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The first time you see Cal after the funeral, he doesn’t speak.
You don’t mind. You’re relieved to have a moment of silence after everything that’s happened, members of the colony crying and consoling each other, unable to discuss anything but the recent tragedy.
It’s not like you want people to move on, to forget her altogether… but it hurts.
By now, you’ve mostly cried yourself out. It seems Cal hasn’t, but that’s okay. You sit with him until dinnertime.
The second time you see Cal, he has a basket of flowers. You haven’t seen anything like them before, and you’re not sure where he got them, but you don’t ask. You just sit beside him and watch him work— weaving the flowers into each other, making a chain of sorts.
After a few minutes, he finally has something to say.
“My mom told me people on Earth used to bury their dead,” he says. “Not broken down in the soil. Their whole bodies. They’d put them in fancy boxes and bury them underground.”
You furrow your brow; you’d never heard about that before. You ask if they ever ran out of space on Earth.
“I’m not sure,” Cal answers. “It does seem kinda impractical. But… they’d mark the spot with something. Like a plaque, or a rock with their name engraved in it. To remember them by.”
It’s an interesting thought, although you don’t think you could ever forget Tammy.
“I wanted to… make a place for her. In the garden.” Cal finally looks at you, and though his voice is steady, you can see his eyes welling up. “I thought I could decorate it. If you wanna help.”
You smile at the thought. Even if no one else knows the significance, it’ll be special to you and Cal. That’s what matters.
You ask if he can show you how to weave those flowers together.