Chapter 42 Chapter 41: However, We Get There
By nightfall, the silence from Silver had become a physical presence in my room. I checked my com a dozen times, each glance at the blank screen a fresh pinch of anxiety. Her lack of reply felt heavier, more final, than any argument could have. In stark contrast, my family was giving me a wide berth, treating me with the cautious delicacy usually reserved for a sleeping baby or a lit fuse. It was a blessing, this distance, but it also felt isolating. To keep from going stir-crazy, I’d phoned Florence at the deli, putting a bright, false cheer into my voice to say I was over the worst of it and would be in for my shift in the morning. The routine of work felt like the only solid ground left to stand on.
The alarm ripped me from a thin, troubled sleep the next morning. Before my eyes were fully open, my hand was already scrabbling for the com on my bedside table. And there it was, a single, glowing message notification. My heart hammered against my ribs as I tapped the screen.
I am trying to understand. I was trying to help you, Nanda. Ring me tomorrow afternoon before I go to work.
It wasn't forgiveness. It wasn't an embrace. But it was a thread. A chance to explain, to maybe, somehow, mend the terrible crack I’d created. Well, that was something, at least, I thought, a fragile hope unfolding in my chest. Maybe I could salvage this. Maybe everything could still be okay.
The thought carried me through my morning routine. My dad, in a rare show of coordination with my mother’s "coddle the invalid" campaign, offered me a lift to work, saving me from the crowded hopper. We ate a quick breakfast under my mum’s beaming, solicitous gaze, every smile from her felt like a reward for my successful deception.
The journey was unusually chatty for my father. He filled the space with a running commentary on the traffic, the weather, a story about a colleague at the office, anything and everything except the one thing dominating both our minds. He was trying to talk about my trip to Sylva by meticulously not talking about it, his words circling the subject like a nervous bird.
Just before he pulled up to the kerb outside the deli, the familiar sight a welcome norm, he fell silent. He looked over at me, his usual gruff expression softening into something uncharacteristically sincere. Then, in a move that shocked me almost as much as his tone, he let the porty’s automation take over, his hands coming to rest in his lap as the vehicle glided to a perfect stop.
“Are you scared?”
The question took me completely by surprise. For a dizzying second, my mind raced through a catalogue of fears: Of my body betraying me? Of losing Silver, forever? Of being a freak? But the intensity in his eyes, the specific context of the past few minutes, clarified it. He was talking about Sylva. Not the chaos of my life, but the diplomatic mission. The real future.
It took me a quick, stumbling moment to reorient myself. He was asking if I was scared, scared of the enemy, of the danger, of the weight of representing our nation. In that moment, it felt like the simplest, most manageable fear on my list.
I met his gaze, seeing the genuine concern there, and gave the only honest answer I could. “Yes, Dad,” I said, my voice quieter than I intended. “I am.”
He mumbled some words of encouragement then, the kind that always seemed to cost him a great effort to articulate. They were gruff, awkward things, but I heard the genuine pride buried within them. It wasn't praise for what I had done, but for who I was, or at least, for the person he believed I was becoming. "You'll... you'll show them, kid. You've got a good head on your shoulders." The words landed softly, a rare and precious gift. We said our goodbyes, and I climbed out of the porty, the familiar clink of the key in the deli's lock feeling more like a return to sanctuary than an arrival at work.
The first thing I did was to check the shift schedule pinned to the staff board. A wave of relief washed over me. Kia's name was absent. I didn't think I could handle her relentless, well-meaning chatter today, not with the fragile truce I'd established in my own mind. Instead, I was paired with my sister's namesake, Lilli. Lilli was a quiet, sensible Changeling, a few years younger than me and studying something complex at the Uni, political science, maybe, or ancient languages; I could never remember. Lilli´s calm, undemanding presence was exactly what I needed.
My morning began with the normal routine of getting ready for opening, a ritual I loved precisely because it demanded so little of my fractured attention. I lost myself in the methodical, almost meditative tasks: hauling crisp heads of lettuce from the walk-in, the thump-thump-thump of my knife on the wooden board as I chopped, the bright, clean smell of herbs filling the air. For a few precious hours, I could let my thoughts drift and air themselves out while my hands worked on autopilot, creating order from chaos, one perfectly diced vegetable at a time.
After a few hours of this peaceful industry, the bell above the door chimed softly. Lilli arrived, her face pale and drawn. She offered me a small, strained smile as she fumbled with the strings of her apron. But the smile crumpled almost instantly. Her shoulders began to shake, and then she burst into tears, a sudden, quiet storm of despair.
“You too,” she managed to get out between ragged sobs, as if my mere presence was a confirmation of a shared misery. “I hate it… I hate feeling so vulnerable all the time. Like my own skin is a trap.” She wiped her nose with the back of her hand, her composure completely gone. “How do you do it, Nanda? How do you manage your hormones through the change? Especially the Nate to Polli change… it’s like my whole brain gets rewired with sadness. I can’t wait for my Trembling, for it all to just be… over.”
She stopped abruptly, her eyes widening in horror as she realized what she’d said. “Oh, Nanda. Sorry. That was so unthoughtful of me.” The apology seemed to break a final dam within her. She started crying even harder, great, heaving sobs that wracked her slender frame. “Sorry… Nanda… I’m so sorry… Look at me,” she gasped, gesturing to her tear-streaked face. “I’m useless.”
Without a second thought, I stepped forward and wrapped my arms around her. She stiffened for a moment, then collapsed against my shoulder, her cries muffled by my deli apron. “It’s O.K.,” I said, my voice low and steady. It was a lie and a truth at the same time. It wasn’t okay, none of it was, but this moment, this shared understanding, was. “We all get there. However, we get there.”
She let out a sound that was half-laugh, half-sob, her whole body shaking with the release. “Five minutes, Nanda,” she whispered into my shoulder, her voice firming with a desperate resolve. “Give me five minutes and I will be O.K. Ready for the lunchtime rush.”
True to her word, she pulled back, took a deep, shuddering breath, and dried her eyes with a clean corner of her apron. The storm passed as quickly as it had arrived, and her normal, calm efficiency began to shine through the residual redness in her eyes. We shared a final, quick hug, a transfer of strength. No more words were needed. The silent promise that passed between us was stronger than any pep talk: together, we could handle whatever the day threw at us. We were comrades in a war nobody else could see.