Sunday Stories – Holiday Traditions

My Sunday story – once again stretched past Facebook tolerances so here is this year’s version of a holiday story, and very best wishes for a happy holiday season to you all.

 

Holiday Traditions

 

“Excuse me, Doc?”

I looked up from my tablet, not sorry to have someone interrupting year-end inventory. No matter how smart the system was supposed to be, I still had to count the syntha-skin patches and analgese-tab bottles by hand because it never added up quite right. The whole process was a pain in the butt.

This big, young guy seemed vaguely familiar. Which was an anomaly, because the resident population of the station barely topped two hundred and I knew them all too well, after three years as the local medico. And while we got a dozen transients going through the station at any time, I seldom met those strangers even once.

Then it clicked. “Toma. What brings you here? Are you injured?” I’d seen him for his intake physical three months back, but he’d apparently been healthy since then. “Sick?”

He shifted from foot to foot as if uncertain. “No. I just wondered… Liss said you had some soba oil here, and…” He held up a small glass jar. “Is there any chance I could get some?”

I looked at his face, which was no hardship. Wide square jaw, straight nose, well-shaped mouth. But no sign of the rebreather-mask rash that I generally dispensed soba oil for. Anyhow, this guy was our new approach-controller and should have no reason to go into hydroponics or wear a rebreather. I said cautiously, “If you’re looking for a lubricant of some kind, I have better options.” The general store sold every sex aide known to man and a few besides, but some guys were shy and Mari in the store was a gossip.

Toma’s cheeks and neck flushed red. “No, nothing like that. I, well, I just need a little. For a… thing.”

Station life was mostly very safe and a lot boring. This guy showing up was the most interesting moment I’d had all week. So even though medical supplies were supposed to be dispensed for clear medicinal purposes only, I could fudge the year end inventory to cover it. “I guess, sure. Just promise you won’t try to drink it or, I don’t know, give it to someone else.” Because it occurred to me this might be for a practical joke, or a get-back for some kind of new-guy hazing. Soba wasn’t toxic but it would give a person a bad case of the runs if eaten. I didn’t want to spend two days nursing someone through induced diarrhea.

Toma looked shocked, though. “No! Of course not. It for a celebration thing, a family tradition, but my family’s a long way from here.”

“Celebrating with soba oil.” I pushed a picture of him slicking up acres of smooth tan now-shiny skin out of my mind. “Well, as long as no one eats it, I guess that’s okay.” I set down my tablet and went over to the supplies cabinet, squatting to get to the lower shelf. “Here.” The oil came in a graduated flask but I generally dispensed it by hand. A little slop in the quantities could go unnoticed. “Hold out your container.”

He came over to me and unscrewed the small lid. His hand shook as he offered the open jar.

I wrapped my fingers around his wrist to steady him. He jolted at my touch and snapped his gaze up from the oil. Bright, bright blue eyes met mine, his pupils wide. His lips parted and a flush climbed his neck.

I let go quickly. “You know what? Set the jar on the counter.”

His laugh came wry and half-suppressed. “Probably smart.”

I turned the flask lid to the smallest spout, to give myself time, and said, “You gonna tell me about this tradition?” I used my warmest voice, cultivated in the three years I’d been out of med-ed, and kept my eyes on the thin stream of golden oil spiraling into the jar.

He hesitated, and I though he might refuse, but then he said, “It’s our holiday called Candlemas. We would celebrate it a week before Year-End.”

Year-End was arbitrary these days, with time-dilation in ship travel and the way we were spread across the universe. But every human group counted time in years, and most stuck to the Earth-year standard, unless they were on a planet with a near-compatible rotation. The seven-day week was even more of an artifact, but every time someone proposed changing it the consensus had been, “Don’t fix what ain’t broke.” So I knew what he meant. Today was seven days to station Year-End. “So this is Candlemas.”

“Yes. And I know it’s stupid to cling to old traditions—”

I stopped him with a firm shake of my head. “Starting somewhere new is hard. It’s healthy to give yourself touchstones from your previous life, as long as they’re happy touchstones. Tell me about Candlemas.”

I dared a glance at him. His eyes lit up, bright and warm, and his gorgeous mouth curved in a soft smile. “It was the big holiday for us back home, every year. I mean, Ascension Day and Year End were fun, but Candlemas was the one, especially for the kids. I grew up on a trade ship. A small freighter, family-run, you know. For Candlemas, we would each have a family member to give a gift to. Handmade, because it was the time you spent that counted. We would drape the cafeteria in red and green fabrics, and hang little white lights. Mama would make food that didn’t just come out of the synth, and Papa would buy one thing we all wanted. One year, it was a cat.”

“A cat?” We had a few on the station, expensive, pampered and kept in their human’s quarters because the ability of cats to get in where they were not wanted and cause disasters was a legend from the first days of space travel. “Lucky you.”

“A black one. Nighthawk. After a while, we called him Bozo.” Toma chuckled. “Anyhow, after dinner and gifts, we’d all gather together in a circle. Mama would give us each a candle, except the littlest ones. Getting old enough to hold your candle was a big moment. She would light them all from her master candle, and then we’d sing a song, and blow them out together. And make a wish.”

“Sounds lovely,” I said, responding to the nostalgia in his voice.

“Yeah.” He sighed. “I couldn’t find any candles on the space station, though.”

“Well, no.” Open flame was not an approved recreational option, here in a small tin can in orbit around a world with no breathable atmosphere.

Toma nodded. “So I figured I’d just let it go. Pretend I never heard of Candlemas. Or just sing the song and make the wish. Except.” He pressed a hand to his chest, and a damp sheen filled his eyes. “I had to leave home, you know? If I want a relationship, I couldn’t stay with family forever. Mostly, we find lovers ship to ship, or on a station or port, but I never connected with anyone. I needed off and this station needed my skills, so I jumped. Except I miss my family so damned bad. I’ve never been truly alone in my whole life.”

Twenty-four Standard years, if I remembered his file correctly, five years younger than me.

“Never even had my own room and now my damned suite echoes around me, and it’s Candlemas, and I don’t know if I can stand it.” He bit his lower lip and looked away.

I eyed the small jar of soba oil. Among its other properties, it would burn, slowly. “Um, the oil.”

Toma flushed redder than the first time. “I read where if you put a thread of procotton into soba oil and let the oil wick up, you can light the end of the thread and have a tiny flame.”

“Like a candle.”

“Yeah. I bet it’s against regulations to misuse your supplies, though. Never mind, I shouldn’t have asked.” He turned as if to go, leaving the jar where it was. The slump of his wide shoulders made my chest ache.

“Wait.”

He froze at my quick command. “Are you going to report me for supplies misuse?”

“Huh? No.” I wasn’t the psych for the station, thank God, but even I could see Toma was hurting. “I was just thinking.” The suggestion rolled out of my mouth unplanned. “Sounds like Candlemas is usually not a solo affair. You got another little jar like this, and want some company?”

Toma took a fast breath and whirled to face me. “Another jar?”

“I’ve lived on a planet. I’ve seen candles.” Although only once. “They’re pretty. Wouldn’t mind seeing another. And I could join you. Bring a red fabric drape for the wall, perhaps, like you said?”

“You would do that? I mean, it’s not your holiday.”

“Does that matter? Is it a personal religious observance?” The Diaspora had turned many folks away from organized religion but a wide range of faiths cropped up here and there, often in isolated groups. I could imagine a family ship being one such.

“Heck, no, not religious.” Toma grinned. “It’s a family and friends thing. If you really wanted to?”

“I do.” I said firmly. “I have another hour on duty. I could come by your suite after if you like? And bring the oil.”

“That would be—” Toma cleared his throat. “That would be splendid. Yes. See you in an hour.”

“Hour and a half. Wait,” I said again as he headed for the door. “Your suite number?”

“T-27.” He grinned, an expression so bright I couldn’t help grinning back. I probably grinned at the open doorway for half a minute after he left, before I pulled myself together to finish filling the little jar, and then completed phase B of my inventory.

 

***

 

I showed up outside T-27 about ninety minutes later, second-guessing all my choices. I’d dressed in my best sleeksuit, in honor of his holiday, but maybe this wasn’t a dress-up kind of holiday. I had a red fleece throwblanket over one arm, and a bag clenched in my other hand, stuff in my pockets—

The door opened and I was glad I’d dressed up. Toma stood there in an electric blue sleeksuit that highlighted his lean muscles, proof he didn’t slack on his gym time. He wore a sparkly green vest over it and his eyes looked turquoise in the hallway light. “Come in!” He held the door open. “I wasn’t sure you would come.”

“I promised, didn’t I?”

“Yes, but, I figured you might be just humoring me.”

“What kind of doctor would I be if you couldn’t believe me?” I quipped.

For some reason, the wattage of his smile dimmed slightly. “Right. Come on in, Doc.”

“You should call me Nic. I’m not on duty.”

That brought his grin back. “Sure, thanks, Nic.”

His suite looked a lot like the others intended for single folk— a small front room with a lounger, a vid screen on the wall, a table and two chairs, a food prep counter, and a pair of doors that no doubt led to a small bedroom and a fresher room. I didn’t spot much in the way of personal touches. A small vid screen on the table circled through some personal photos— five-second stills of adults and kids in a variety of poses. A blue blanket lay draped over the back of the lounger. Otherwise, the look was generic.

On the plus side, that left one of his walls unadorned.

I set my bag down by the door and shook out the red fabric. “Here, give me a hand.”

“How?” Toma shut the door and followed me to that blank wall.

I held up the fabric against it. “Hold your side there.”

When he complied with a bemused look on his face, I dug in my pocket and pulled out one of my small supermagnets, slipping off its blocking cover. The wonder of magnetism pinned the top corner of fabric to the metal wall with a click. I got out another and placed it ten centimeters to the left along the top edge of the throw. Then another.

“Oh! That’s a thought. I like it.” Toma held the blanket steady.

When I’d done most of the top, Toma took the magnet I held out to him for his corner. His fingers brushed my palm and I shivered.

Too long since I touched anyone in a non-medical way. I reminded myself I was here for a new friend, to raise his spirits. Nothing else. Unless he wants something else.

Toma clicked his magnet into place and stepped back, eyeing the drape of rich red on his wall. “It looks bright and festive.”

“Happy Candlemas? Do you say that?”

“Joyous, usually, but happy works.”

“Good.” I scooped out the other dozen magnets and passed him some. “Let’s pin down the sides a bit.”

When we’d done that, and he’d handed me back the little covers to stow in my pocket, I touched my wrist controller. “Now watch.” I tapped the display and pinpoint lights inside the magnet heads all turned on, a sprinkle of tiny white stars across the red fabric.

“Ooooh.” Toma’s sigh and the wide darkness of his eyes pleased me.

“You said red and green with white lights. Sadly, green’s a bad color for me.”

“This is perfect.” Toma stared at the lights for a moment, then turned to me. “I can’t cook like Mama and I don’t have the facilities, but I coaxed the food factor to produce cookies something like hers. Would you like one? And some caff to drink?”

“I never turn down a cookie.” I shifted my bag to the small table and sat in the chair he pulled out for me.

Toma placed small plates in front of both seats and set a round, spice-smelling cookie on each one, then added cups of caff.

“The candle.” I dug in my bag and got out the small jar of oil. After unscrewing the top, I lowered in a narrow strip of umbilical tape with a drape clip tied to the end. “I looked up oil lights and this is how they showed the wick.”

“That’s great, thank you. Wait.” He rushed over to a cabinet set underneath the lounger. Sliding the little door aside, he got out another similar jar. “Is there enough oil to make two? I made a wick, though it’s not as good as yours.”

“Sure thing.” I’d overfilled the jar with a second in mind. We worked together to pour half the oil into the second jar and he lowered in his wick, a heavy thread tied to a metal pin.

Toma glanced at me. “You think it’ll work?”

“Won’t know till we light them. The wicks need to soak up the oil.”

He gestured to my chair. “Sit, then, and have your cookie. Food first, and talk. Gifts, except we’re not doing those. Candles come last.”

I eased into the chair and broke off a bite of my treat. The texture was a bit chewy but the spice mixture made me hum with appreciation. “Wow, this is good.”

“Yeah?” Toma took a bite of his own. “Mama would know how to change the cook time to get them fluffy but the taste is right.”

“Sounds like you were really close to your family. But now you’re living here?” I raised an eyebrow but left an easy out to just say yes, if he didn’t want to talk about it anymore.

“I was. Still am, except crossjump messages are damned expensive and it’s hard to stay in touch.” He looked pensive, nibbling on the edge of his cookie. “We’re a family ship, so if someone wants a relationship, a partner, even a bit of private adventure, most of us have to get off. Some bring their lovers to us, of course. Trade and trade about. Damned place is so full of my sibs, six of them older sisters who brought husbands and wives to us, that I thought I couldn’t wait to strike out on my own. But it’s hard to meet people when you’ve spent your first two decades around family. Hard to talk to strangers.”

“You seem to be doing fine right now.” I watched the tip of his tongue chase a crumb across his full lower lip and reined in my thoughts firmly.

“You’re easy.”

“Oh, thank you.”

He choked a laugh. “To talk to, I mean.”

“I’m easy in other ways, too,” I said, just to put it out there. “For a guy like you.”

“A guy? What about women and NBies?”

“The more the merrier. I’m as pan as Dionysus.”

“Who? Do I know them?”

I chuckled. “An old, old saying. Pan and Dionysus were similar superheroes or something, pre-Diaspora.”

“Ah.” He took a bigger bite and chewed, his expression pensive. “It’s funny how everyone speaks Standard, but there are so many words and accents and things that don’t carry over place to place. Or ship to ship.”

“Standard always gets warped locally.”.I’d had a long lecture on the topic from a linguistics wonk who’d spent a few weeks on the station a couple of years back. She’d been tracking the flow of language across human space, and she’d been a good lay, too. Our little station was too boring to keep her long, though. I remembered her favorite local example. “Like, here on Remus 10 Station, if I say someone ‘biffed it,’ we all know what I mean.”

Toma frowned. “I don’t.”

“You haven’t been here that long, I guess. But residents know the legend of Biff Stonmeyer and the great docking disaster of 2711. If you biff something, you’ve destroyed it through total ineptitude.”

“Good to know.” He cocked his head. “Will you tell me the story? I’d like to know.”

“You really want old Jaks to tell you. He can do it justice, voices, sound effects and all…” I hesitated, but I wanted to hear him laugh. “So, Biff Stonmeyer was actually a man in your job, an approach controller for the station back when it was new. New-ish. He was also a man who fermented king-fruit on the side and sold the liquor, and liked his own product.”

“Oh, dear.” A smile had begun curving one side of Toma’s lips.

“Right. So picture this. In the controller chair in ops is Biff, a little more tipsy than any man on duty should be. Incoming to the docking pylons are a Nathian freighter with a borked right front thruster, a playboy yacht with a wealthy party girl who’s sure she never should have to wait for anyone else’s turn, and a transport with a hold full of live rabbits whose stasis containment is not as stable as it should be…”

“Rabbits? Small furry meat-and-textile creatures?”

“The very ones.” By the time I’d finished describing the disaster that left pylons 4 and 6 bent, a yacht peeled open stem to stern by a freighter nacelle, demanding all hands to rescue the owners and crew, and a transport buried nose-deep in Hydroponics 3, releasing a swarm of rabbits into the greens-farming, Toma was snorting with laughter.

“And then, since the station adults were frantically busy, all the kids were deputized to capture the loose rabbits beyond the pressure doors. Except two of the kidlings thought the bunnies were cute, and they hid some, male and female both, in the vent duct for hydroponics. Everyone thought the missing bunnies had been lost to the collision. Until two months later, a nest of baby bunnies fell out of a mis-latched overhead grate onto the head of the Freedman ambassador.”

“Oh, wow.” Toma clutched his belly. “Freedmen have no sense of humor. Dad wouldn’t even hire to them by the time I was fifteen, because every error is treated as a killing offense.”

“No humor whatsoever. And given that the baby bunnies peed and pooped on said Freedman’s head on the way down, in fright, poor things, his entourage were the only people not rolling in the aisles. Negotiations failed badly. Which is why, when we say you biffed something, we mean it was baaaad news.”

“Oh wow. Right. Biffed. I’ll remember that.”

“Pray you never hear it.” I grinned and slurped down my caff, setting the empty cup by my plate.

Toma grinned back and met my gaze. Something heated passed between us. He slid his hand across the table so our little fingers touched. “You said you like guys?”

“Intimately. Deeply.” He groaned at my pun and I laughed. “Yes, although I also take no for an answer without offense, if you just want to be friends.”

“I need friends, but it’s been a long time since I met someone I wanted to touch.” He ran the tip of his finger over the back of my hand. “I’d be happy if more than friends was on the table.”

“It sure could be. If it won’t disrupt your Candlemas?” I wasn’t sure what his holiday observance entailed. Pretty good bet on a family ship, it wouldn’t be an orgy.

“Oh. I almost forgot.” Toma turned toward the constellation of small lights on the wall, and the eagerness in his gaze went soft and nostalgic.

“We can wait. What comes next for the holiday?” I finished the last bite of my cookie.

“Candles.” Toma got up, rummaged in the low cabinet, and returned with something small and silver in his hand. “Here. I light them, then we blow them out together and make a wish.” He set the two little jars side by side in the center of the table and flicked the device in his hand. A tiny flame sputtered and then grew on my thicker wick. He moved to his own, but had to struggle harder to get his thread to catch. I was feeling smug when a loud beep overhead startled me.

I looked up. “Toma? You did pre-alert the fire suppression system to turn off? Right?”

“The what?” He looked up too.

At which moment, with a shrill buzz, the ceiling nozzle nearest to us let loose with a cascade of white foam. I got my eyes closed just in time, through not my mouth. Bletch! Suppression foam exploded outward, half-smothering me in the odd dry-flake texture before I could jump back. I stumbled clear, swiping at my face until it felt safe to open my eyes.

Toma stood there at the table, foam from head to foot. White heaps mounded on the table and layered the floor all around us. Somewhere under that, two small candles were very thoroughly extinguished.

Toma was chanting under his breath, and it took me a moment to realize he was reciting every swearword a dockhand might know. Then, in the middle of “slime-horking shitball” he sneezed. Loudly, and then again, and then in a fit of sneezing that at least shook him clear of most of his foam.

The household system beeped once more. “Open flame extinguished. No hot spots detected. Call to emergency services aborted.”

“Thank fuck,” I muttered, because this was not a dignified look for a doctor and there was a call-out fine for stupidity too.

Another fit of sneezing bent Toma over.

“Foam up your nose?” I asked.

“Allergic,” he gasped between sneezes. “Aaaaaaaah-choo.”

“How badly?” I demanded because there was a whole range of responses in that “allergic” category and I didn’t have my kit with me. “Shocky anaphalaxis allergic?”

“Nope.” He waved a hand at another sneeze. “Just this. I’m ridiculous. So sorry.”

“We need to get you into a shower,” I told him. “And then do a good suction-clean of your front room.”

“I’ll take care of it.” He blinked sadly at me. “Jeeks, what a mess. I’m so, so sorry. You were so kind. I’ll understand if you don’t want to call me again.”

“What again?” I asked. “The evening’s not over yet. Yeah, we’re going to have to do without the candle blowing out part of Candlemas, but I made a fast wish when the foam hit.”

“You did?” Toma coughed and rubbed his face hard. “For what?”

Reaching slowly for the snapstrip of his vest, I said, “It would be easier to show you. Which door’s the fresher room?”

Toma didn’t move away as I ran a finger down the sparkly green vest and parted the fabric across his chest. Sighing, he pointed at the lefthand door.

“Okay. So we’ll strip off your clothes and you go and—” I paused through his bout of sneezing. “—and take a very thorough sonic shower. Get all the foam off you, and find a clean robe. Then we can go to my place, which isn’t foamed to hell and gone, and I can give you an allergy-blocker. And once you stop— Hah. Once you stop sneezing, we can invent a new Candlemas tradition that’s safe for space stations.”

Toma rubbed his eyes. “You’re really not going to just ditch me after this… this biff-up?”

“Oh, my dear Toma.” I went over, threaded my hands in his foam-flecked hair, and delivered a fast kiss to his lush lips before the next sneeze hit him. “This isn’t biffed. It isn’t even half-biffed. Suppression foam cleans up, allergies can be stopped in their tracks, we’d already finished the cookies so no losses. Now get naked right there, for cleaning purposes only, of course. We still have a long night waiting for us.”

He began stripping with a bit of seduction, cocking a hip at me, but then snorted hard and gave up the sexy poses for speed. When he was naked— and a wonderfully fit naked— he waved awkwardly at the fresher door. “Okay, I’ll just go get cleaned up.”

“You do that. I totally won’t watch your ass as you turn around.”

That got me a wobbly smile. He ducked through the door and I heard the soniscrub come on.

All these bachelor units were about the same, which meant his suction-unit plug was by the doorway and the hose was in the small front closet nook. I hooked up and deployed the sucker for a fast first pass, rescuing the candle jars from the nozzle and running it at low intensity all over my clothes and hair. Not as good as a soniscrub, but enough to keep me shedding flakes all down the hallway.

I had the worst of the foam cleaned before the scrubber shut off. I put away the hose and stuck my hands into the kitchen sonic, got them as clean as they could be, in case I had the chance to touch Toma. A minute later, Toma eased out of the fresher room, a thin silken robe clutched around him. “You’re still here! And you cleaned. You didn’t have to do that.”

“Just a head start. I’ll give you enough meds to get you through a full clean tomorrow. But for tonight…” I crooked my finger at him. “Come on. My place.”

Toma held the robe close across his chest. “I should get dressed.”

“You could. But my place is just a dozen doors down, T-19. Odds are, we won’t even meet anyone between here and there.” I laughed as he stifled another sneeze. “I want to get some meds on board you ASAP. Unless you have something effective here?”

He shook his head. “Not like I was expecting suppressor foam to land— aaaah-choo— on my head.”

“My place it is then. I can lend you clothes to go home in, if you want.” I held out a hand.

Toma came to me and linked his fingers in mine, but still looked at me sideways. “But what if someone sees us?”

I squeezed his hand. “They’ll be jealous as hell of me, and I’ll be smirking. Is that okay?”

He stared into my eyes. I let him look his fill. After a moment, he nodded. “Very okay.”

“Excellent. Come on, let’s keep the celebration going.”

Toma let us out of his suite, then finger-pressed the bio lock on the doorframe without pulling his other hand from mine.

“This way.” I steered us the right direction down the hall. “So close we’re practically neighbors. Can’t believe I haven’t bumped into you before now. But I’m glad I did tonight.”

I finally got a better smile from him. “Me too.”

“But next Candlemas, we should use fake flames and just switch them off when we wish. I’m sure there’s a dispensation in the holiday rules for orbital stations with hair-trigger firefighting.”

Toma stopped short, his grip on my hand jerking me to a stop as well. “Next Candlemas?”

“Sure. That’s a year from now, right? Or does the date float?” Some holidays did. “You are planning to stick around Remus 10 that long?” There was more worry in my tone than I could account for.

Toma blinked, sneezed, blinked again. And then he grinned, a sight to warm my heart. “Yeah, good odds I will.”

“Great. Then we’ll get to repeat whatever traditions we come up with tonight.” I grinned back. “We should make it a good list.”

“You’re not what I expected in a station doctor.”

“I’m just a guy right now. I’ll morph back to doctor when I give you the allergy blocker, but other than that, I want to be just plain old Nic with you.”

“Not so plain.” Toma ran a fingertip down my sleeksuit and pinched where it crossed my nipple. I shivered for him. “And far from old.”

“But with you?”

“Yep.” He tugged on my hand and started us back down the empty hallway toward my door. “Blocker for me, sonic scrub for you, and then some Candlemas traditions I won’t ever tell Mama about. Sounds like a plan.” He laughed. “I guess I’m not sorry I quarter-biffed the celebration tonight.”

“Eighth-biffed, slight-biffed, microbiffed.” I nodded. “Now if you want to talk about true biffing, let me tell you about the time my predecessor’s mentor, who was getting on in years, and had not had cataract regen when they should have, misordered a fornico additive in place of the fluoride additive for the station water supply.”

“Fornico? Like the Nathian aphrodisiac?”

“Exactly like.” We walked the last fifty feet to my door, and I treasured Toma’s giggles as I laid out the unfortunate effects of dosing a third of the station’s residents with an aphrodisiac before the mistake was noted. Watching his lips curve and the humor come and go on his gorgeous face, I made a vow— I would spend the next two hours establishing traditions that would keep Candlemas this sweet man’s favorite holiday forever, in a whole new sexy way.

 

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