Malyrian winters were a brutal ordeal, a three month slog through festive sweaters and drinks made out of things that should never be turned into drinks. Melora looked away from the party, away from Bob, and thought about the son who had beat her and found comfort in the fact that at least he had been jailed. Bob had put him there, she remembered. That’s why she was with him. He had been so helpful during that troubling time with that Jason child she was so ashamed to call her own. Flesh and blood didn’t mean much when that flesh and that blood were part of a mass murderer. How such a terrorist had ever come from her body was beyond her, really, and she was just grateful her friends were sensitive enough that they didn’t mention it. The part that had hurt her most was the corduroy vest he’d used as his terrorist flag. It had been her favorite, made him look so smart. She cried when she thought of him in it. Such a sweet, industrious child to grow into the monster they’d all come to fear as he rose the ranks of terror-power which had run so rampant in those dark days. Bob was with her now, and the people of Malyria had risen up and stopped it, but even so she remained haunted and reflexively hid her face in public.
They were singing. She didn’t know what about. There was nothing worth singing about, not to her, mother of the vile Jason. It was something she’d always have to live with. It wasn’t in her nature to forget things. She set her face resignedly, turning back to the bright lights of the party and the celebratory tree shrine, so like all the rest adorning the homes of Malyria this time of year. If only the trees could have prevented her son’s descent into the abyss of his own violence. They hadn’t. They’d let Jason go crazy and wind up a killer and in prison and who knew what else. She rejected their authority. It was too bad they were keeping Jason in solitary confinement. She made up her mind to confirm that situation the next day but after years of assuming it without correction it had to be the truth. Bob smiled at her, and she remembered their one-week anniversary was coming up soon. She desperately wanted to tell him she was pregnant only she wasn’t. She wondered darkly whether she should ever get pregnant again, or whether that might unleash another Jason into the world. No, she decided. It wouldn’t, not with Bob. And she’d do better, be a better mother, keep that tree nonsense out of his head and raise him a proper gentleman who loved coffee and was sweet and maybe a touch lazy. That’s what she wanted in a son, and she knew she could do it if only she put her mind to it. She wouldn’t raise another power hungry lunatic destined for the asylum. Maybe he’d even get off-world and make some new friends and something of himself in the galaxy at large. Just maybe he would, she was certain of it. She decided that very night to get pregnant. And she’d name the new boy James.
