Welga’s cab drove through the front of a dust storm on its way from the Phoenix airport. I won’t miss this weather. Sand pelted her as she ran into the house. Her father stood in the kitchen, pressing tortillas.

He hugged her for so long, the masa started to burn.

She kissed him on the cheek and nudged him aside. “Get a drink and sit down, Papa. I’ll make lunch.”

She set her motions to be a little faster than baseline, but not too much. You can’t hurry good food. The fresh tortillas would make great enchiladas. A can of black beans in the cupboard and some ground beef and queso fresco from the fridge would make a tasty filling. She fried some onions with oregano, leaning over the steam with a sigh of delight. She put that aside, slipped the pan of enchiladas into the oven, and brought two bowls of salad to the sofa.

Welga glanced at her mother’s lab bench.

“She’d be proud of you,” Oscar said. He took a bite and made a contented sound. “Of your food, too.”

“Papa… what do you think about moving off-world?”

He raised his brows. “What would they do with an old man like me?”

“They have plenty of light-duty work up there, and you could handle it better than here. Microgravity will reduce your blood pressure, ease the load on your heart. They have therapies that might help you live longer, or at least more comfortably, but—if you take them, you can’t come back. It would be a one-way trip at your age.”

Oscar looked pointedly at the new outer walls of the house. “I just fixed that up.”

Welga studied her salad and said nothing.

“Space station, huh?”

“Yeah. Will you give it a chance? If you hate it, you can live with Luis in Chennai, but it’s not fair to him if I’m up there and you’re here in Phoenix. He’ll have to come running every time you need help.”

Oscar sighed. “But aren’t they all Buddhists up there?”

“Don’t worry, they won’t ask you to convert. They never asked me.”

“Huh.”

She savored the earthy zing of a radish.

“Would you ride the rocket up with me?”

“Of course.”

“Would I have to leave everything behind?” He stood and ran a trembling hand over Mama’s bench. “I’d like to bring something of hers with me.”

“I’ll ask.”

Welga checked on the enchiladas. Yes, they were done. What if she could enhance her sense of taste, like one of those chemical analysis bots? Would it make her a better cook? What could she do in the kitchen on the station?

As they sat at the table and ate, Oscar’s brows drew down. “I’ve lived here my entire life. I was born in this house.”