The trowel felt like a string was pulling it towards the ground. Diane relented to the force and plunged the tool into the soil, satisfyingly sliding into the damp garden. Her gloves were sitting back on the bench, a lifetime of calluses nearly disappeared after a year orbiting on Station, and she had no intention of having a limp handshake. Besides, she thought, gardening up there was different. There was no dirt between your fingernails, no beads of sweat dribbling down your neck. Only a stale metallic scent while snipping the ends of buds with surgical scissors. This was good for the spirit.
“Diane? Diane are you out there?” Her husband called out – another thing that was different. She dipped the tool in again and pulled out a trowel full of soil before adjusting her ear buds. Not that there was any music playing, but it was a trick she learned early on: If people see ear buds they safely assume she can’t hear the outside world. She kept working.
“Diane, they said fine motor skills aren’t supposed to be practiced for another two days. Diane?” Brian bent to his knees and Diane finally had to acknowledge her husband.
“Besides,” he reached out, removing the ear phones, she tried to look lovingly at him but muffled the screams of obtrusion. “With the training and mission, you’ve been gone 18 months. We need time for us. And the kids with their mother. We’ve had enough alone time.” Diane uneasily stood up, trying not to show any wavering as she focused on one foot after the other. The faster she returned to normal activity, the sooner she could return to mission rotation and get back into space.
“I’m just trying to get back to normal. I can still feel the weight of my eyelids, so this type of resistance training gives me a pass.” Diane said a little too harshly. She reached out to keep the trowel nearby and let go, expecting it to hang in the air like a pencil back on Station. It rushed to the ground and stuck in the soil. Diane stared at disbelief for a moment and quickly brushed it off.
“Come inside, let’s make breakfast for everyone.” Brian offered his arm, but she ignored it, walking on flat ground like a balancing beam.
They walked through the sliding door into the open kitchen. A fruit basket sat on the island, Welcome Back and Congratulations cards littered the counters. Diane collected all of them and placed them in a small section on the counter. “The kids aren’t up, yet. Though on the bright side,” Brian grinned, “the kids aren’t up yet.” He slipped his arms around Diane’s waist. There was one thing she missed about home, she laughed to herself.
Soon enough, the stove was on full burn with diced bacon and tomatoes sizzling in a skillet with eggs. Footsteps rattled down the stairs and little hugs devoured Diane. “You didn’t get enough of these hugs done yesterday?” She scooped up her youngest and twirled around. “Oh! You’ve gotten so big the last year, I still can’t believe it!” Brian ran nearby as Connor began slipping out of her hold. She quickly realized the error and set her son down.
“Go sit at the table, kids.” Brian said, cautiously watching his wife’s movements.
“Breakfast will be done in moment, then your mom can tell you all about space!” The smallest one grabbed one of the chocolates attached to a welcome back card and hopped to the table.
“You alright?” He asked.
“Yeah, just takes some getting –“ Her phone rang out from her pocket. The tone was a bland, generic melody. Her work phone.
“Diane, just give it a day.” His shoulders slumped, watching Diane fumble with the touch screen.
“It’ll be quick – ‘This is Diane.’”
Brian rolled his eyes and started setting plates.
“Cpt. Olaya, this is Patrick Crysel.” His voice was hard – and after two years as head of the astronaut office it had every right to be.
“Good Morning, Commander. You’ll have to pardon me, I’m making breakfast with my family.” She said, lowering two slices of bread into the toaster.
“I’ll get right to it.” The disregard of pleasantries, though welcomed, was a bit jarring. “As you know we’re in the midst of a presidential transition, and national interests are being weighed.” Flashes of project Neuron popped in her mind. Of asteroid hopping through the solar system, of sustained colonies on Mars and Titan. This was it. Connecting the universe together. This was the call. She felt light, like her body was back on Station.
“The astronaut Corp is to be decommissioned, phased out by the end of the year and –“ Words like amendment, Management and Budget buzzed by, placing an emphasis on national interest. It was worse than the sky crashing down, it was rising up higher than her reach. Smoke began rising from the toaster. She looked back at her family and tears welled up, blurring them out of view.
“I’m – stuck here?”
The New Martian 