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He'd resumed his previous place on my shoulder and was usually there. It turned out that on his home world his people had established a standing partnership with a much larger native species, one with little brainpower but lots of muscle, and they usually lived as pairs; Asmedogh's kin tended to ride their beasts around, and he liked the field of vision it gave him. When I was cooking it gave me a second pair of hands, which was occasionally convenient.Most of the cooking was for me, though; Asmedogh still preferred his food raw. I did some shrimp scampi Wednesday, and he liked it OK but wanted it interspersed with plenty of raw vegetables. Friday I made chicken, which he didn't care for at all and we stuck with the greens for him—plus carrots and beets, he liked them both.Friday was also the day that Camilla called with details about Sunday's audition. It would be in the main house at 10:00 a.m.; they'd be striking the Turandot set later in the day. We'd use the rehearsal piano and. Too frequently in fact.I had sat by and watched while Monica dated but never had the nerve to step up myself and approach her in that way. I dated too, but never had a lasting relationship. That's probably because my mind was elsewhere. Elsewhere just happened to be Monica. The college years went by and we kept up our routine, study partners and best of friends through the remainder of the fours years of school. We hurtled toward graduation focused and intent on reaching our goal, emerging on the other side to find ourselves embarking on our careers. Jobs that thrust us into unfamiliar territory amidst unfamiliar faces and environs. Those same jobs would soon separate us, sending us toward opposite sides of the country as we pursued our careers. Yet my mind remained elsewhere and the years passed by. A few years later, a card arrived in the mail. It was from Monica, I'd recognized her handwriting, having memorized her cursive style. Any other day I'd have been delighted to have.
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