Total pages in book: 149
Estimated words: 135784 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 679(@200wpm)___ 543(@250wpm)___ 453(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 135784 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 679(@200wpm)___ 543(@250wpm)___ 453(@300wpm)
As I do, I pass Jerrok, who's got a crate in his arms. His eyes brighten at the sight of me, and he pauses. "You look pretty."
I give a little twirl. My dress is made from stitched-together remnants of a silky tablecloth we purloined from a wrecked ship brought to our doorstep, and it's this lovely shimmery color between red and purple, depending on the way the light hits it. "You like?"
"You make everything look good," he tells me, then leans in for a kiss. "Happy birthing day, love."
I giggle at his mangling of the word. The mesakkah don't celebrate birthdays, but last year when I confessed to him about mine and how I missed birthday cake, he grew obsessed with having a party for me this year, no matter how small. This is the third time today he's told me “happy birthday” and I know he wants me to feel special today. As if he doesn't make me feel special EVERY day. "Thank you, babe. I'm going to get some fresh flowers for the table before Bethiah gets here. Where's Sleipnir?"
"Probably eating your flowers," he says. "Should I put on some noodles?"
I nod, leaning in to kiss him again, just because I love his mouth. "I'm going to add vegetables to it, though."
Jerrok makes a horrified face. "Must we?"
"Green things are good for you, damn it." I poke him in the side. "And you like them."
"I tolerate them," he corrects. "But yes, if you want green things in our perfectly good noodles, today is your day."
With a sassy wink, I head on to the terrarium, smiling to myself. It's a never-ending battle between us, dinner. Jerrok will absolutely eat noodles day in and day out without fail. He hates anything even remotely shaped like a protein bar, and I know it reminds him of the war and bad memories. It's just…man, I get tired of noodles sometimes. I think longingly of the small bag of flour we got from Kivian's brother and his mate, who live on a farm planet. It's a different kind of grain, but it's milled like flour and I swear, I made so much bread when we had that stuff. It's a shame I didn't save any for a birthday cake, but it wouldn't have the right texture anyhow.
At least now we have vegetables.
I duck into the terrarium, as one of the leafy vines is growing over the entrance and I don't have the heart to trim it back. I love the wild greenery and the only thing I really do with them is to try to coax them into growing on the makeshift trellises that are scattered throughout the dirt beds. The terrarium itself is a thing of beauty, so green and verdant that it takes my breath away every time I enter. Now, instead of just green plants, there are bright splashes of color mixed in, huge red flowers next to bright blue blooms. There's a yellow flower that smells a bit like honeysuckle and looks like clusters of grapes, and I lean in close as I pass by it. I now have an entire bed for flowers of all different shades, and I head toward it. It kills me to cut any of the flowers, because I can enjoy them for months out here, instead of just a few days inside a vase.
But Sleipnir “assists” me with that.
Sure enough, my darling pet is sprawled in my flowerbed, licking his paw as if he has not a care in the world. He's squashed my flowers, breaking the tender stalks of the bright orange and yellow blooms. "Sleipnir!" I call out, chiding him as I approach. "You know you're not supposed to be there!"
He gives me a bored look, then goes back to licking his toe beans.
"God, you're worse than a cat," I grumble, gathering up my skirts and stepping over flowers to get to his sprawled body. I nudge him with my sandal. "Get up. Go on."
With a groan, the carinoux gets to his feet, streeeeetches as if he has not a care in the world, and then ambles off. Meanwhile, I sigh at the destruction he's caused. Sure enough, the stalks of several flowers have snapped, and I pick the flowers to put in a vase. I can't be all that mad at him. He loves the flowers as much as I do, and at least now he doesn't poop on the tile. Instead, he always does his business in the dirt like a properly trained cat. I'm very proud of my boy for that, if nothing else. He's the best protector a girl could ask for, and if he stomps on a few flowers, I can't hold it against him.
Once my flowers are gathered, I head for my garden. I transplanted everything from one of the back beds so I could have room for the vegetable seeds that Fran brought me on one of their runs last year. The garden is my pride and joy, and even if I don't know the first thing about alien plants, they grow like crazy and produce all kinds of delicious fruits and vegetables. I pluck a large green gourd that has a taste something like spinach but with the crisp bite of cucumber. It's delicious in the noodles, and it's my way of getting some greens into my man. He points out that the noodles are nutritionally balanced and he doesn't need to eat fresh vegetables, but I personally think they're good for us. It doesn't hurt to be a little more self-sufficient, and I'm tempted to clear another bed of wild vines to add more vegetables.