promise her gently. I nod at Kaspar, who's still watching us. "If you want to escape, tell him the word 'hamburger' and he'll help you out."
The words are barely out of my mouth before Sophie's at the door, hissing the word. "Hamburger! Hamburger!"
Kaspar glances at me, then at Sophie. "You really want to do this right now? I can't help her and keep an eye on you here."
"I know," I tell him. "I'll be fine. Just help her."
And I settle back in at the table to wait for my husband to finish meeting his awful, awful parents that I hate already. Maybe it's a good thing I got sent to the kiddie table.
66
NASSAKTH
My palms are sweaty as I scan the cantina for my father's familiar cresting mane and my mother's elegant stance among the seated patrons. I see no one familiar, and turn to Bethiah. "You said they would be here."
"I said they'd be in a private room. Does this look like a private room?" She mutters something under her breath but I catch the words “keffing” and “sack of shit.” She is irate this day, which does not sit well with me—I am plenty irate myself, as I've just abandoned my mate to a disgusting room set aside for humans and livestock. She cannot sit with me because in the eyes of those that frequent this cantina, she is not a person. She is a thing.
It makes me so angry that my entire body shudders. I clench my fists, trying to calm myself.
"Don't freak out on me," Bethiah hisses. "Just…come on already."
She slinks through the sea of tables, all confidence, and I have no choice but to follow behind. I head after her and she nods at the barkeeper, who points at a door in a shadowy corner of the cantina, behind the stage with an ooli cyborg playing a synth ballad of some kind. I ignore the “entertainment,” thinking longingly of nights with Kim where we played Slapjack and ate noodles and watched arena matches on the vid-screen, cuddled together. All at once, it hits me. What am I doing here? I could be home with her. She is happiness. She should be all I need.
And yet…it gnaws at me, this curiosity. I want to know what my parents seek after all this time.
Bethiah cracks open the door and sticks her head in. She glances over at me and nods, then waits by the entrance.
I take a deep breath and plunge inside.
The interior is lit brighter than the rest of the cantina, and several elegant gaming tables have been set up. This is likely a sticks den, where those with big pockets come at night to burn through their money. Right now, it is a meeting room. There is a clean plas-film tablecloth tossed over the table and seated across from an empty chair are two elegant, elderly praxiians.
My parents.
I stare at them, hard. It has been a long time since I have seen them, and my memories do not match the couple in front of me. I remember them as young and vibrant, strong and hearty. I remember my mother's clothing being patched over and over again, and my father's robes fading after being worn so often. That is not the couple that sits before me.
My father's gray coloring is streaked with silver, his thick mane completely white. His whiskers are long and curled, and his fur is teased into several ornamental tufts, the thick strands braided and crusted with gems. His nose is pierced with an equally bejeweled ring, and an expensive chain hangs from the hoop in his nostril to his equally jeweled ears. The robes he wears today are sumptuous, deep red and white in color, and he wears our house symbol with pride. I cannot help but notice that the house symbol—once simple—is now increasingly ornate, framed by several chevrons that indicate our family's wealth.
Judging by the changes in that symbol, my family is exceedingly rich now.
My mother's robes are simpler, but no less expensive. She wears a peach gown made of flowing silk, the sleeves fluttering as she gets to her feet and holds beringed hands out to me. "You look well."
My mouth goes dry. I…don't know what to say. For years, I have imagined how it would go to meet my parents again. To embrace them with warmth and familial love. To be part of a pride once more. To be a son instead of an ex-slave. I expected my mother