Page 12 of What Makes an Alien a Dad?

They stood like that in the doorway, his hooves across the threshold from her feet. He kept stroking her hair, falling into an odd rhythm with her sobbing. The longer he held her, the less awkward it felt. His body eased around hers. And little by little, her sobs lessened. She was running out of tears.

He’d never thought he was capable of consoling anyone. But he wasn’t even trying to console her. He simply was there for her, letting her cry on his chest for as long as she needed. And somehow, it proved enough.

Miraculously, she stopped shaking and stilled, resting against him. The next moment, she sniffed and jerked away.

“I’m sorry.” She sniffed again, rubbing her eyes. “I didn’t mean to... I come from a big family of huggers. We ‘hug out’ all our problems...” She attempted a smile through her tears.

He disliked her apologizing for finding comfort in him. The awkwardness returned with a vengeance, and he didn’t know what to say. All words felt wrong for the situation.

He pulled out a sanitary wipe from his pocket and shoved it into her hand.

“Here.”

Chapter 5

Maya

I grabbed the soft, moist napkin the professor had offered and wiped my face. He immediately produced another one from his pocket. He must carry packs of these wipes everywhere with him, even to bed. Because judging by his pajamas that was exactly where he’d come from.

“Thanks.” I took the napkin from him and blew my nose. I must look like a total mess.

A huge wet stain now graced the professor’s pristine white pajamas over his chest. Embarrassment flooded me. I’d completely lost it and slobbered all over his clothes. I couldn’t even look him in the eyes now.

“Come inside, Maya.” Placing his hands on my shoulders, he walked me backward into the apartment.

After kicking my door shut with his hoof, he took the soiled napkins from me. Lifting them by their corners between his thumb and his finger, he placed them in the disposal unit by the door.

He looked calm and collected, like always—a stark contrast to the sobbing, quivering mess I’d been. Strolling to the television unit, he turned it off. The noise of the battle taking place on the screen ceased.

His gaze fell on the empty cupcake box on the couch. He flinched but didn’t say anything. Lifting the box in a similar manner that he’d handled the dirty napkins with, he took it to the disposal unit and tossed it in.

“Let’s get you ready for bed now,” he said softly, then led me to the small bathroom off my living room. “Can I trust you to wash your face and brush your teeth on your own? Or should I do it for you?” There was no mocking or depreciation in his calm, detached voice of a doctor. He really sounded like he’d brush my teeth for me if I said I couldn’t do it.

I must look like a complete failure to him right now, incapable of taking care of myself.

“I’ll do it.” I headed for the sink with determination to pull myself together.

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