Page 39 of An Alien for the Future

I blink, momentarily caught off guard by her sudden shift in tone and the unexpected offer. The bath. Her bath. Is she talking about the washroom? The implications of her words sink in, and I feel a mix of excitement and nervousness coursing through me.

“I…thank you.”

Donna shrugs, but I catch a glimmer of something in her eyes. “It’s just a bath, Tovan. Don’t read too much into it.”

But we both know it’s more than that. It’s a tentative step towards…something. I’m not sure what, but I’m grateful for it all the same.

“I appreciate it,” I almost whisper, in disbelief of my luck and at the same time suddenly swelling with hope. “And the meal? Is it helping?”

She nods, taking another mouthful. “It’s actually not bad. Tastes like alien soul food.”

I have no idea what she means, but food for the soul has to be a good thing. “High praise indeed.”

There’s a moment of awkward silence, and I realize I’m still standing there, staring at her. “I’ll…I’ll go wash then.”

As I turn to go, Donna’s voice stops me. “Tovan?”

I look back at her. “Yes, lira’an?”

She meets my eyes, her expression unreadable once more. “When you’re done…maybe we can talk. Really talk. About all of this.”

I feel another surge of hope in my chest. “I’d like that,” I say softly. “I’d like that a lot.”

Her expression softens. “Don’t make me regret this, Tovan.”

“I swear on my life, I won’t.” And I mean it.

11

DONNA

Isit in that room for far too long. Probably afraid of what just happened between me and Tovan. Probably too scared to face the music.

That he’s gotten under my skin—and I’m not a girl that scares easily.

I finish the vegetable soup he made, surprising myself by drinking down the entire thing. Tovan served me in one of those bowls I use to mix batter for my bluebread and I drank it all, anyway. Having finished it now, I feel a thousand times better than I felt this morning, but gosh, I shouldn’t have let it get so bad that I ended up collapsing.

What if Tovan hadn’t been close by?

Sliding off the bed, I tuck the bowl to my chest as I venture towards my bedroom door and pause. I heard him out there. Soft sounds, like the creak of a floorboard here or the gentle closing of a door there. He’s out there and the thought of facing him again…after everything he said…everything he revealed…

I swallow hard.

A part of me doesn’t want to open the door because he’ll see that he’s weakened some of those walls I’ve erected aroundmyself. That despite his unconventional methods, he’s wearing me down.

Stupid, handsome, sweet talker. Why couldn’t he look like one of my exes? The hate would be immediate. Then I wouldn’t be standing here with a mixing bowl clenched against my bosom, afraid to step into a room in my own home.

“Come on. What’s gotten into you?” I whisper to myself. A deep breath, my chin held high, and I push the door open, ready to face him. Ready to set down the ground rules of this…whatever this is. “Ok, Tovan, listen—”

But I’m talking to an empty room. My mouth slams shut and opens again, as I gasp like a fish out of water. He’s not here.

“Tovan?” I head over to the bathroom and the door is shut. Pressing my ear against it, I listen. No sound is within. “Tovan?”

Gently pushing the door open, I prepare myself for potentially barging in on him naked, but he’s not in the bathroom, either. The room is empty. My cottage is empty, except for me, of course.

That’s…not what I expected.

I stand in the middle of my living room, bowl still clutched to my chest, feeling oddly bereft. The silence of the cottage seems to mock me, highlighting an absence I wasn’t prepared for. Where is he?

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