Page 106 of I Think I’m in Love with an Alien

With a little patience and some help from his tech gear, I’ve developed a few recipes that allow him to vary his diet. He can eat chickpeas, mung beans and sprouts, spinach, soybean-related products like tofu, and a few other vegetables like Swiss chard and collard greens. I didn’t plan on becoming a vegan on a limited diet, but I enjoy trying new recipes.

And I like the challenge of taking something very simple and making it taste good to both of us. He doesn’t share my tastes entirely, however. Sometimes when I concoct a dish and think it tastes fine, there are more subtle flavor conflicts that are discernable only to his palate.

I’m making dinner while Tam clacks away on his laptop. He dives into work with a fervor that I find endearing, and he’s more dexterous than most human programmers, even though this equipment is designed for our use. Currently, he’s contracted to correct the code on a project someone else messed up.

“Getting everything squared away?” I ask, chopping some spinach for a simple green salad. I’ll add crisp bean sprouts for texture.

“More like cutting off the heads of digital hydra,” he replies without looking away from his screen. “Every time I fix one bug, two more pop up.”

“Sounds like you need a raise.”

“I’ll settle for dinner with you and the chance to wake up with you again tomorrow.”

“You have both those things,” I assure him.

I set down the knife and rest my hand gently on the side of his throat. It’s taken a while to figure out what gestures comfort him. For me, this would register as vaguely threatening, but among Tam’s people, only those you trust would touch you like this anyway. I offer a few gentle strokes and receive a sound not unlike Scotty at his happiest.

“You’re the best,” he murmurs, his voice deepening with pleasure.

I finish putting our meal together and we savor a leisurely night together. Right now, we’re watching a show on Netflix while I review the course materials for classes that start tomorrow. Teaching at community college was never my goal, but it pays the bills, and I’m significantly happier since Tam moved in.

“No, you.”

He nuzzles against me, but as ever, he doesn’t push for more. Since I’m generally not high libido anyway, his restraint works for me. My only concern is if he’s hesitating out of uncertainty—about me, us, whether he’s staying, or if he’d leave Earth first chance he got, should he be offered a choice. I don’t want anyone with me who’s there out of convenience and not preference, but Tam’s situation is…different. To say the least.

Sometimes I catch him working on something in the office, but he hides it quickly. It seems to be a techy something, but I already know he likes to invent things, and I don’t want to come across as nosy. I’m sure he’ll tell me what he’s tinkering with when the time is right. Part of me wonders if it’s related to him trying to leave, but that seems like a leap.

It’s not like he can build a ship in my duplex, and I’m prone to overthinking.

Three more weeks fly by as I dive back into work. We spend less time together, but I appreciate those moments even more, especially the way he keeps Spock from getting anxious while I’m gone. One night, Nancy comes over to watch a movie with us, something she does every now and then.

As she’s leaving, she whispers, “I really like this one. I thought he seemed too young, at first, but he’s very mature for his age. Good work.”

Yikes. Exactly how young does he look to Nancy?

Tonight, Tam faces the biggest challenge in our time together: dinner with my mother and sister. The memory of his first encounter with them lingers. They haven’t dropped by since, and my texts with Glynnis have been a touch…adversarial. She is determined to undermine this connection; it’s always bothered her if I have a partner and she doesn’t. Glynnis has her entire identity wrapped up in being the popular one, more so than me anyway.

“Remember, Mom loves flattery,” I tell Tam, “but be subtle about it. And Glynnis, well…just agree with her even if she’s glaringly wrong.”

“Flattery and agreement. Got it.”

I check the kitty food dishes, top off their water fountain, and then drive us to my mom’s house. She’s been in the same blue ranch house since I was fourteen. Three bedrooms, one and a half baths. Since I told her Tam’s vegan and has food allergies, she agreed to use one of my recipes, which means he can eat with us. Otherwise, we’d be off on the wrong foot.

When we step inside, I smell roast chicken and zucchini casserole. Dammit, Mom. Just for one night, you couldn’t let up? My mother greets us with stony expression, eyeing Tam with wariness she can’t or chooses not to control. I wonder how he looks to her. And to Glynnis. We might be in trouble if they compare notes about their impressions.

“Mrs. Hammond, your home—”

“Come to the dining room,” Mom says abruptly.

Wow, she didn’t even give him a chance to finish his sentence. He was probably preparing to compliment the house. I do like the place. She’s decorated in cool blue tones, accented with beachy bits like shells we brought back from vacation and pictures of ships at sea. Wicker baskets abound, along with lots of throw cushions. It’s a comfortable space, not too much clutter.

I follow with a bad feeling. And yup, there is a single small bowl of chickpeas, no seasoning, in front of one chair. The rest of us are having roast chicken, mac and cheese, and zucchini casserole. It used to be my favorite meal as a kid, but I’m not ten anymore. My mom refuses to accept the fact that I also like kimchi and pho, and spicy tofu curries, all sorts of new foods that she refuses to try.

Glynnis emerges from the kitchen with a pitcher of… Okay, what the hell is that? It’s murky amber, and I’m afraid of what I might learn about my sister.

“I’m making my own kombucha now,” she announces. “It’s transformative.”

I doubt anyone but Glynnis would say that about kombucha, but before I can ask a harmless question about it, Tam says, “It seems to be teeming with bacteria.”