Page 79 of What Makes an Alien a Dad?

Without touching or sniffing this time, I studied the colorful plumes and rosettes peppering the vines around the roots. I tried to guess which ones were flowers and which might be insects or other small creatures.

“Fascinating,” I muttered under my breath. The tree looked even more alien to me than the alien planet I was on. “Aldrai must be a gorgeous place.”

“It is,” the familiar deep voice said behind me.

I pivoted around, coming face to face with Kear.

He cleared his throat, awkwardly shifting his weight to another hoof.

“Aldraians put a lot of effort into beautifying their planet,” he said stiffly. “It’s definitely worth a visit.”

“Oh...” I blinked, his awkwardness seeping into my muscles too. “Have you been to Aldrai?”

“Yes. Once. For a conference.”

“I see.” I nodded, trying to reconcile the famous Professor Thormus with the man from “Walter’s” letters, and with Kear, the friend I thought I had during the past months of my pregnancy.

It wasn’t easy to think about all of them as one person. Especially since the man standing in front of me now didn’t even look like any of them.

His sandy beige pants were wrinkled. There was a wet stain on his left shoulder. He must have missed the last appointment at the barber because the fur on his head looked overgrown and uncharacteristically messy. His beard had grown longer, too.

The Professor Thormus I knew would’ve never shown up in public like this. Still, my heart skipped a beat at the sight of him.

I missed him and our conversations, in letters and otherwise.

“Sorry, we’re late. I tried to get here before the start of the tour, but...things took longer than I’d planned.” He patted a small bundle attached to his chest by a wide, soft harness.

I gaped at the tiny tuft of pale-gray fur sticking out of the harness. “Is that the baby?”

He nodded with a smile. A small wagon hovered at his side with a padded bassinet inside and a wicker basket with a lid.

“She’s thriving in the academy, but I’ve heard Victory Park is a great place to take a baby.” He echoed the words from my letter. “So, I brought her home for the weekend.”

“Good. I’m glad you did.”

It was good to see them together. I knew my role in his baby’s life ended with her birth. But after “housing” that little girl for so long, I wished her only the best outside of my womb, too. Back at the hospital, it’d pained me to see that the person who was supposed to be the closest to her didn’t seem to want to be close to her at all. His efforts now made me feel slightly more optimistic about their future together.

“Do you want to join me on the tour, Professor? It won’t take long. It’s almost over.”

“Kear. Please call me Kear, Maya.”

It sounded almost like an introduction, like we’d just met for the first time. And maybe that was how I should look at it—a start from scratch. A new beginning? Or at the very least, closure with an amicable parting at the end.

He walked alongside me, following the drone. The tour ended in a few minutes. But that was enough time for me to deal with my anxiety. He also looked a little more at ease as we exited from under the tree and into the park.

The baby woke up, squirming in the carrier.

“She must be hungry.” He smiled apologetically.

“I’m getting hungry, too,” I said. “There is a café at the entrance.”

“Or we can have a picnic.” He pointed at the basket and laughed. “That is if you don’t mind eating the hospital food again.”

He brought a picnic for us. I found it endearing enough even to eat the hospital food again.

I tilted my head. “Did you only bring things that are on the list of the approved foods?”

“No. I gravely violated the rules. I even packed some dessert.”

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