Worried parents
11 Sep 2017Darthjazzhands
Continued from "Old Gladiator Movies""You're awfully quiet this morning," Ferro tried again. "You ok?"
Vasquez didn't hesitate as she spread a second round of butter over her wheat toast while catching up with Galnet's latest news on her tablet, "Yeah, yeah. I'm good, I'm good."
Ferro knew her wife better than that. "You're worried about The Kiddo, Vaz."
Vasquez gently laid her knife on the over-buttered toast, pushed the plate away and closed the tablet. Both women stared at each other silently from across the kitchen table for several long seconds. Ferro in all pink flannel pajamas with thick expedition grade backpacking socks. Vasquez was barefoot in nothing but black boxers and a white tank top with no bra.
Their dog, Bullet, was the first to break the long silence with a loud growling yawn as he lay on a pad at their feet under the table.
"Three days of radio silence, mija," Vasquez said. "First the strange message? Then no word for three days?."
Ferro sat silently and looked at her plate of poached eggs on toast. She began to poke at the whites with her fork, "We knew this day would come. She's finally independent."
Vasquez knew this tone. Denial. Avoidance. Holding something back. "Independent in a war zone, Ferro. Independent on the edge of the bubble. She's never known this kind of freedom."
Ferro was silent. Studying how much pressure it took to press the tines of the fork into the egg whites.
"And the message?" Vasquez continued. "What the fuck was that Spartacus bullshit all about? I ain't never seen that movie."
"I know," Ferro said as she cut into the yolk with the forks edge." I thought that was odd too so I did some research. Turns out Annie and Spartacus have something in common."
"Yeah?"
Ferro lay her fork on the plate as the yolk oozed slowly from the egg. "They were both slaves, Vaz. I think Annie was talking in code."
"And?" Vasquez asked, but Ferro could see it was beginning to dawn on her.
She considered her words carefully as she watched the yellow lava flow of yolk slide off the whites, over the bed of arugula, then the edge of the toast and onto the plate where it started to pool. "I think it means she's doing what she believes in. I think she's trying to help free slaves... "
"...or working with factions to swing power ...," Vasquez interrupted.
Ferro finished the sentence, "...until slavery becomes illegal. Classic Underground Railroad move."
Vasquez leaned forward, placing her elbows on the table and both hands on her head. She stared straight down at the overly-buttered toast, pulling at her closely cropped black hair through fisted fingers.
The silence was thick.
As if sensing something was amiss, Bullet got to his feet with an old man groan and rested his graying chin on Vasquez's thigh. His tail thudded the metal table leg rhythmically with each wag.
Vasquez absently reached down with one hand and scratched behind Bullet's ear. "Qué mierda," she whispered.