Page 1 of So I Married an Alien
ChapterOne
Amara
The dayI make the call to the matchmaker isn’t too dissimilar from other days, but it is the three-month anniversary of the death of my cat, Elvis.It seems that was the last straw.
I’m tired of being alone.Finding a male partner on Earth is difficult, if not impossible, since RVS blew through our society, and nearly two billion men were wiped off the face of the planet in a matter of months.
Believe me when I say I did try dating other women, but it wasn’t for me.
There aren’t a lot of options, then, if a man is what you’re after.Most people who want one simply remain, well, partnerless.Very few even consider the Galactic Matching Program.My friends certainly gave me the side-eye when I mentioned it.
This keeps me from placing the call for a while.What would Marguerite and Fiona think when they found out?I know they’d judge me for being “desperate.”But what’s a girl to do when her cat dies and she feels like she has nothing left anchoring her to life?
Well, she calls up the alien matchmaker, that’s what she does.
The female-sounding voice on the other end is nice enough once she gets her translator working properly.I don’t have one, but she promises that my future husband, should I get approved, will come with his own and should have no trouble communicating with me.
I can’t believe I’m doing this.
They send me a long questionnaire, which I fill out as truthfully as possible.It asks some very invasive questions about my sex life, and I’m forced to admit that it’s basically non-existent.I have a very reliable dildo.
There are also questions about my work, how I spend my time off, my hobbies, and my preferred sleeping hours.
Once it’s submitted, I wait.
And wait.
And wait.
I go to the office every day, and come home every night, wondering when I’m going to hear back.I still haven’t told my friends about applying.I won’t unless I have to.
And then, after two months have trudged by, I get a call from an unrecognized number.I answer it quickly, as I have every spam call I’ve received since sending in my application.
“Greetings, Amara Costin.This transmission is to let you know that your application for the Galactic Matching Program has been accepted.Please wait for further instructions.”
A few moments later, a real person gets on the line.“Hello, Amara?”
Eagerly I answer, “Yes?”
“Your application has been approved.Roth’kar, who has been chosen for you, will arrive on Earth in three days, four hours, and thirty-two minutes.Please come early to fill out additional paperwork before your meeting time.”
I jot everything down as fast as I can, including my new husband’s ring size, and then the operator tells me goodbye without offering anything else.
Oh, god.I’m about to marry an alien.
They didn’t mention that the husband they sent me has four arms.I feel like the number of arms is an important thing to bring up when pairing you with a potential life partner.Would the extra arms have made a difference if I had known?I’m not sure.Of course, I did sign up to marry an alien, so I expected some differences, but I’ve seen very few aliens in person.
Said extra arms are folded across his chest as we stand there on opposite sides of the dimly lit meeting room, the lower pair hanging at his sides.The arms aren’t the most arresting thing about him, though.His skin is a bright bluish purple, like the night sky right after sunset.A pair of short stalks on his head twitch and bob as he regards me.Does he really haveantennae?
In the next room, we’ll get married, or so the matchmaker said.It’s really just a ceremony, and we won’t sign the official papers until the thirty-day trial period is up—er, actually, I think we’ll be using one of those fancy tablets all the aliens have.
Then we’ll officially be husband and wife, and he will earn his full residency on Earth.If we make it that long.
I hope we do.All I truly want is a partner at the end of this.I think we can make it if he’s here for the reason he says he is: to find forever.He must be, if he was willing to travel all this way just to be my husband.
I need someone as committed to this as I am.And I have to hope that the matchmaker knew what he was doing when he paired us up.
My groom is dressed in a smudged uniform that covers his shoulders and thighs, strapped around the middle with a belt.Underneath are a pair of loose leggings.It’s the same sort of thing the matchmaker is wearing where he stands between us, and the same thing that most aliens who visit Earth wear.
