Page 17 of I Think I’m in Love with an Alien

Seeker: Any exciting plans?

Jeneticist: I intend to talk to you more. Does that qualify? 😊

Seeker: It does. Definitely.

Jeneticist: I was wondering…

Seeker: What?

Jeneticist: Never mind. I’m not feeling brave enough today. One day maybe I’ll ask.

Seeker: And I’ll be here when you do.

7

Jennette

I wake up smiling.

It’s not a surprise, because I fell asleep with a silly grin on my face while hugging the spare pillow to my chest. I’ve been nursing this secret daydream about how Tamzir and I hit it off in person, how our relationship might develop if he likes me even a fraction as much as I like him. Sure, he’s older than I expected, but I haven’t clicked with anyone like this…well, ever. And it’s not like he’s old enough to be my father. That’s not the only challenge, though. Long-distance relationships can be tricky.

I might be up for it. If he is. But none of my fantasies can come true if I don’t get out of bed.

Normally, I’m slow to get moving, which is why I set multiple alarms on my phone. But it’s not even eight and I’m wide awake. Time to partake of the free breakfast in the dining room adjacent to the office and then get ready for what could be the best day of my life. I go out in pajamas and slippers, as most of the other guests have done, and find a simple spread. Cereal, milk, coffee, basic fruit and pastries, a few yogurt cups, a pot of oatmeal, some instant eggs, and bread to be toasted.

I go with yogurt, fruit, and a pastry, then head back to my room. I have less than half an hour to get cleaned up and put on my first costume. But it’s an easy one; I’m dressing up as Liz from Roswell, which means I can wear normal clothes. I’ll just do more makeup than I’d normally wear and change my style to match hers, which means chunky ankle boots, a bracelet, and a gray tank top with my cutoffs. I won’t be putting on the leather jacket, however. It’s supposed to be hot as hell later.

With speed that comes from practice, I put together the look quickly and grab my backpack and car keys. I can’t wait to see Seeker and, even more, to share all the fun of Space Con with him. I hope he’s not the type to get intimidated by crowds. I can be a bit nervous too, but it helps that we’ll be outside. That should make it easier to find some space if I need it. Cons that are held in hotels and convention centers can be a real challenge.

As I step outside, I send a message.

Me: On my way!

Seeker: All preparations complete for pickup.

Sometimes I wonder if Seeker is like this with everyone or if he’s simply prone to communicating with me as if I’m his superior officer on the Starship Enterprise. As I hop into my car, I check the urge to respond with a quote from Captain Janeway. I don’t know what shows he’s seen, and I’d rather get moving.

I drive across town singing along with my playlist. I tend to get obsessed with songs, so I have just a few that I play on loop. It used to annoy people I hung out with, but there’s nobody to complain when I play “Shake It Out” by Florence + the Machine twice. “Love Me More” by Sam Smith has just started playing when I reach my destination.

The place Seeker’s chosen to stay strikes me as a bit odd—well outside of town, a tiny house separated even from the main property. To me, it looks like the homeowners repurposed a shed, likely to capitalize on Space Con. That little hut probably stands empty most of the time, and then they charge a fortune for this week alone. But maybe he left his reservations until it was too late to get something better. Someone who’s new to Space Con wouldn’t realize just how chaotic the town becomes. I know because I’ve wanted to go for like ten years. I have extensive notes in my phone related to all the panels and activities I want to check out today.

Seeker emerges and he strides toward my car, climbing in without hesitation.

In daylight, he looks a little different. The strange thing is, I can’t put my finger on the change. His eyes are…lighter, maybe? Not as deep a brown as I thought. And he looks a little younger too. That’s confusing because, if anything, it would make sense for him to look younger at night, not in the sunlight. Maybe he’s in his thirties, not forties? Late thirties isn’t such a big gap. We’re both adults, right?

I have the oddest sense that his face doesn’t look the same, as if there have been minute shifts, cheekbones slightly higher, nose a touch wider. I study him for a beat too long, and he returns my scrutiny with an intensity that makes my pulse skitter.

“I don’t know who you are,” he says.

I blink. “What?”

“Your costume. I was hoping I could figure it out, but—”

“Oh.” That’s why he was staring so hard. “I’m Liz from Roswell. I have more complicated costumes, but I don’t want to work that hard on day one.”

Wait until he sees me as an Orion from the original Star Trek. Since I don’t paint my whole body—just my face and hands—it doesn’t take six hours, at least. I favor green tights and shiny boots, a tight minidress, and a bouffant wig. The trick is finding green body paint that doesn’t rub off on everything.

“You look happy,” he says then.