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Etain frowned, peering dubiously at the stew pot. “Are you sure we needed that much ruica?”
Darman glanced down at his datapad, then at the counter top, looking for the salt among the assortment of vegetables they had washed and cut. “That’s what the recipe says, cyar'ika. Supposedly it goes well with the shatual.”
Etain made a little humming noise, unconvinced, and it was a moment before he heard the thunk of her knife against the cutting board.
“Well,” she said, “all I’m saying… I mean, it is normal for children to have more than one set of parents, isn’t it? It happens all the time, if their parents separate and remarry, or…”
She was fixating on the subject, but Darman found he didn’t have much to offer to reassure her. He’d never had a mother, after all, or even a father before Kal had decided to adopt him. Neither had Etain. They were both working off second-hand knowledge and holodramas.
Someone had moved the salt to the overhead shelf above the sink. Darman came up behind Etain and put a hand on her waist to steady her as he reached over her shoulder for it.
“Okay,” he asked as she ducked her head downwards to avoid his arm, “but did you have the doomed love affair with Sargent Gilamar, or did I?”
He was rewarded with a small, startled laugh.“What, neither of us could have had a romance with Uthan?” Her free hand snuck her hand over his, holding him in place as she stroked a small lazy circle over his fingers with her thumb.
Darman grimaced at the thought of Uthan, with her needles and cold poise, standing here in the kitchen. Mij certainly had interesting taste. “I don’t know, Et’ika. She’s awfully… dour.”
“That’s one word for it.”
Etain laughed again, and he pulled her gently back against him, careful of her knife, and kissed the top of her hair. His hand crept slowly from her waist until his palm was pressed flat against her stomach.
“I don’t think we have to worry about it. Scout’s old enough to make her own decisions. And Mij wants the best for her, too.”
“Mmmm.” She leaned back against him, tilting her head just slightly so that he could press his lips to her cheek. “And you know, there are human cultures where…”
“Etain. It will be fine. We can talk to her after dinner.”
A small, polite cough from the doorway forestalled her reply. Levet edged carefully into the room, a basket of greens in hand, avoiding making eye contact with either of them. Darman smiled sheepishly before pulling away and turning his attention back to the bubbling pot.
It would be fine, Darman was sure. He hadn’t stopped hoping for another baby- a little girl or boy,it didn’t matter, with Etain’s green eyes- but in the meantime, he knew their family had already grown, whether or not they’d gotten around to saying the formal words. Scout wasn’t a replacement, or a substitute; she was her own piece of the puzzle, and she fit. He was certain she knew it, too.
Any other worries were secondary. They’d make it work.