Page 51 of Seeds of Christmas
This is intimate in a way I wasn’t prepared for.
Not physically intimate—there’s a curtain between us, we’re both fully clothed in our separate sleeping bags—butemotionally intimate. Like we’re in this little bubble together, separate from the rest of the world.
“Carter?” Her voice is soft.
“Yeah?”
“I’m glad you’re here. I mean, I’m glad we’re doing this together. The research. This whole thing.”
My heart does something complicated. “Yeah?”
“Yeah. I think... I think I needed this.”
“Me too,” I say quietly. “Me too.”
I lie in my sleeping bag, listening to Rhi settle in on the other side of the curtain. The cabin creaks and settles. Outside, I can hear the wind in the trees, but it’s gentle tonight. Peaceful.
I should sleep. We have an early start tomorrow.
“Rhi?” I say into the darkness, keeping my voice quiet. “You still awake?”
“Yeah.”
Relief floods through me. I wasn’t sure if she’d answer.
“Can I ask you something?”
“Of course.”
I stare at the sloped ceiling, trying to figure out how to word this. “What do you really want to do? After graduation, I mean. With geology. Are you confident in it?”
There’s no hesitation in her answer. “Graduate school, hopefully. Maybe a postdoc after that. Research positions, fieldwork. I love this”—I hear rustling, like she’s gesturing even though I can’t see her—“all of this. Being outside, collecting data, figuring out how the earth works. I want to do this forever.”
The certainty in her voice makes my palms sweat.
Because I don’t have that. Have never had that.
“That’s really cool,” I say. “That you know.”
“What about you?” she asks. “What do you want to do?”
And there it is. The question everyone keeps asking. The one I never have a good answer for.
I could deflect. Make a joke. Change the subject.
But it’s dark, and she can’t see my face, and something about this trip has made me tired of performing.
“I don’t know,” I admit.
“At all?”
“Not even a little bit.” I laugh, but it sounds hollow even to my own ears. “Everyone keeps asking me that. My parents, my advisors, my friends. And I never have a good answer.”
“But you’re almost done with your degree.”
“Yeah. Which makes it worse, doesn’t it?” I shift in my sleeping bag, suddenly restless. “I’ve spent three years studying something I’m not even sure I like.”
There’s a pause. When she speaks again, her voice is gentle. “Do you like it? Geology?”
