, something more careful in it now. “I don’t want to leave… I haven’t said anything about leaving. I have never said that.”
“You’ve been…” I tried again. “Something’s changed. You’ve been…” I floundered.
“Careful,” she said. “I’ve been careful. That’s not the same thing as wanting to leave.”
“Careful about what?”
“It doesn't matter.”
“It clearly matters. It’s been affecting,” I stopped myself. “You’ve been different since Pip’s fever. Since before, perhaps. And I made an assumption.”
“You made an assumption,” she said, and her voice had gone from its careful register to something louder, something that had a force behind it, “without asking me a single question, and you went and looked up how to get rid of me!”
“That was not what I wanted.”
“But that’s what you did. You saw a problem and instead of talking to me like a mature adult, you went and prepared for me to leave without…”
“I was trying to be reasonable.”
“Cold,” she said. “You were cold. You came in here and you were perfectly, clear when you told me about provisions and transition timelines and that you wouldn’t make it difficult, as though I’d given you notice, as though I’d…”
She paused.
From down the corridor came a sound.
Pip.
I watched Dani’s face change when she heard it, watched her argument evaporate and something more urgent replaced it.
We both moved toward the door.
We reached the corridor at the same moment and stopped, close enough that I could feel the warmth of her, and Pip came toddling around the corner from the living space at an anxious trot with her eyes very large and her fur flattened in the way it went when she was frightened.
She looked at both of us and made her sound again, louder.
Dani crouched immediately. “Hey. Hey, it’s okay.”
Pip went to her and pressed herself into Dani's arms and continued her sound, muffled now against Dani’s shoulder.
I crossed the distance and put my hand on Pip’s back and she made a grabbing motion with one small hand toward me, insisting, and I sat down on the floor of the corridor.
Pip arranged herself partially in my lap and partially against Dani’s side.
Dani looked at me over the top of Pip’s head.
I looked at her. “We frightened her,” I said.
“Yes.” Dani’s voice had come down from its previous register. She stroked Pip’s back in a motion she’d worked out on her own.
Pip’s sound diminished and her fur settled, but she kept her hand tucked into mine.
After a while, Dani whispered, “I wasn’t pulling away because I wanted to leave.”
I said nothing.
“I was pulling away because I was,” she paused, and I recognized the position of someone about to share a deep secret. “I thought you were still grieving.”
I looked at her. “Grieving?”
“Your mate.” She met my eyes briefly and then looked at Pip.
“I asked you, months ago, and you closed off. And your wrists don’t wear bonding marks.
I thought,” she stopped. “I didn’t want to be someone you leaned on because I was there and Pip connected us.
I didn’t want to be,” she shrugged, “a complication in your life, especially because I love Pip, and I’m falling in love with you. ”
I sat with her confession.
“Dani,” I said.
“Yes?”
“Please look at me.” She took her time, but her eyes met mine. “I don’t have a mate.”
She blinked. “But the bonding marks?”
“Like you, I was in a formal promise-contract, but not a bonding. It was a commitment that was made and then unmade before most of my military life, actually. I don’t mourn a mate. There is no mate to mourn. There has been no one in my life outside of Pip for a long time.”
“Oh,” Dani said.
I looked at her then. She had been keeping distance because she thought I was grieving. She had assumed an obstacle that did not exist and had shaped the past week around it. We could have resolved all of this drama by talking to each other. We wasted a week.
We stared at each other over the top of Pip’s head, and I knew I owed her an apology. “I’m sorry for looking at the contract and not asking you.”
“I’m sorry,” she said. “For disappearing and not,” she paused. “I drew a conclusion.”
“As did I.”
“Ours were both wrong.”
“Yes.”
Pip made a small, satisfied sound and tucked herself more firmly between us. She had stopped making noises of distress, which told me she was feeling better.
I looked at Dani.
“Dani,” I said.
“Yes,” she said, her voice a whisper. “Yes.”
I opened my mouth.
Pip sneezed into the space between us, and looked unrepentant. The emotional moment fractured into something more ordinary, Dani laughing despite herself and reaching for the cloth she kept in her pocket, and I watched her face with the laugh in it. “Tomorrow?” I said.
“Tomorrow,” she agreed.