An alternate scene from NEW WORLD
Happy Valentine’s Day! This year I’m focusing on bringing you the conclusion to The Iamos Trilogy, and that means I’ve been spending a lot of time with my favorite couple from all the books I’ve ever written: Henry and Tamara.
They emerged as a couple in my brain so early on in the writing of Fourth World that at times the only thing that kept me going while writing the first book was the knowledge that I’d get to write Different Worlds next. (It also made writing the Isaak/Tamara scenes… quite uncomfortable, haha.) I think a lot of people may have been surprised by the development of their relationship, but there were a few places in Fourth World where I dropped the hint. đ
And then I got to have a lot of fun creating angst for them in New World! Which brings me to today’s post. This is an alternate perspective scene from Chapter 19 of New World (so major spoilers, obviously) that I shared with my patrons on Patreon back in September 2018. It seemed like a perfect Valentine’s Day goodie to share with you all. Enjoy!
I stood on the observation deck, looking out the full-length windows at the endless stars around me. As far as the eye could see, there was nothing but blackness, dotted with infinite pinpricks of light that shone like glitter. They seemed to spin gently, slowly, though I knew it was the ship itself that was rotating. The gravity wheel would turn gradually faster the closer we got to Earth, incrementally shifting over our ten-day journey to adjust our bodies from Marsâ gravity to the stronger pull of Earthâs.
Theoretically, anyway. In practice, it had never worked so well for me. I just hoped I wouldnât trip coming off the ship this time like I did last annum.
As the deck rotated, the bright blue orb of Earth came into view. I stared at it anxiously. Weâd be landing in just over a week, and then weâd have to face GSAF. Sour bile rose in my mouth at the thought of it, and I struggled to swallow it down. It wasnât just Nadin I was worried about, though her case was going to be difficult enough. It was Henry. This truce we had with GSAF, it felt so uneasy. Wyattâs mom had extended the olive branch, but she wasnât here now. I didnât trust them anymore. I didnât trust that we wouldnât land on Earth only for him to be shot on sight by some sniper. The fear was like a living thing, stalking me constantly, gnawing at my thoughts during every quiet minute.
I placed my hand on the glass, tracing the outline of the blue planet with my fingertips.
âHey.â
My heart jumped at the sound of his voice, but I trained my face into a neutral expression before turning to face him. âHey,â I said as Henry came to stand beside me at the glass. âWhatâs up?â
âNot much,â he replied, avoiding my eyes and looking out the window instead. The glass reflected starlight off his face. âCanât sleep. It always feels like night here, my body doesnât know when it should be coming and when it should be going.â
I smiled artificially. âTell me about it.â
He stood there a moment, silent and contemplative. Then he asked, âWhat are you thinking about?â
I quirked an eyebrow. It was a very Henry thing to say, but I hadnât seen this Henry in weeks. My Henry. Heâd gone back to being the old Henry, the one who didnât say anything of consequence to me. The one who kept secrets, held me at armâs length.
I exhaled and looked back out the window. âI was thinking about how the last time I made this trip, you werenât speaking to me.â I watched him out of the corner of my eye, watched the way his face fell as my words washed over him. It made me feel guilty. I shouldnât have said that. I wasnât handling this well at all. None of this was Henryâs fault. Heâd been right to call things off, I knew that. But it didnât make it hurt any less.
âTamara, Iââ
I shook my head, interrupting him. âItâs okay. I know. I didnât mean…â I trailed off, shrugging. âIâm sorry.â
He sighed. âNot as much as I am.â
I rested my hand on the glass again, looking at Earth, trying to choke down my emotions. He placed his own hand next to mine, close enough to touch. Just a hairâs breadth apart.
I inhaled shakily, his proximity making me feel like I was spinning out of control. âWhenâs the last time you went to Earth?â I asked, trying desperately to change the subject.
âWhen I was fourteen,â Henry said, the corners of his mouth turned up wistfully. âWe went to visit my grandma in Delhi, my momâs mom.â
He didnât need to specifyâI knew about his fatherâs parents already. Heâd told me how they died, long before Henry had been born. It ate away at him, after his mom had told him. It seemed like his whole family had been plagued by an unending spiral of violence.
I smiled encouragingly. âThat sounds nice,â I said.
âIt was a cesspool.â
My jaw dropped. âWow,â I said, trying to suppress a laugh. âDonât hold anything back now.â
He grinned, and then I did laugh. âYou know me,â he said. âI never hold anything back.â
I did know him. That was entirely the problem.
The laughter trailed into silence, and then we stood there, awkwardly, avoiding each otherâs gazes while the cosmos wheeled around us.
I couldnât take it any longer. Hesitantly, in a quavering voice, I murmured, âIâm not sure which is worse. Knowing or not knowing. Believing you hated me, or knowing that you donât. I understand everything, I agree with everything, donât get me wrong. Itâs just…â A hot tear slid down my cheek, and I wiped it furiously away. Henry watched me quietly, his own eyes bright. âItâs just that itâs so torquing impossible to explain to myself that I canât have you anymore.â
He moved away from the glass, gently pulling me against him, his arms tight around me. I curled my fingers around the fabric of his t-shirt, nestling my face against his chest. Familiarity overwhelmed me, a powerful sense of rightness and yearning and grief that things couldnât just go back to being this way, the way they should be. He buried his face in my shoulder, his lips against my skin, whispering something into the base of my neck that sent a shiver up my spine and made my insides ache.
Then he was gone, and I stood alone at the window, trillions of sparkling stars watching me stare out at nothingness.
âI love you,â I said to the empty air. But it didnât matter. He already knew. We both did.