Page 105 of I Think I’m in Love with an Alien

Seeker: Yes.

Stargazer: OMG, he doesn’t even deny it. Total keeper, Jen.

Jeneticist: I think Friendsgiving could be awesome. My mom will probably guilt me but it would be even worse at Christmas.

SquidHead: Big same. I’m in for Friendsgiving.

JazzyPlum: I think I can make it work too. 😃

Seeker: If Jen’s going, I’ll be there.

Stargazer: I don’t know if I’ll even have a job by then. My manager is such a creep. But I’ll get there if I can!

FarfromHome: This will be the first time I have ever hosted guests. Plan accordingly.

Jeneticist: So excited. Marking this on the calendar! Only three more months. 🤩

37

Jennette

A month later, I still can’t believe Tam is here with me.

That magical moment when we connected on a spiritual level convinced me this is the right course, and nothing can change my mind. I love waking up with him, even if I’ve had to make some adjustments. We bought blackout blinds and mounted them the first week. Now he can move around the house as himself, even if he can’t go out like we did in Rellows.

This afternoon, I’m lounging on the sofa, sci-fi romance forgotten on my lap, watching Tam’s latest attempt to win Spock over. He’s on the floor, hand extended, a crunchy kitty snack between them. Spock slinks from the shadows, eyeing Tam with skittish interest. Scotty has long since abandoned any pretense at dignity; he’s currently begging for head rubs.

Spock inches forward, one tentative paw at a time, drawn by the scent of the treat and maybe a growing trust in the alien who has invaded his space. And then it happens: a quick brush of fur, a gentle headbutt. My finicky cat has officially decreed that Tam is part of the family.

“You finally got him.”

“I hoped patience would suffice.”

With great forbearance, Spock accepts a series of pets, and then he seems to realize that these pets are even better. Seven fingers as opposed to five? Sign a cat up! Scotty mews for his share and Tam gazes at me in what I presume to be bemusement.

I tell him, “That’s why you were born with two…”

“Extensors. For petting cats?”

“Exactly. If you asked them, that’s what they’d say.” I get up and stretch. “I should do some laundry tonight. I won’t have as much time after tomorrow.”

“When classes resume,” Tam says.

I nod. He insists on helping, and I used to argue since he doesn’t even wear clothes. But he does sleep in the bed, and he wants to feel like he’s contributing. So I showed him how to work the washer and dryer. And I try not to laugh when he fumbles through folding fitted sheets.

“I do not believe this can be assembled in such a way.”

In all honesty, I can’t fold fitted sheets either, but I show him a video of how it’s done, mostly to prove it’s theoretically possible. He watches it four times, and then he replicates the movements with eerie precision—from tucking the sides inward to laying it flat and turning it neatly into a square.

“Holy crap,” I say. “Now you’re just showing off.”

“There are many things I cannot do for you. So it makes sense for me to provide value in other ways.”

Ugh, I hate that he’s thinking along those lines. “You don’t have to ‘add value.’ I want you here. I’m happy because we’re together. There’s no price point for joy.”

“I’m not trying to commodify our relationship. Or make it transactional. I just—”

“Want to help. I get it.” I offer a hug because it’s the fastest way to show that I understand his motivation.