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Pearl sits in the therapy waiting room, legs not so much crossed as twined around each other to keep her foot from bouncing, for precisely three minutes before Steven emerges. He doesn't look like he cried; she made sure that she doesn't either. He looks pleased, and smiles, and she smiles back. "Ready for lunch?"
"Yeah," he says, and when she stands he reaches for her hand, like he did when he was small.
Steven drives—they took the Dondai—but Pearl's the one who's been coming to Bayburg every week for her sessions while he's been away, so she directs him to the new shopping center that's sprung up in a once-empty lot. "Apparently it's been getting good reviews," she says as they park; the sign in the space affirms Reserved for Bay Leaf Vegetarian Cafe Only.
"I wonder if they'd like to sign up for a GHEM partnership."
They get a table by the window; they chat about the menu. Steven orders a tempeh BLT and a basket of cheese fries, and Pearl orders an apple juice. She doesn't mind drinking as much as she used to. It gives her something to do with her hands.
"So are you liking it there?" Steven asks into the post-ordering silence, unwrapping his cutlery from the napkin. "The therapy? I still do. I mean, the video sessions. But it was nice to be in person today."
"I'm not sure liking it is quite right," Pearl says, wry, and Steven breathes through a smile.
"It's hard. But good?"
"Mm," she hums, straightening her placemat. "Thank you. For the suggestion."
Quiet settles again, the low backdrop of restaurant bustle. Quiet can be comfortable between them, can't it? Just because Pearl has a history of filling silences doesn't mean this one needs filling. She resists the urge. It's something she's working on.
Then Steven asks "We're okay, right?" so softly, lightly, and maybe now is not the time to work on her nervous chatter problem.
"Of course," she says immediately, reaching across the table; his hands find hers again. "Of course. I'm sorry. I often feel...jumbled, after. But I'm so happy to spend time with you, Steven."
"Okay. Good," he says, his eyes wet. "I'm happy too."
"Good," Pearl repeats, gentle, and lets him have one hand back to wipe his face. "Tell me about where you've been lately."
"Well, on the way back to Delmarva I stopped over in Keystone," he says, "did you know they make Cretola crayons there?"
"I didn't!"
"They do! I went on a factory tour. It seemed like maybe a kid thing to do but...I can still do some kid things, right?"
Pearl grins and squeezes his hand. "Of course."
"It was so great, watching all the machines work, and the crayons rolling around—and the hot wax smell! I bet Bismuth would like it."
"I'll suggest it for date night."
Steven's grin curls. "How's that going? With Volleyball, and everything?"
"Good," Pearl assures, her nose crawling with a little blush. "Connie?"
"Good." Steven blushes too, more readily. It's disorienting, to see the little boy in him so clearly, like film that's been double exposed.
"You're so grown up," she muses, for once not feeling on the precipice of tears. "I'm so proud of you."
The blush deepens. "Yeah?"
"Always."
The sandwich is excellent, according to Steven, and the apple juice is apple juice. They talk about his plans, her classes. Gem gossip, and the best diners in each state. Connie; the cast of the new Dogcopter; music.
"I've written a few songs," Steven admits. "I don't think they're ready for an audience yet, but...traveling has been really inspiring."
Pearl counts out a pile of bills, their lunch and a generous tip, and slips her wallet back into her gem. "Hmm. Do you have any other plans today?"
"I was going to play it by ear. Why?"
"Would you like to take a ride?"
***
The Margaritifera, the ship her class is building, is stashed at the top of a grassy hill just outside Little Homeworld. It glimmers, nacreous, oval like a pearl, gently grooved like a shell.
"It's beautiful," Steven murmurs, unfolding from the Dondai. "You said it's...almost finished?"
Pearl bites her lip. Smiles. "It's spaceworthy, we're just working on interior decorating and customization settings now. This one won't come apart midair, I've already tested it myself."
Steven is smiling too, but she can see the memory right behind his eyes. "And how long is 'a ride' in this one?"
"An hour? Or two, if you like it. Just a drive. A quiet stretch of space. A pretty nebula, maybe." Steven's still looking at the ship, circling it slowly. This was a bad idea. She shouldn't have suggested it, or maybe she just shouldn't have made the joke, but either way— "We don't have to. It was just a thought, since you've been enjoying your travels, but that's places you've never been. You've been to space, of course, that's nothing special anymore—"
She doesn't notice her hands are fluttering until he takes one. "I've never just...enjoyed a ride in space," he says. "I'd like to."
***
Later, when they come back to Earth, she has a text from Greg. I'm making veggie chili for dinner, it says, will you two be back by 6?
On our way now, she sends back. We'll help. She attaches a photo, Steven sitting cross-legged by the floor-to-ceiling viewscreen. The Carina Nebula floats outside, enormous, bursting with purples and blues and oranges and reds, twinkling with young stars.
Three dots indicate Greg is typing, for quite a long time. Pick up some bread on the way home? he says at last. Another pause; then Thanks.