Jennifer’s Apology
by Ken Barnett
Ensign Jennifer Sh’reyan, her gray-haired head buried in a padd, marched down the long, curved hallway of the Cerritos’s eighth deck. The bulkhead rumbled as the ship entered warp, distant stars elongating into rainbow rods of light. Other members of the crew strolled in and out of Jennifer’s peripheral vision. Alpha shift was ending shortly, so some people were heading to their duty stations to start the new shift, while others were leaving to enjoy their free time. Jennifer, being assigned to beta shift, was going to her duty station. So focused on reviewing her work assignments—ugh; holodeck waste removal—Jennifer didn’t register the staccato padding of jogging feet coming from the perpendicular hallway she was approaching. She turned the corner and collided padd-first into a crewmate wearing an identical red uniform.
“Oof,” Jennifer belched as she smashed into the other person. Stumbling back, she said, “Sorry. I wasn’t—”
“Yeah, sorry, I—”
Jennifer and the crewmate cut themselves off, staring at one another, their mouths agape. The crewmate was a human woman, dark of skin, curly hair pulled behind her head, a confident posture bordering on cocky. She was also the last person Jennifer wanted to bump into randomly. Jennifer had, in fact, spent the last two months actively avoiding her ex-girlfriend, Beckett Mariner.
Jennifer’s body temperature spiked and breathing became difficult, as if life support was on the fritz. The atmosphere in the hallway shifted from comfortable to tense. The other crew members populating the hallway, who all noticed the mood shift, speedily warped away along alternate routes to their destinations, none of them interested in sticking around for whatever conversation the two former lovers were about to have.
“Hey,” Jennifer said hesitantly.
“Hello,” Mariner said in a clipped tone.
Jennifer’s antennae drooped. Mariner, though not always emotionally honest, was most always emotionally expressive through her body language. But right now, she was as rigid and blank as a freshly fabricated duranium hull plate. Jennifer’s fear of this cold distance from Mariner was precisely why she had been avoiding this conversation. Not that she didn’t deserve such a reception.
Time to stop putting this off. After swallowing what little saliva remained in her mouth, Jennifer said, “So . . .”
“So.”
“Uh, long time no see?”
Mariner raised an eyebrow.
“I mean,” Jennifer continued, “I’ve seen you, obviously, while on duty, but we haven’t really interacted or, um, talked, or done stuff together since, well, you know . . .” Jennifer grimaced internally as she hugged her padd close. Stars! I haven’t been this awkward since I was a teenager. For goodness’ sake, I’m a Starfleet officer. Act like it! Be direct. Be professional. Be honest. Jennifer lifted her chin and met Mariner’s eyes. “I’ve been avoiding talking to you.”
Mariner opened her mouth, her sneer portending some snarky remark, but surprisingly, she paused, then sighed. “Yeah,” she said. “Yeah, I’ve been avoiding you, too.”
The two former partners lapsed into awkward silence. Mariner covered her mouth with a fist and cleared her throat. Following the gesture, Jennifer’s gaze settled on the collar of Mariner’s uniform. Her eyes grew wide as she belatedly noticed the new black pip pinned next to the solid gold one.
“Oh! Congratulations on getting promoted!” Jennifer said, a bit too loudly, a bit too cheerfully. She stifled a groan and pressed on. “You earned it. Good, uh, good job, and—and way to go, Lieutenant.”
Mariner smothered the black pip with her thumb, as if trying to bury the metal disk into the fabric of her uniform, and said, “Thanks . . .” Her gaze drifted passed Jennifer’s shoulder to the turbolift a few meters away. “Look, I’ve got biofilter cataloging duty with Tendi and T’Lyn. See you around.” She marched past Jennifer.
“I owe you an apology!” Jennifer blurted. She turned and found Mariner frozen mid-stride. Like a gradually rotating planetoid, the junior grade lieutenant about-faced. Mariner crossed her arms and regarded Jennifer with an expectant expression. Jennifer cleared her throat. “Right. I’m . . . I’m sorry, Mariner.”
“Good start.”
Jennifer winced, her antennae curling inwards. Her parents always told her to be specific when apologizing, otherwise the apology meant nothing. “When everyone thought—when I thought—you had torpedoed the Cerritos to that FNN reporter, I’m sorry I blew you off when you came to me trying to understand what was going on. I should have listened to you, talked to you about what was happening, helped you unpack it all, and tried to help you clear things up. That’s what a good—what a trustworthy—partner would have done. I shouldn’t . . . I shouldn’t have just assumed you’d gone rogue and bad-mouthed the crew.”
“You’re right. You shouldn’t have done that.”
A lump formed in Jennifer’s throat, but she forged ahead. “I never intended to hurt you. But I did. I betrayed your trust at the moment you needed my trust the most. And I can never take that back. I’m truly sorry, Beckett.”
And that was that. She had finally apologized. Regardless if Mariner accepted the apology or not, Jennifer could now properly mourn the relationship and, eventually, move on. Emotional exhaustion settled over her like a weighted blanket.
Mariner didn’t respond. She peered at Jennifer, her brows furrowed, her intense brown eyes searching. Not knowing what else to do, and with the silence threatening to fray her emotions further, Jennifer turned to leave. She made it three steps before Mariner spoke.
“Were you ever interested in dating me?”
Jennifer froze, going stiff as a glacier back on Andoria.
“The real me, that is. Or did you just want to date the self-destructive bad-girl Mariner everyone thinks they know so well?”
Jennifer didn’t turn around. Nor did she answer. She didn’t need to.
“. . . yeah,” Mariner sighed. “That’s what I thought.”
Jennifer squeezed her eyes shut at how defeated Mariner sounded. Defeated was not a term Jennifer would ever associate with Mariner, but that’s what her betrayal of trust had wrought on the woman.
“Look,” Mariner continued. “Next time . . . next time you date someone, date them for the person they actually are, not the image of them you have in your head.”
Jennifer turned to face Mariner. “I—”
Mariner was already at the turbolift. She stepped inside but didn’t turn around. The door whooshed closed.
To the empty hallway, Jennifer whispered, “I will.”
“You look lovely,” Jennifer said to her date.
“Oh, uh, thanks,” Meredith said, glancing at her modest orange sundress and pulling at the sides. “I never know what to wear on a date. Most of the time, I end up wearing my uniform.”
“Well, that makes sense.” Jennifer motioned after you into the holodeck. “You are rather dashing in your uniform.”
Redness tinted Meredith’s round cheeks, the color complimenting her dress. Jennifer smiled. Her stomach had been abuzz with anxious insects all day in anticipation of this date. So far, so good.
When she had asked Meredith out during their last shift together, Jennifer hadn’t been one hundred percent certain she was ready to start dating again. Her apology to Mariner had been four months ago. Jennifer usually bounced back quickly after a failed relationship, but this time was, well, different. She had done a lot of self-reflection in those four months.
Jennifer followed Meredith into the holodeck. The virtual space rendered a replica of Glacier Peak, a restaurant on Andoria situated atop the precipice of the massive Mari Doro glacier. It was a favorite program of Jennifer’s. She always dined at Glacier Peak at least once whenever she was home visiting family. Jennifer led them to a booth with a window overlooking the glacial cliff and the ice-encrusted valley below. Andor and its sparkling rings hovered over the horizon, bathing Andoria in reflected teal light. A single candle with a warm, orange flame rested at the table’s center. She and Meredith ordered cocktails and then silently perused the menu. When their waiter returned with their drinks, he got their food order and disappeared once more. Left alone with no one else but each other to focus on, the awkward silence that always threatened to ruin a first date started creeping between them.
“So,” Meredith said while fiddling with the toothpick from her cocktail.
“So,” Jennifer replied, also fussing with her drink.
“I’m surprised you asked me out. Didn’t think you thought much of me.”
Jennifer tilted her head, her antennae rising in silent question.
“What I mean is,” Meredith continued, “we’ve worked together dozens of times, and it’s always gone well. We work together well, I mean. And you’re a good officer, and I hope I’ve done a good job as an engineer, but, I mean, we’ve always just been, you know, professional. We’ve never shared personal information or chit-chatted or ever floated the idea of hanging out, let alone dating. Not that I’ve ever been opposed to any of that, of course, but—you—you get the idea. I’m—I’m going to stop rambling now.” Meredith took a long drink from her purple Nebula’s Mystery.
Fighting through her own nerves, Jennifer nodded and offered her date an understanding smile. “Well, I’ve always thought you were cute, and, as we’ve established, dashing.” There was that endearing blush again. “But I’ve only ever known you as the nerdy tinkerer who has always, yes, been an excellent engineer. I thought it might be nice to learn more about you.”
Meredith shrugged. “Nerdy, tinkering engineer pretty much sums me up.”
“I doubt that.” Jennifer rested her elbows on the table, chin in her palms. “Please. I want to discover the real you, the whole you, not the . . . not the image of you I have in my head.”
Meredith leant back, her brows furrowed, and studied Jennifer.
Jennifer’s heart raced as if it were speeding through all the warp factors. Stars, did I screw this up already? She had never been so open, so vulnerable on a date before, let alone a first date. But after how her’s and Mariner’s relationship ended, Jennifer wanted to be better, to be someone who was more sincere, to be someone her partner trusted, and to be someone who could trust in return.
Jennifer was seconds away from apologizing and telling Meredith to forget what she had said when the engineer nodded. “Okay.”
Jennifer’s antennae stiffened. “Okay?”
“Yeah. But only if I get to learn about the real you as well.”
Her antennae softening, Jennifer picked up her glass and held it out. “Deal.”
Meredith tinked her glass to Jennifer’s.
The two spent a wonderful evening discovering each other’s real selves.
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