her face against my neck, purring like her father, and even though she smells like pee, I couldn’t love her more in this moment.
By the time dinner is finished and all the dishes put away, I’m exhausted. At night, we normally watch a vid together—something clean and appropriate for the children—or play Slapjack, a family favorite. Tonight, though, I’m too sleepy to do much more than smile gratefully at my mate as he puts on the children’s favorite vid and pulls me against his side. I curl up next to him on the oversized sofa as Elkha, Laina, and Keth promptly crawl all over us, draping themselves over their father (and me by extension) like kittens.
I stroke Elkha’s fluffy hair as pink space critters bounce around on asteroids, warbling songs, just enjoying the quiet time. It’s nights like this that are the best; quiet nights with family, just enjoying being together, my children on my lap and my mate at my side. I feel so content that my heart can’t hold all my happiness.
Nassakth’s comm unit buzzes.
He groans, getting to his feet and moving the children, then heads to the panel and studies the screen. Once he does, an even larger groan escapes him. “Bethiah.”
Now I groan.
“Auntie Bethiah!” Elkha cries, bounding to her feet.
“Auntie!” Laina calls, chasing after her sister. Keth trots after the girls, my quiet little son, and then all three children are bouncing around their father’s legs, wanting to join in the video call with the bounty hunter.
My mate exchanges a patient look with me and then connects the call. “Hello, Bethiah,” he says in a tolerant voice. “Why do you call?”
“Do I need a reason?” The bounty hunter’s face fills the screen and she makes kissy faces. “I wanted to see my namesakes. How are you, my lovelies?”
“Auntie! Auntie!” the children cry out, waving little hands at her.
“None of them are named after you,” I call out.
“Of course they are,” Bethiah coos. “You just did your best with your strange little human mouth. It’s all right. We know the truth of it, don’t we, kids?” She puts her chin on her hands and leans into the vid-screen. “Want Auntie Bethiah to tell you a story?”
Oh boy. I exchange a look with my mate. Bethiah loves the children, but she also has no idea how to treat them. Like the time the girls admired her tinkling hair ornaments and Bethiah gave the girls matching ones—and then later pointed out that they were tiny explosives because “a girl never knew when she might need a bomb.” Or the time she visited and read them a bedtime story that was so horrifying they didn’t sleep for days without crying.
I’m pretty sure that story is why Laina still pees the bed.
“No stories,” I call out. “It’s almost bedtime.”
“Right.” She shrugs. “Maybe you guys can tell me a story instead?”
For the next hour, Bethiah listens intently as all three children babble at her. She’s a weird one, the bounty hunter, but I do appreciate that she likes the children. It makes me feel good to know that even though I can’t stand Bethiah for longer than a few minutes at a time, she’s fiercely devoted to my babies and will keep them safe.
Having a bounty hunter as a godmother-slash-auntie is not something I ever thought I’d have for my children, but then again, so little of my life has turned out the way I thought it would. Even so, I wouldn’t change a thing.
When Keth yawns, Nassakth scoops up my son and cradles him against his chest. “I think it’s bedtime. Everyone say good night to Auntie Bethiah.”
The children wave and blow kisses at the screen, and Bethiah promises to call again after her next job wraps up. I don’t ask about the “job”—learned that the hard way—and shepherd the girls toward the bedroom. The blankets are freshly washed and there’s a thin plas-film covering on the mattress to protect from little accidents. We brush teeth, wash hands and faces, and sing a bedtime song. Even though blankets aren’t a praxiian thing, my babies love having one tucked around them, and we give each child kisses and attention before turning off the lights and escaping the room.
Into quiet.
Sweet, sweet quiet.
Nassakth wraps his arms around me from behind and holds me close. “How long before someone wants a drink of water?”
“Five minutes,” I murmur, putting my hands on him. He’s warm and wonderful and strong and I still haven’t told him my