Rebecca
There was nothing wrong with what she was doing. She kept telling herself that. She told it to herself when she looked in the mirror as she got ready each day. She told it to herself every time Howard smiled at her. She told it to herself when they filled out the paperwork for the marriage license. She told it to herself when she sorted through what she could and could not bring with her. She told it to herself when she curled up to go to bed at night. She told it to herself in the strange, convoluted dreams that invaded her head when she did fall asleep.
It was not as if she were forcing anything on her soon to be husband. She had not even gone out of her way in order to meet him. It was not as if she had chased after him or gone looking for him or done anything to try to force the issue. That was all chance or luck or fate or whatever it was that her fiancé chose to call it (she had even heard him use the word blessing once). All she had done was go to work and smile at the man when she brought him his drink. She did that all the time. Her smile was always a little more sincere for the ones who did not ogle her as she walked toward the table, and he had been one of those. So, she had offered him her good smile, and that was all the "premeditation" that had existed on her part.
He had been the one that started a conversation with her. He had been the one that read in to the smile. He had been the one that kept coming back. He had just been a guy - a nice one, one of the ones that liked to be listened to and tipped well that she did not mind so much taking a couple of minutes out of her shift to humor. It was nothing. It was always nothing because the nice guys always got over whatever it was that had brought them into her bar in the first place and went back to their regular lives. She had not expected this to be anything different.
Then, he had sprung the news about the lottery on her. She had looked at him in confusion for a few moments before she understood what it was that he had said - she had never known anyone who had been offered a spot on a Pilgrimage before and the meaning of the word had not really clicked until he had pulled up the notification to show her on his plex. She had stumbled out some words about that being great or something of the sort without thinking of anything other than his visits (and the tips that came with them) would be ending. She had barely gotten the words (whatever it was that they had been) out before he was telling her that he wanted to take her with him.
The rest of that night was a blur; the next couple of days were a blur. Nothing like this had ever happened to her before. She would have thought that she was dreaming, but she had never dreamed of anything like what she was living. She had told him yes. She would be his wife. She would go to Terra Nova with him. What else was she supposed to say? What else was she supposed to do? He wanted to marry her. He wanted to take her with him. He wanted to take her out of a world that was limping along on its way to dying to a place that was going to be a second chance for actually living.
What type of person said no to that? If there was a type of person that would say no to that, it was not the type of person that she was. There was no reason to not go. There was no reason to not agree. There was nothing, of course, except the fact that in the normal course of things she never would have agreed to marry Howard. At least, she thought that she would not have. She told herself that she could not know that for sure. He was a nice man. He did not yell at her or have grabby hands. He looked at her like she was special. If there had been more time, she might have changed her opinion. If there had been more time, he might have grown on her. There was no way to tell what might have happened. It did not even matter what might have happened.
There was not more time. Things were not the way they had been when he was just a soft-spoken, good tipper who had found his way into a bar and settled in at a table in her section. He was a man who was leaving, and he wanted to take her with him. No one had ever wanted to take her with them before. That had to mean something. There was a lengthy list of reasons for her to go, and they outweighed any possible twinge of second thoughts that might come after her.
It bothered her when coworkers muttered under their breath about her snagging the opportunity of a lifetime. It bothered her when some of them clapped her on the back and told her that she had played him well. None of that would bother her if she were really taking advantage of him, would it? She did care - he was a nice guy, and she always liked it when nice guys sat at her tables. This was just making him a permanent fixture.
She was giving him what he wanted. She was making him happy. Getting out of this place made her happy. There was happy all around. What could be wrong with that? There was nothing wrong with what she was doing, and she was going to go through with it. All of the muttering voices in the world (the ones in her own head included) were not going to stop her.