Page 108 of I Think I’m in Love with an Alien

I can’t bring myself to ask if he means for now…or for always.

38

Seeker

A week later, after the pressure of meeting Jen’s family, I wonder if I can do as I wish.

I want to be with her, but deceiving those closest to her in perpetuity burdens me in ways I cannot easily articulate. It feels like there’s a wedge between Jen and her family. Before, she did text them now and then or talk on the phone.

Now there’s only silence.

Work, at least, is easy. I have generated automated scripts that perform tasks assigned to me, and I check the output when it’s finished.

It’s late in the evening, and I am analyzing how my programs have performed today. I have no gauge of whether I’m being compensated fairly, but I always paid for lodgings and it feels correct to offer. “How much should I contribute to pay for my share of expenses?”

She turns from arranging dirty dishes in the machine, which will clean them for us using water. “You don’t have to chip in. You can’t have much if you’ve been stuck in Airbnb rentals for the last year. Those are so pricey.”

In answer, I show Jen the balance on my phone screen. “It is adequate, I believe.”

She stares, eyes widening. “Holy shit. How did you save that much in a year? Is it because you don’t eat the way humans do?” She doesn’t give me a chance to answer. “Then again, you’ve been hiding out, not socializing in person, subsisting on soy beverages, and you don’t have a car loan, credit cards. or student loans to pay off.”

“Do you wish for me to reply?” I ask.

She pauses. “Are you being snarky right now?”

“No. If I request information, it is because I require it.”

“That’s true. I haven’t noticed that you’re sarcastic, unlike Ravik. And yes, I do want an answer. Sorry I didn’t give you a chance.”

“It’s understandable. You’re a curious and enthusiastic person.”

That is one of my favorite things about Jen. That, and the fact that she never finds me strange or disappointing. She’s always fascinated even by my most mundane details. The human concept of currency is a game of numbers and predictions. And I’m wired to see patterns where humans see chaos.

“Tell me already,” she says, setting down the glass she was about to rinse.

“I study the stock market, and rhythms in the data speak to me. I can predict volatility with…some degree of accuracy.”

“Really? That’s so cool! Is that…” She pauses. “Oh. I bet your affinity with numbers isn’t the usual talent where you’re from.”

“Correct.” It’s comforting that she already knows and understands me so well.

Oona and the rest of my family would not admire me for being able to accrue local currency instead of crafting a work that might allow another to glimpse the beauty of my being. Yet despite Jen’s understanding, unease gnaws at me. I’m still living a lie with most of the humans on this world, including her family.

How long can I maintain this illusion? How many nights can I remain beside her, knowing that if her family ever learned the truth, their suspicion would curdle into fear? I don’t want to lose this. Or her. But I am deeply troubled. On my world, our families would share memory walks, building a rapport that connects our lives in ways that simply cannot be replicated on 97-B.

And I have been silent for too long.

“Everything okay?” Jen asks.

Perhaps I should confide in her. If I trusted her enough to share my secret, it follows that she will safeguard my emotions as well. Oona always said I tend to take on too much, keeping my concerns too private.

“Nothing is actively wrong, but…”

She turns to face me fully, reaching across the kitchen counter to touch my extensor. “I’m always willing to listen.”

“I feel guilty. About hiding the truth from your family.”

Jen rounds the counter, offering me a hug. I take it, savoring the softness of her form and the delicious heat of her skin. Then she steps back and gestures at the living room. She seems to think the conversation should occur in comfort.