That Edge of Affection

When Peter reached for her wrist, Kate recoiled under the bulkhead and hissed. 

“Here, kitty, kitty,” Peter crooned. 

“My friends call me Kate.” Her voice came from beneath the greasy metal of the ship’s infrastructure, but Pete couldn’t see more than one of her feet, clad in an almost pristine white boot. The foot twitched and then was still. 

“Okay, Kate.” Pete sighed. “Come out slowly and no one gets hurt. What were you thinking? You can hide under a bulkhead, but you can’t stay there for the entire cruise. It’s a long way to Jupiter.” 

One hand, elegant, with long, tapered fingers and an elaborate French manicure adorned with tiny rhinestones, slid out. Another hand appeared. Finally, her entire body followed and Kate stood up, facing Pete. Slouching next to him, she looked like a mannequin draped in clothes too large for it. Her jumpsuit, made of an iridescent neoprene fabric, reeked of old money, and her makeup and hair were on point for a modern wedding, but her entire attitude belied the signifiers of the happy bride. 

In contrast, Pete wore an elaborate ensemble of black snakeskin print vinyl, gigantic boots whose platform boosted his height at least four inches, and a dashing hat with an enormous feather he’d had to carry on in a hatbox before the ship launched and he could don it. 

“My sweet, you do not seem comfortable in your wedding raiment. Is there something you’d prefer to wear? Let us go to our cabin and find something in which you are more at home.”  

“You don’t have to leer at me. We’re married. I’m not some doxy you’re trying to pick up in a bar.” Kate jerked as Pete grabbed her hand and pulled her behind him down the corridor to their stateroom. “And speaking of bars, where is---” 

“No idea. Who needs alcohol when we have love to be drunk upon?” 

Kate rolled her eyes, but before she could respond verbally, Pete had activated the door and the two of them were entering their suite. The entry closed quickly. Pete let go of Kate’s wrist and spun around, arms outstretched. 

“Only the best for my new bride,” he said, his arms showcasing the luxurious appointments of the suite. Through the enormous porthole she could see the shrinking blue marble of earth as the ship moved out into space. Faux leather recliners floated around the room, ready for the push of a button to lock them in place wherever the user found them convenient. 

“Is there somewhere I can change?” Kate asked. 

“Of course, dear. I’ve had them bring our luggage. It’s there, by our nuptial bed.” 

“In private?” 

“What is privacy for us? We are one, now.” 

Kate didn’t respond, but stood still, as though she were a hiker who’d spotted a rattlesnake on the trail ahead and waited for Pete to answer her question. The silence only goaded Pete. 

“The justice of the peace said so!” 

Kate broke and strode over to her suitcase, opening it and rifling through the contents. Tiny garments constructed primarily of lace and ribbon flew out of the cavernous tote. 

“Where,” Kate asked, pausing in her rummage to straighten up and look at Pete directly, “are my clothes?” 

“Is my pet not happy with her trousseau?” 

“Trousseau? I’m not happy with my husband!” 

“You can’t return me, but we can certainly return the clothes that displease you.” Pete shoved Kate aside and dug his hands into the contents of the suitcase. He took quick steps to the door, opened it, and tossed everything into the corridor. “There. You’ll not suffer their presence anymore.” 

“I. Have. Nothing. To. Wear.” 

“You are clothed now,” Pete pointed out. 

Kate spread her arms and looked down at the neoprene jumpsuit. “I can’t wear a spacesuit all day every day. I feel as though I’ve been stuffed into a sausage casing.” 

“And what a spicy little sausage you are!” Pete grabbed her, pulling her into an embrace. She pushed him away and brought her knee up but he pirouetted away before she could do any damage.

“Are you upset, my sweet?” 

“I just want to be comfortable.” 

“Say no more.” Pete opened his own suitcase and pulled out a gray sweatshirt with evidence of both his love for the Melbourne RatPack roller derby team, as documented by the logo featuring a feral rat on skates, and his love for nachos, memorialized by a large orange stain that had been set in perpetuity by a trip through the dryer. “What’s mine is yours.” 

Kate pinched the shirt with her thumb and index finger, holding it away from her body. “I can’t wear this.” 

“Wear that or wear nothing. I suppose when the gift shop opens you can find something there. Anything you want. Nothing’s too good for my bride.” Pete advanced on her again, his arms outstretched to pull her into another hug. This time, Kate twisted away before he captured her.

She ducked into the bathroom. “Yeah, you’re right. Nothing’s too good. In fact, it’s all pretty bad.” 

“You wound me!” Pete said.

“Remember what the bard said about jesting at scars.” Kate raised her voice to be heard from the other room.

“What has wounded my little dove? Do you have a boo-boo? Can hubby make it better?” Pete flopped onto the bed and fiddled with the tassels on one of the oversized pillows. “Is that skeleton still relevant three millenniums later?”

“Shakespeare?” Kate appeared wearing nothing but Pete’s t-shirt. “Yes, he’s still relevant. He was relevant when you conned my father into railroading me into this marriage, he was relevant when you forced me to board this starship, and he’ll be relevant when you spend your first night in space on the floor.” 

“My fiery spouse,” Pete said as he rose and took Kate’s face in his hands, “I have no problem spending the night on the floor at your feet as long as I share the room with you. By the time we get to Jupiter I know I’ll have risen to occupy the same mattress as you do.”

Kate’s hands grasped Pete’s wrists and pulled his palms away from her face. He looked for a twinkle in her eye that might mean “game on,” but he saw nothing as she turned away from him and climbed into bed.

“Good night,” he said.

She was silent.