I decided to get ahead on this story. A bit of context, I have an all-original novel involving a government agency that arranges marriages.

Anya's 17th birthday celebration was a dinner on the deck of the cruise ship Parthenope. She sat at the head of a table with Papa and Mama on her right and George Glooman on her left. The latter seat had been ceded happily by Becky, who sat between Demetrius and Damian Desmond. One of the honors was a glass of champagne, which by actual or psychosomatic effect set her to animated babbling. "You know what ticks me off?" she said. "Everybody in our class is getting engaged or getting married. And it's almost always to somebody else from Eden." She pointedly looked at Becky, who held hands with Demetrius. "Why can't people wait till college to see what their options are?"

On George's other side, Uncle Yuri sat with Aunt Fiona. He spoke up with a smile. "It's because a place like Eden hasn't changed," he said. Anya frowned, but showed interest. "Think about it. One hundred years ago, or even fifty, most people lived in villages and small towns. Anybody they knew when they were children would probably be someone they still knew when they were ready to marry. Then people started moving to new places where they met new people, but at Eden, students stay together. On top of that, their parents and families know each other and do business together. They get married because they are in contact with each other far more than anyone else."

He smiled and shrugged. "I did a report on it once, at my old job," he said. "There were actually allegations that students were being coerced into arranged marriages to further their parents' business dealings."

"No way," Anya said. "Nobody does that anymore. Right?" She looked at Mama, and blushed when she giggled.

"We got a few offers," Mama said. When Anya gaped, she added, "Oh, it wasn't like that. All they really wanted was for their boys to get some extra time with a girl. It's what I should have done for your Uncle Yuri..."

Fiona spoke up. "The abuses don't invalidate the system," she said. "Parents should know their own children well enough to decide who will be a good spouse for them. And what does the modern world offer instead? Turning adolescents loose to blunder into each other."

"Anya and I found each other," George said with a smile. He took her hand. "She showed me how to be a better man."

"Oh, stop," Anya said. "Seriously. Stop." She gently patted his hand.

As the dinner wound down, Anya moved toward the bow for more private conversation. Damian was the first to follow. "So, Anya," he said, "we're good friends, right?"

"Of course," Anya said. She did not have to read his mind to see where the conversation was going. "You're my best guy friend. Not counting Gloomy, of course. But he's, well, different."

"Thanks," Damian said, blushing mildly. "And you're happy with him, right?"

"Yeah," Anya said. "He's a good guy." Her expression was one she usually reserved for Becky when she talked about Berlint In Love.

Damian smiled wider, despite her indecisive tone. "We're all moving on anyway," he said. "We have another year, but the rest is vocational education. A lot of us will be studying abroad, or going off-campus for apprenticeships and stuff."

"Sure," Anya said. "The Chimera Institute wants me to join their psychology staff."

"Yeah, like that," Damian said. "So, here's what I wanted to tell you, and you're the first person outside the family… I'm engaged. Anyway, you could call it an understanding."

Anya smiled, quite genuinely. "Aw, that's awesome!" she said. She let her expression become a sly grin, while holding back her full powers. "When did you meet her?" Her critical expression returned as Damian flushed and fidgeted. She sighed. "Seriously? You let YOUR parents do that?"

"Well, it's like Fiona said, it's not bad," Damian said. "We've really known each other for years; I've told you about her. She lives in Nortica. Her father used to be an ambassador, so my Dad worked with him in the old days. We write, and we talk on the phone. We even send each other tapes. We just haven't had time to meet face to face. All our families said was that it was time to move forward. After this trip, I'm going to wait for her in Obda."

Anya gently touched Damian's cheek. In moments, months of hazy impressions came into focus. "I am glad for you, Damian," she said. "I think she's right for you." They embraced, both in tears.

After a time, Fiona approached. "So, you're back together with your boyfriend," she said.

"Yes," Anya said. "It's not a big deal."

"Maybe not," Fiona said. She gripped the same rail Anya leaned on. She felt the signature of her aunt's strange mind grow stronger. "I know. You're thinking, maybe you turned out like me. You want to believe you found the right one, and you're afraid it's because you couldn't get something better. For what it's worth, it happens to everyone. When you're young, you think you are the one who will never have to settle for just good enough. That's what I thought when I met your Papa. I was a lot older than you are now."

Fiona tapped her fingers on the metal. "What you're going to find is that there's two kinds of settling," she said. "One is comparing the man you can get to a really bad one, and seeing just how good good enough really is. Your Papa and your uncle and I all hope you never meet that kind of man. Another is seeing that the one you thought you wanted was never any better than what you already have."

She turned her head to look at Anya. The lights of the ship illuminated the right side of her face, leaving the left side already obscured by her bangs in still sharper darkness. "Your uncle is as good a man as your Papa," she said. "Trust me, I know what both of them did. And I still wouldn't give up one moment I had with either one of them. So if you can say that about a man you can get, go ahead and take a chance. If he's not the one for you, he just might be the reason you know the right one when you see him." Her heels clicked as she walked away.

That night, Anya lay in her stateroom. Becky was in the bunk below, furiously writing a note to Demetrius. "Ew, Becky," she muttered. She rested a hand on the bulkhead. She inhaled deeply as she tuned into her surroundings the way Mama told her. There was the rhythm of the ship, rising and falling with the waves. There was the background noise of hopes, dreams and loves old, new and still hoped for. And here and there were the more familiar traces of lovers whose bonds Anya recognized as at the threshold of telepathy: The contentment of Mama and Papa, whom she knew would be holding hands though they were in separate bunks; the fizzling, frustrated lusts of Becky and Demetrius; and the darker, desperate need of Fiona and Yuri, clawing and clinging as they spent themselves.

Suddenly, a voice came through like a firecracker in a cathedral: ANYA?

She withdrew her hand instinctively. After a moment, she touched the bulkhead again. "Gloomy?" she murmured aloud.

What she detected was as clear as his voice: "Yeah, it's me. I didn't know. Becky told me her family was arranging a surprise."

"I'm glad you're here," Anya said. "Ah, who's with you?"

"I'm alone," Gloomy said. "I was going to be with Emile, but he pulled out to spend time with his fiancé."

Anya sighed. "Gloomy, remember when you said you loved me?"

"Of course," he answered. "It… it's still true. I love you, I've always loved you! I always will!"

She smiled as she found her resolve. "Well… I love you too," she said.