Page 9 of So I Married an Alien
“Ah, a cat is a small animal,” he says.“You keep small animals in your home?Where is it?I have not seen it.”
“He died.”My throat closes up just thinking about Elvis.“I’d had him since I was a teenager.I guess it was just his time, but…”
I sniffle, holding the tears at bay.
“Gosh,” I say, waving a hand in front of my face.“Sorry.Didn’t mean to get all gushy about my cat.”
But Roth’kar is studying me intently.“What is that coming out of your eyes?”
I try to think of what he means, then realize a few tears must have slipped free.I wipe one off my cheek.“I cried a little.Humans do it when we’re sad.”
He blinks.“Fascinating.A physical reaction to your pain.”He shakes his head.“I’m sorry.About your ‘Elvis.’”
“It’s okay.It just made me realize how lonely I am.”I turn my attention to chopping the vegetables.“That’s why I applied for the Matching Program, I think.There was a hole in my life I was filling with Elvis, until I couldn’t any longer.”
Roth’kar tilts his head.“You wanted a permanent companion.”
That’s one way to put it.“Yeah.Someone who will stay with me… for a long time.”I brighten.“And someone who can use the toilet and doesn’t need me to empty their litter box!”
I think I might have earned a hint of a smile from the stoic alien.I’m rather pleased with myself as I put the food in the oven.
“I don’t know of thislitter box, but I can use a waste unit just fine,” he says.“Though you might have to teach me how.”
I remember the elevator.“Ourwaste unitsprobably aren’t as cool as yours.”
Roth’kar shrugs.“I would say ours are a normal temperature.”
When I snort, he gives me a quizzical look.
“Okay.Let’s go figure out the bathroom while that’s cooking.Seems like a good place to start.”
ChapterFour
Roth’kar
A fascinating creature,this human.Kindness radiates off her, and I enjoy watching the curve of her hip as she works over the counter making dinner.A sliver of guilt wedges itself in my chest at how earnestly she wants a partner.
“I have work tomorrow, but it’s Friday, and then we’ll be home free,” she says.
“And Friday is…?”
“Oh!Right.I forget you don’t know Earth things.”Her laughter is lively.“Friday is the end of the work week here.So I’ll be at my day job tomorrow until five, but then I’m off that night and the next two days.And we can do all kinds of stuff!”
Coming into this, I expected she would have work of some sort to pay for our living expenses.I had thought perhaps she’d be a farmer and I could help out in that way, but I’m not sure what her job entails.
“What do you do?For your work?”
She seems instantly repelled by my question, wrinkling up her nose.“I’m a paper pusher.”
“Paper pusher?”I repeat.“What benefit do you get from pushing paper around?”
“Just means that my job feels pointless.”She sighs in a way that’s distinctly bored.“It’s fine.I like the hours and the benefits, and I don’t work too hard.But it gets old.”
Perhaps I understand even better now.She is seeking satisfaction in her life and isn’t receiving it in her place of work.
“Drudgery,” I say.My own work, when I could get it, was often drudgery.Sometimes I cleaned out old pipes, or hauled scrap from one place to another, or got paid to pick through said scrap.I always walked away from those jobs with shredded hands.
She nods.“Yes, drudgery.It’s the same thing every day.I wouldn’t mind it if, you know, it felt worthwhile.Paying for this apartment.”She gestures around us.“Making dinner, stuff like that.I thought it would be better if there was someone waiting for me at home.”
