I Do Love Him
After fleeing Chris' rooms, once she stood alone in the moving turbolift, Aalin closed her eyes and leaned against its wall. The painful moment replayed again and again in her head: Chris whispering another woman's name as his lips reached for hers.
Doors opening jolted her back to her surroundings; she didn't remember issuing a destination request. Deck Ten. Crew quarters section. Aalin entered her own then glanced around the studio space, at its beige walls, at the standard issue light grey furnishings. The atmosphere was hotel room. Small. Basic. Adequately comfortable. Impersonal.
Not home.
Every object her eyes landed on swelled isolation and loneliness: utility sofa, slim armchair, bistro-sized round table, desk, and bed. The small viewport was a luxury and appreciated, typically quarters this spacious on the outer hull were earned with seniority far above her few months of service. Yet multi-colored waves reflected by the warp bubble surrounding the ship didn't replace sunlight streaming through a window. Unlike the others on board, she had few personal items due to the sequence of events that brought her to Enterprise.
A wave of homesickness crested and crashed down.
She missed her airy, light-filled apartment furnished with pieces rummaged from open air-markets and hole-in-the-wall vintage shops with wares piled floor to ceiling in disorganized array. 'Oh you mean antique dealers, dear,' her grandmother had corrected. Ah, no, not exactly. Chris would appreciate the kitchen Grandmother insisted on renovating, Aalin mused in a thought woven with a combination of affection, frustration, and misery.
She missed autumn in Boston where she visited her grandparents every year when the leaves reached peak scarlet, orange, and yellow. Together they'd take long walks through the public gardens and on the weekends drive up the coast to Maine.
She missed hearing her father speaking for those without a voice, animatedly defending their rights in a courtroom. And, to her surprise, she even missed the formal cocktail and dinner parties organized by her parents, functions Aalin preferred avoiding. Tonight she'd welcome her mother's frequent critiques of clothes and hair, and of her career choices.
She especially missed rowdy sleepovers with her nieces and nephews. And ice skating on the commons. And snowball fights.
A last dinner with friends bubbled up in her thoughts. The day I met Chris. No not met, he and I weren't introduced that day, we never spoke to one another, rather attended the same briefing, the one for the first Varian mission. Via thin degrees of separation word had spread to Cecilia the flagship was in port and her Captain at the State Department. That evening Megan and Cecilia had tag-teamed questions about him. I deferred; they saw through my flimsy explanations. I assured mine was one of a sea of faces to him, quickly forgotten, and his path and mine wouldn't cross again.
I was hiding that the handsome officer had caught and held my attention.
The irony of this conversation elicited a strangled, tortured, brief laugh. Both encouraged me to …
Her mood plummeted further.
… to hook up with Chris.
Tonight Aalin longed for those same friends. She'd turn to them for solace. They'd ply her with cupcakes. Soothe her hurt feelings. Murmur agreement with her venting. Vigorously support all the next steps she contemplated.
Then they'd casually muse how Anja and Aalin sound very similar. Suggest the name confusion was an innocent mistake. Remind Chris was different than those who had hurt her previously.
But Megan and Cecelia were light years away and at this distance messages took two months to reach their recipients.
Aalin accepted she'd have to sort this out on her own.
But she felt raw, unsettled, and now dreaded the prospect of a restless and likely sleepless night. The walls of her quarters felt too close, too confining. Neither did a loud and crowded recreation area beckon. One place did entice and at this point in the duty shift rotation, was likely quiet and nearly empty. A quick check of the ship's calendar showed no scheduled services.
After splashing water on her face and smoothing her hair, Aalin left for the chapel.
ooooo
Her footfalls were carefully quiet when she entered. Eyes searched the room and Aalin sighed with relief; it was empty. She slipped into a chair near flickering candles. Her eyes closed and she inhaled deeply, slowly exhaling the breath.
Here in the stillness, for her, serenity felt tangible and few problems insurmountable.
Soothing colors of sage and cream dominated the walls and light wooden furniture of the chapel. Its lighting glowed low and soft. Tokens throughout the room left by the crew represented each belief system practiced on board. Aalin thought the mélange beautiful.
She took another deep breath and released it through her mouth.
Chris has others in his past.
Breathe, exhale.
So do I.
Breathe, exhale.
Intentionally hurting me is not within his nature.
Breathe, exhale.
His was simply an ill-timed and innocent mistake.
She lost track of time.
Breathe, exhale.
She faced the truth.
Chris confusing my name with another stung. But that's not our problem, merely a highlighter. Another day, before so much was at stake yet slipping away, we'd have laughed over it. Now we hold our breath when together, anxiously bracing for the next landmine to explode and erode our feelings for the other, widening fault lines between us into chasms. We're mired in a pattern repeating and never changing, closeness rended by deeds and harms often outside of our control.
A tear snaked down her cheek.
Aalin jumped when a throat cleared from behind. She hastily wiped her eyes, grateful for the dim lights.
"Sorry, my intent was to avoid startling you," a tenor voice apologized. "Have you come to play the piano?"
She shook her head. "Not tonight."
"More's the pity. As an amateur with way more enthusiasm than skill, I look forward to those private concerts." He paused. "May I sit with you for a bit?"
A tiny nod followed her initial hesitation. She relaxed, separating tightly clasped hands resting in her lap, straightening her posture, and composing her features in a neutral expression. The effect was poised approachability.
Francis Finn, the ship's Chaplin was gregarious, unassuming, keenly perceptive, and fascinated by the varied ways beings perceived the divine. A priest by training, he and his staff tended to all the myriad spiritual traditions represented in Enterprise's crew. They performed or oversaw services, sacraments, meditations, and rituals; as well as studying a civilization's religious practices during first contact and advising the mission team. With permission received, he claimed the chair to her right, comfortably settling into silence.
Several moments later Aalin said in a quiet voice, her eyes focused ahead rather than facing the priest, "Belief in a force or being or intelligence guiding us, bringing order to chaos, that there is … more … such faith doesn't come easily for me." She finished in her head, as it does for Chris.
Francis noted when she spoke the touch of sadness in her tone was quickly and deliberately eliminated. Her voice fell into its professional warm, clear, alto cadence with no accent.
"Yet there is something … centering for me … about a cathedral, a chapel, a church as if the hopes, fears, prayers uttered within over the years and centuries have embedded in its walls and linked into an energy that feels spiritual and sacred," she explained as her eyes moved around the room.
"Are your parents' believers?"
For the first time in their conversation, she made eye contact. "Catholicism is a tradition in my mother's family. My father was raised in the Quaker faith," she answered. "He went to meetings now and then when I was growing up and let me tag along. I liked the peaceful atmosphere of their waiting service. And appreciated their sense of stewardship and community. As well as the 'all I have is yours' aspiration."
The woman sitting by his side remained a mystery to many on board. This influence felt like a puzzle piece. "It's difficult to imagine William Matthews sitting quietly for a length of time," Francis said with a slight smile.
He heard amusement in her voice when she agreed, "It is rare."
When she spoke again the bemused tone had reverted to carefully modulated and her head was slightly bowed. "But tonight I question … Father Finn … do you think … constant obstacles in the path when reaching for something you want …"
He correctly heard someone.
"… difficult ones that hurt … is it possible those impediments are signs to back away? Nudges from a benevolent universe to let go in the best interests of all?"
She continued, "I was taught effort was key and came to believe consistent hard work and patience along with caring and a sincere desire to help could fix most things." Aalin shook her head. "How naïve I was. Am."
"I'd label that differently." He scratched his chin. "So I'm supposed to pretend this is an abstract theological discussion rather than the threshold of a very specific and consequential fork in your and the Captain's roads?"
He paused then encouraged, "Ignore the uniform and remember you're talking with a priest and confessionals are inviolable."
Aalin glanced sideways at Francis without raising her eyes,
With a slight nod he acknowledged her choice. "As a friend of our commander and a subordinate who deeply respects him, I appreciate the discretion. You're juggling confidences, and loyalties. But that's a lot of balls in the air alongside the decisions you're facing while simultaneously adapting to a new home and job as well as dealing with microscopic scrutiny from this large tight-knit crew."
He paused then said in his best imitation of an Irish brogue, or at least what a generations-bred Philadelphian considered his ancestor's native accent to be, "Piece 'o cake for a woman who faced down an army."
"It was a few soldiers, a couple of squads," she reminded with a faint frown. "Hardly an army."
"Maybe," he mused. "But I prefer the campfire version. Good stories fill these long dark nights."
"Will you indulge me, so I earn my keep?" he asked.
"Of course."
"Sometimes we don't see certain things until we're ready to see them in a certain way. Though I'd like to claim credit for the wisdom, that's a quote from a favorite movie. Watch it sometime, the handsome lead who happens to also be a priest will remind you of me. But I stray from my point. We have to be ready. This is true for faith. Or friendship. Or love. Or letting go of habits which no longer serve." Francis added, "Or healing."
Aalin remained quiet for several minutes, considering his words. "I'm unsure what you are advising."
Francis steepled his fingers, resting his chin on them. "In my humble opinion, advice is about the recipient and not the offeror's intentions, recommendations, or biases. My only part is saying the words which feel appropriate in the moment. Your needs are private and sole to you."
He smiled at her. "Grant another indulgence? I've wanted to ask this question since you first came on board."
"Go on."
"What was it like growing up as William Matthew's daughter?" His tone grew sheepish. "I'm a bit of a legal aficionado, or more accurately, an admirer of a certain civil rights attorney." His smile widened. "Okay, I admit, a groupie. And I have a compatriot on board. Una and I follow his every case and dissect his strategies."
"He is all you see in public and more. And truly believes in the causes he takes on," she answered.
"Well-rehearsed without actually sounding so. Kudos." Francis paused then shook his head. "Apologies, you must get that question a lot."
"Yeah." The corners of her mouth twitched up as she continued. "Having a well-reasoned argument at the ready was a useful ace in the hole when disobeying and found out. Which, in my case, was not infrequent."
"Hmmm, not sure I buy what you're selling, the rebellious part I mean," he said.
She didn't respond.
"Your father must cast a long shadow." Francis didn't expect an answer to this voiced speculation.
"Yes. My mother too," Aalin murmured in a rare admission. "And my brothers and sisters."
Francis rose. "Enough of my ramblings. You came for other reasons." He placed a hand on her shoulder. "I'm in my office."
"I do love him," she said softly. Her eyes were filled with affection. Then tears. "But my love brings Chris as much pain as happiness."
The priest's hand lightly squeezed her shoulder.
