Page 117 of Commander’s Mate
The inside melted.
“Ha,” he said.
I stared.
“Did you just celebrate cheese?”
“I corrected an operational failure.”
“You made lunch.”
“Same principle.”
We ate at the small table.
The sandwich tasted wrong.
Also good.
Not Earth.
That was becoming a category.
Things could be good without being home.
That realization used to feel like betrayal.
Now it felt like room.
Zared watched me chew.
“What?”
“Is it acceptable?”
“Yes.”
He relaxed.
I smiled.
“You care.”
“Of course.”
“About grilled cheese.”
“About whether you like what I made.”
That landed somewhere soft.
I looked down at the plate.
He added, “The sandwich itself is irrelevant.”
“Don’t tell it that. It’s sensitive.”
He had learned enough Earth humor to know I was being ridiculous.
