Page 13 of Invasive Species
“Could have fooled me,” I mutter. Gara's glare could melt paint off a canvas.
“What task are you accomplishing now?” he asks.
The question makes me think I'm under a microscope. I don't accomplish much if anything, I'm lucky if I start something, let alone finish it. But that has to change; I'm in charge now. “Breakfast. We need eggs.”
Inclining his head, Gara stoops and shoulders into the coop. I follow into the warm, dark space. Which is now very full of muscly green alien.
“Where are the eggs?” he grunts.
“Nestled in the hay. You've gotta be slow and gentle.” Hard for me with my sensory issues. I deliberately spread out my fingers, letting out a low breath, and try to feel everything around me. But all my attention snaps to Gara as he bends low, easing his huge hand into the crackling hay. He's so big, but he barely snaps a single strand.
“Ah.” His low gasp of surprise rocks through me. Withdrawing, he holds up a speckled brown egg in triumph.
“That's right, you've got it.” My hands shake so much a hen gets up nearby, flouncing off. I collect as many eggs as I can before the pile threatens to topple.
As we exit, Gara takes a deep breath, and I explain, “Yeah, stinks in there, doesn't it?”
He only gives me a tight nod, dark green eyes unfathomable.
The rest of the aliens crowd around the coop, the three purple ones staring at the ground and the pilot looking up at the clouds chasing across the sky.
“Hungry?” I ask them.
“We can cope, female,” the lilac-eyed purple one intones.
“My name's Arabella.”
He bows his head. “Yes, female.”
I glance at Gara and catch his grimace. He quickly clears his face, but I know what I saw. I guess his colleague's overly deferential attitude doesn't sit well with him, either.
“Honestly, you don't have to stand on ceremony with us, and certainly not me,” I explain, leading the way to the farmhouse. “It's really fine.”
Silence meets my assertion. Wonderful.
Inside, I gently ease my armful of eggs onto the counter, catching the ones which wobble away. One rolls straight to the edge, on a mission, and I lunge for it.
Gara snatches it up, but my hand crashes into his. “Oops.”
He sets the egg on the surface. “Here.”
“Thanks.”
There's this look Gara gets whenever I thank him, like he's not sure what it means. Maybe they don't.
As I grab what looks like a plastic skillet I explain, “Thank you means I appreciate the effort. A typical response is ‘You’re welcome’ or ‘No worries’.”
The purple-eyed triplets loom behind Gara. “Has he not been supplying the proper response?”
Gara's shoulders stiffen ever so slightly. “I didn't know the correct response until just now,” he replies, voice even more like he's eaten a bag of gravel. His neon green eyes meet mine, fiery defiance burning in them. “You're welcome,” he bites out.
Wow, I've never felt less welcome. “No problem.”
“No worries,” Gara retorts, raising his chin as if challenging me.
“It's my pleasure,” I volley back.
He blinks once, the only hesitation before he replies bitterly, “It's my purpose to serve.”
