A Mother's Concern
Posted on 2025, Sat Nov 22nd, @ 3:24pm by Lieutenant Tavi Renn
901 words; about a 5 minute read
I lean back in my chair with my legs extended, my arms crossed on my stomach, and my eyes closed. I’m not napping, Denobulans don’t nap, I am not even meditating, but I’m closer to the latter than the former. I’m just in the moment, getting the feel for my new ship, my new assignment.
I can hear the faint hum of the aquarium I’ve just set up. Getting the right balance of chemicals, temperature, and saltiness each time I move is always tricky, even with the tricorder, which I almost always carry. But it’s an enjoyable challenge that has come to be routine.
I am feeling relaxed and about to drop into a meditative state when my PADD begins to vibrate. I open my eyes and take it out of my uniform jacket pocket.
I was getting an incoming message.
I see who it’s from. I smile. Not a typical Denebolain wide smile, but a smile nonetheless. I move to my desk, remove the duffel bag I sat there and lower it to the floor.
Then I hear the voice. The voice that gives Starfleet admirals pause, the voice that creates fear, or at least respect from Romulans, Tellarties, and Klingons, to take a step back when they are in its presence. Her voice. Rema Renn. My mother.
I love my mother (all my mothers, for that matter) I do. But she can sometimes be intense. She is my biggest supporter and fan. At the same time, she frequently plays matchmaker or tries to intervene in my personal life, because she is “trying to make your life better, son.”
I am a trained psychologist and counselor. I have negotiated tricky alliances with varying factions and allegiances, often navigating proverbial minefields in doing so. One would think that I should be able to deal with my mother would be an easy task compared to those challenges.
One would be wrong.
“Tavi,” she greeted as I turned on the screen. Her smile was a wide one. “How are you doing, son?”
“I’m fine, Mom,” I tell her.
“Your father and I are so proud of you. Your newest assignment, all your achievements, everything you’ve done for the Federation.”
Her voice was full of parental pride, which I appreciated. If I did not say so already, I love her, and I know she’s sincere. I also know that, as Terrans would say, there’s another shoe to drop.
“Thanks, mom,” I said. “This was the assignment I wanted, the one I’ve worked for.”
“I know,” she interrupted me. It’s the perfect fit for your abilities and talents.”
I appreciated her enthusiasm; it was so typical of her. And I did manage not to roll my eyes, though that wasn’t the easiest of tasks.
Then the other shoe (I am still not sure where that expression came from. The only thing I know it it has a Terran origin).
“I am worried about you, son.”
“Against my training and better judgment, I asked, “What are you worried about?”
“You’ve got your professional life in the perfect place. You’re doing what you want to do. Playing a part in something bigger than yourself.”
I knew, or at least suspected, what was coming next, but I wasn’t going to make it easy for her. I didn’t probe, I didn’t pressure, I didn’t ask. I just waited.
“You have no one to share it with.”
“I have an entire crew,” I suggested. “I have friends.”
“That is not what I am talking about, and you know it.”
I sighed and let her continue.
“You are still single, and you’re how old?”
She knew how old I was. She was there when I was born. She was aware of it before I was. Still, I felt obligated to answer, I’m not sure why.
“29.”
“29,” she repeated, and still not a single wife, much less a full family.”
We had had this discussion before. More than once.
“Mom, you know how I feel about that, how I…”
Then it was her turn to sigh. “Fine, you have no husband either. It makes no difference to me.”
She wasn’t being entirely accurate. It was true that she didn’t care what gender I chose to love, but she did care. She cared very much that I find someone.
“That is not what I meant. Who I chose, when I chose them, is my business. No one else's. Not even yours.”
“But I am your mother.”
“Who I love very much and who continues to cross boundaries and try to interfere withmy personal life.”
“Are you seeing anyone?”
“Mom, I just got here. I haven’t had a chance.”
“And what about at your last posting?”
“It is complicated.”
“Complicated?”
“Yes. Complicated. And my business.”
What I really meant was no. But I wasn’t going to admit that to her.
“Can we just drop the subject?”
“For now,” she relented, “but I’d like grandchildren.”
“You’ve got nine so far.”
“I know, but I’d like more. Even if they’re adopted.”
I sighed. “Good night, mother.”
“But we haven’t finished our discussion.”
“We have. Good night.” I finished and clicked off the screen before she could say anything more.
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