Old Mars

“What is this thing?” Stephen demanded.

“Frittata … sort of an Italian omelet,” Noel replied.

“Well, why not just make a damn omelet?” the old man asked.

“A little hard to flip three dozen eggs, and this way I could time it for when you all came in,” Noel said placidly. Peace at any price, he reminded himself.

The response from Stephen was a harrumph. Noel saw Tilda glance at Kane, but Kane kept his focus on his plate. In the first month after their arrival, Kane had constantly leaped in to shield Noel from his father’s verbal attacks, but that had stopped. Initially, Noel had asked Kane to back off, thinking that Stephen would eventually come to accept him. But his charm offensive had failed, and lately, it felt like Kane was starting to agree with his irascible father’s constant criticisms of Noel.

They had always had a vigorous and active sex life, but even that time of closeness was becoming less frequent due to plain physical exhaustion on Kane’s part. At least that’s what Noel told himself as he lay awake listening to Kane’s snores and longing for his touch. Noel felt lonely and isolated.

As lonely and isolated as Miyako.

Noel studied his husband’s familiar and beloved profile and wondered when it had become attached to a stranger. He tried to catch Kane’s eye, and briefly succeeded before the younger man looked away. Noel knew that behavior. Knew what it meant. It meant something was up, something Kane didn’t want to tell him. His appetite fled, and the food smelled almost nauseating. Noel pushed away his plate.

Stephen gave a loud snort. “Even you don’t like this damn thing,” he said.

Noel kept his expression pleasant but pulled his hands into his lap so that no one would see when they balled into fists. Once again the litany was running through his head—have a stroke, have a stroke, have a stroke!

He’d had very little interaction with his father-in-law prior to the move. Stephen and Catherine, Kane’s mother, had attended the wedding on Earth. Catherine had been pleasant in a bluff, hearty kind of way. Stephen less so. It was clear that he hadn’t wanted his son to marry a “mud crawler,” even though Noel had had plenty of postings off-world in his career with SpaceCom. For Stephen, that didn’t matter; you were either a Martian or you weren’t, and Noel wasn’t.

Stephen had been alone when he came for Matilda’s christening, Catherine having died two years before from an aggressive cancer. At that time, the old man had tried to convince them to move back to Mars so that Tilda would be a true McKenzie. Kane had stayed firm and refused. Noel had just made commander, and admiral didn’t seem outside the realm of possibility, and Noel knew that Kane liked the soft winds and warm sun of Earth. Liked walking at twilight hand in hand without the separation of an envirosuit. And that he never wanted to dig potatoes or thresh wheat again.

Noel knew that it had hurt Kane when Stephen had announced that he’d remarried, and the old bastard didn’t mince words when he told his son why. Miyako was just a walking womb as far as the old man was concerned. A chance to start a new family, a farming family, a Martian family. A family that would understand history and continuity and never leave. Then came the tragedy of Miyako’s death, and Kane had felt it was his duty to return—and if there was one thing Noel understood, it was duty.

Breakfast ended with Stephen and the hands trooping out to work. Noel was surprised when Kane stayed behind and helped him and Tilda clear the table and load the dishes into the big industrial-sized washer.

“What are you up to today?” Kane asked their daughter.

“Ali and I are taking our lights out toward Mons Olympus.”

“Good. You have fun,” Kane said, dropping a kiss onto her cheek.

“You checked the weather?” Noel asked, trying to keep his tone casual and not sound like an overly anxious parent.

“No dust storms predicted for the next two days,” she answered brightly. Resting a hand on his shoulder, she stood on tiptoes and kissed his cheek. “Don’t worry.” Her blue eyes danced with mischief.

They were the most obvious feature he had bestowed on their child. Her warm café au lait skin and curling brown hair were all Kane. His love for her manifested as a squeezing pressure in Noel’s chest. The back door closed behind her, and it was suddenly very quiet in the kitchen.

He turned to his husband and smiled. “Hey, we have the house to ourselves,” Noel said, giving a suggestive edge to the words. Kane’s grim expression didn’t lighten. In fact, it became even more pronounced. “What? What have I done now?” Noel asked.

“Let’s talk in our room.”