Page 22 of The Alien's Little Sister

Her eyes have lit up. “This is delicious!”

I point out what she forked up… on her spoon. Because on her planet, they use spoons, and I said she should eat with the utensil she finds comfortable. “That’s spinach, cheese, and chives. Mmm, smells good from here,” I say. “Hang on. They won’t be sautéed, but you’re making me want to add green peppers.”

“I can cook them,” Inara starts, but I wave her off, clambering back from my seat and crossing to the fridge.

“Nah,” I tell her, “you don’t do a thing. Just enjoy. Eat.” I lean into the fridge, and make a face. “Never mind. No green peppers. We’ll need to go grocery…”

The idea of Inara in the grocery store, drawing looks from everybody has me shutting the fridge door, staring at the unit while seeing nothing.

“Are you all right, Matt?” Inara asks.

“Yeah, sweetheart,” I say automatically. Everything from grocery shopping to simply walking down the damn street just got complicated. There are some places that the ‘costume for work’ explanation is just not going to fly more than once or twice, if such an explanation will work at all.

While I do the dishes—and refuse to let Inara help, although she offers—I direct her to my CD player and tell her to pop in discs until she finds ones she likes.

Inara loves music. Inara loves everything.

And I’mreallyenjoying myself as her host. Have I been lonely? Or is it just… her?

She’s so fascinated by the songs as I shower and dress for work that when it comes time for her to hop in the shower, she asks if my CD player will pipe the songs into the ‘cleansing unit.’

She’s a little bummed when I break it to her that it won’t. “Sorry, sweetness,” I say as I knot my tie, something she’s watching with fascination. “It’s not portable.” Not this old dinosaur of a system.

Her crestfallen acceptance seals the deal: the day has come when I’m going to bite the bullet and make a modern-day purchase.

That goal in mind, before we swing into work, I risk taking her first to a store. When I broached the possibility of a short shopping trip, she enthusiastically shared her interest in venturing out among more of the human population. Thus, that’s where we go.

I double park—yes, I’m that asshole—so that no one parks near enough to scratch my car and therefore force me to earn a prison sentence. (If you’re thinking,‘Nowaywould you get away with asshole-parking without getting a ticket…’You’d be right, and I’ve had them.) “Let’s dip in here. Gotta pick something up.”

Inara is amused at automatic doors, and I can tell she doesn’t think they’re hip technology. She murmurs,“How charming,”eyeing them like she’s in a museum, not a modern-day store.

Once inside, boy, do we get stares. And yeah, expected that. What Ididn’texpect was to be surrounded by half the store, everyone with their cell phone in Inara’s face.

I was hoping people would treat her like she was the costumed mascot for a store. Maybe smile at her, or give her uncomfortable looks, andmaybesnap some covert pictures—but ultimately, give her space.

Their reaction is so much more than that.

“Hey!” I bark. “Don’t crowd—” an idea strikes me “…the talent.” I reach into my back pocket, pull out my wallet, and start passing out a stack of business cards I keep on hand for the escape rooms. “Everybody, meet Inara, the alien for our alien escape game room. The code on the back of the cards will get you ten percent off the cover price if your group is more than five people…”

And just like that, the crowd chills out. They still take pictures because let’s face it, Inara is kick ass. But although they’re dazzled by her ‘prosthetics’ and how ‘real’ she looks, everybody’s won over by their common sense—this is just some employee wearing a suit for a publicity stunt.

As she grants endless numbers of selfie requests by her instant posse of fans, I buy her a waterproof iPod knockoff called an iSquid. The thing is a garish, glittery, mermaid mix of colors. It’s also huge, the size of a small cell phone. But whatever, who cares? I have a hunch she’ll love it anyway.

I collect her, cramming business cards in way too many interested faces, telling them all to stop by Escape Worlds if they want to see her.

“Are you upset?” Inara asks me, her gaze flicking up to my face.

“No,” I bite out, almost feeding a guy a card when he doesn’t seem to see me at her side. “Why?”

“Because you’re growling,” Inara whispers. “I’ve been told this isn’t a natural human trait.”

“Sure it is,” I contend, leaning forward into another guy’s space. I make direct eye contact until he grows uncomfortable enough to glance away, and I show him my teeth in triumph and warning as I take her hand. “Let’s go.”

Inara laces her fingers with mine, and I’d swear she sounds like she’s smiling. “I never thought I’d approve of possessive aggression, but… I’m feeling oddly receptive. Thank you, Matt.”

I’m barely tracking her words, eyes scanning the crowd. The mostlymalecrowd.

When we’re sliding into my car’s seats, I finally relax. And I remember the whole purpose of the trip. I pass Inara the bag I was death-clutching and largely forgot about. “Here.”

---