Starglass

the other. I let my hair fall in front of my face, hoping it would shield me from his distant, empty stare. When he left me on my doorstep, he leaned forward—and only pressed a dry kiss to my cheek. I’d head inside our dark quarters with my stomach all twisted into knots.

I think we might have always stayed like that if it hadn’t been for Abba. He was the one who always pushed us together, pressuring us to make good on our promise to each other. The first true step toward marriage was the reading of the bloodlines. Once it was confirmed that we shared no ancestors, then we would be able to set a wedding date and seal our match. One morning over breakfast Abba looked up from his coffee and over to me and told me that he’d made the appointment with the genealogist for us.

“That’s supposed to be the bride’s job,” I protested. My father shrugged and pressed a napkin to his lips.

“I want to see to it that your marriage is secured, Terra. I want to make sure you’re firmly promised to the boy.”

“Koen,” I said. “His name is Koen. I don’t know why you’re so worried about it.” And I didn’t. My father had never fretted over me before, not like this.

But he didn’t answer. He only stared at me for a long time, his jaw clenched.

“Your appointment is tomorrow after work,” he said at last.

* * *

The next morning, on the day when Koen and I were scheduled to have our bloodlines read, I woke up feeling jittery, ill rested. It was like I hadn’t slept at all. As I dressed I paused to give Pepper a scratch behind the ear. It wasn’t until a half-formed thought drifted through my head—I wonder if Abba will mind if I take Pepper with me to my new quarters—that I realized that it was actually happening, that I was really going to marry Koen.

With a pounding heart I made my way down the stairwell.

But I stopped halfway when the smell of charred oatmeal reached me. My eyes swept over our first floor, quickly appraising the situation: The sink was on, water streaming over a towering pile of dirty plates. There was a pot burning on the stove. All of the cupboards had been thrown open, revealing our banged-up pans and chipped dishes. And my father sat at the table, frozen, his head in his hands.

I hustled down, turned off the burners, the sink. I tried not to think of the wasted water. “Every cup of wasted gray water,” my father had always lectured, “is another hour that some poor worker has to stay late at the plants. Think about your fellow citizen. About your duty!” I was never sure whether it was true or not, but he’d sounded serious about it at the time.

Now he let the water rush out of the faucet, let our rations burn to the bottom of the pot, all the while sitting with his hands covering his face.

“Are you okay?” I asked, standing, motionless, in front of the sink. When he didn’t answer, I cleared my throat. Nothing. Then he stumbled to his feet, not even meeting my eyes when his shoulder slammed mine. Crouching low, he rummaged through one of the cupboards.

“What are you doing?” I asked, my voice hardly more than a whisper. There was a clatter of pans. My father sat back on his heels.

“I wanted it to be a nice morning for us.” His voice sounded mechanical, rusty at the edges. “I was going to make you breakfast. I was going to give you your momma’s book.”

Her book! My mind flashed upstairs to where the journal slept wedged between my mattress and bed. Good thing I kept my door locked.

“What are you talking about, Abba?” I asked. My words were the words of a little girl. They sounded so afraid that I was sure he would be able to hear the lie in them. But it didn’t really matter—he was hardly paying any attention to me. Instead he just stared into the darkness of the cupboard, like it was our dented metal mixing bowls that had spoken.

“The book. She told me to give you the book. The one her mother gave her on the day we had our bloodlines read.” He let his eyelids slide closed. “I’ve looked everywhere for it. She told me about it on our wedding night. Told me she wanted our daughter to have it. I’ve looked everywhere.”

His head swiveled sharply around.

“No one else has been in our home. I know you must have it.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. I haven’t seen any book.” Lies fell easily from my lips. I had touched the book’s leather cover every night before bed, cracked open the spine and breezed my fingertip down the list of names written there. The flyleaf bore the name of every woman in my family, ending with Momma’s.

But I wouldn’t tell my father. No friend of Abel, that’s what Van had said. I knew that my father could never, ever be trusted. He wasn’t one of us.

He stalked toward me across the narrow kitchen. I leaned my spine away as he reached out his big hands and gripped me by either shoulder. I braced myself, waiting for him to give me a hard shake. He’d done it plenty of times before. But he didn’t. He held me at arm’s length.

“It doesn’t matter,” he said, nearly whispering. Abba didn’t even blink—just stared intently down at me. “So much like your mother, Terra. She was my heart’s twin. Did you know that? Remember that she was my bashert. No matter what anyone tells you, I want you to remember that.”

And with that he bent down and planted a kiss on my forehead. I stayed very still, waiting for it to be over. But for a long time my father didn’t move. Like he didn’t want to let me go.

“Sure,” I said at last, prying my body away. My arms shook as nervous words poured out of my mouth. I hoped he didn’t notice. “Your destiny. Sure. I should go. Mara will kill me if I’m late.” I took a few steps through the messy galley. When I stopped to look at him, he was watching me, his eyebrows furrowed.

“Good luck today,” he said. “At the reading of the bloodlines.”

“Won’t you be there?” I asked. “It’s a mitzvah, after all.”

“No, Terra,” he said. His lips fell gently open. “No. I’m sorry.”

“Oh.” For a second I just stood there, pawing at the doorknob. Finally I cracked a weak smile. “Have to work late?”

One corner of my father’s mouth lifted. He nodded.

“Okay,” I said. I grabbed my lab coat from the hook by the door. “See you later, then.” I threw the door open, stepping into the cold air. I almost didn’t hear my father’s voice past the rush of the constant winter wind.

“Good-bye,” he said.

* * *

There was no use stopping home after work. I wouldn’t find my father there, with his wavering smile and intense gaze. There would be only darkness to share between myself and the cat. So when Mara dismissed me for the evening, I just threw my overcoat on over my uniform, brushed my lank hair up under my hat, and marched off toward Koen’s quarters. As I crossed through the commerce district, I greeted no one, my hands stuffed down into my pockets to keep the cold air from biting at them. If Koen was going to marry me, I decided, he’d have to take me as I was. Rough. Grubby. Hair unkempt. Because part of me wanted to be like the botanist, as much as I couldn’t stand her sometimes. I wanted to be excellent. Unapologetic. Hard. If he was going to love me, he’d have to love that part of me too.

Standing outside the front door to the Maxwells’ quarters, I sucked in a deep breath of frozen air. Then I gritted my teeth and knocked three times.

Only Ratty answered me, his shrill yelps penetrating the wooden door. When it didn’t open, I knocked again, louder. This time it cracked open, revealing a sliver of dim light. Stella’s brown eyes gazed out at me.

“I’m not supposed to answer the door when no one is home.”

“Stella.” I sighed. “It’s me, Terra. You know me.” I smiled helpfully—hopefully. The girl stared at me.

“Terra. You were here on Orbit Day. With your dad.”

“Yes,” I said. “You remember.”

She finally opened the door.

Stella was hardly anything more than a round-faced girl. But I could see in the way that she stood, her small chin held high, that she didn’t think of herself as a child. She thought she was grown-up—important. When I spoke, I was careful to make it clear to her that I considered her grown-up too.