Kedri steps across the threshold of home. Today's shift at the cannery was fairly short: it's still early afternoon.
She closes the outer door of the entryway, turns on the large air purifier, washes her hands in the entryway's sink, changes her clothes into something less permeated with ambient fishiness (she happens to like the scent of fish, but it's possible to take it too far), turns off the air purifier, washes her hands again, and goes through the inner door with a minimum of inward pollen leakage. It wouldn't do to poison Rialu.
The process has long since been ingrained into habit, and she doesn't pay much conscious attention to it. Mostly, her mind is on the little bag inside one of her house-outfit's belt pouches, its weight settling against her hip when she puts the clothes on.
Tomorrow is the summer solstice: Tenida's birth season. Tomorrow, her wife turns 32.
Tomorrow will be a day of public festivities. They will dance and sing in the streets together, Tenida wearing the silver circlet marking her as one of the summerborn guests-of-honour.
Today, though, is a good day for a quieter celebration.
