Page 38 of Her Alien Neighbor

“Yes, it is tragic they fail to see the beauty in their kind,” Zev notes. “Especially when they have no knowledge of what lies just outside their galaxy.”

“What a thoughtful observation, Zev,” Mylo says enthusiastically. Then he looks at me. “And, Axil, what have you learned from the news?”

“That human bodies are shockingly frail,” I say, picturing just how satisfying it would be to break Trevor’s jaw.

Mylo swipes his pointer finger across the screen of his tablet. “Uh, you said the same during last month’s meeting.”

I nod. “I am still surprised by it.”

Mylo sighs and turns to Kyan. “Kyan, anything you would like to add? About reality TV?”

Kyan rises from his seat. “No. Now, if you will excuse me, I need to make more popcorn.” He shoots me a deadly glare before stomping toward the kitchen. Then he whips his body around to face us. “Actually, yes. If you are a bachelor, it seems important in human courtship to give your mate a single rose when you decide to keep them forever.”

We all nod, stunned by the insight.

“That is excellent information, Kyan,” Mylo says, making a note of it. “I shall look deeper into this.”

Mylo dismisses us, and we each meander toward our respective wings of the house.

It takes five minutes to brush my teeth, splash cold water on my face, and strip my clothes off before climbing into bed. It takes another four hours for me to fall asleep.

Two hours of sleep. That is all I was able to get before my eyelids popped open and I remembered I promised Vanessa I would return to her this morning. What she does not know is that I plan on making her breakfast, a feast fit for a king, in fact.

Since I abhor the lack of room, tools, and ingredients in her kitchen, however, I shall prepare the feast in mine and take it over, which is usually what I would do when I cooked for Lady Norton. With a surge of energy at the thought of seeing her again, I shower as quickly as I can, throw on clean clothes, and race downstairs.

It seems Mylo is the only one awake this early. It is just after seven, and the rest of the house is silent. Kyan is either still asleep, or more likely, already at work. Zev will not rise until after ten, but this is where I typically find Mylo at this time, munching on his usual blueberry bagel with cream cheese, sipping a cup of English breakfast tea, and reading a book.

“Brother!” He greets me, chipper as ever. “Lovely morning, is it not?”

I shrug as I open the refrigerator and gather the ingredients I need. “I do not know. I have only experienced a small fraction of it thus far.”

“Well, I had a very restful slumber, and I saw the weather will not be too cold today, so I have a good feeling about it. And,” he replies, holding up a finger as if he just had a brilliant idea, “I am reading to the children later for Storytime Corner.”

“Oh? Have you picked out the story yet?” I ask, tossing a dish towel over my shoulder and rinsing a few potatoes before putting them on the cutting board.

“I usually let one of the children choose between two options,” he says, his tone focused and thoughtful. “Though they will probably select Dr. Seuss again.”

When Mylo told us that he wanted to become a librarian, as it is a public-facing job that requires extensive knowledge of literature, we were not shocked, exactly––not a day passes without his nose in a book––but it was not what we expected. He is passionate about his work helping the community here, however, and I cannot imagine him doing anything else.

“Why do you include Dr. Seuss as an option, then?” I ask, tossing the cubed potatoes into a bowl. Then I add olive oil, pepper, and garlic salt, and spread it all on a sheet pan before sticking it into the oven.

“Dr. Seuss is a crowd pleaser, and I aim to please.”

I look up at him from the bowl I have cracked an egg against. “These are children, though. How hard could they be to please?”

He gives me a sideways glance. “Extremely. And they are vocal about even an ounce of displeasure. They have their parents trained well too. It is quite astonishing to watch, really. If they do not enjoy Storytime Corner, they will cry and scream and their parents will never bring them back again.”

“Wow,” I mutter. Here I thought they would mostly stare blankly at Mylo as they soiled themselves or fell asleep.

He takes a final bite of his bagel, throws back the rest of his tea, and grunts his good-bye. He stops before he reaches the front door and grabs his glasses, putting them on and giving himself a final check in the mirror before stepping out. Mylo’s vision is perfect, as is the rest of ours, but with the many films we have seen featuring an intelligent character who wears glasses, Mylo insists on wearing a fake pair of his own as a way of leaning into his human role.

Without any distractions, I move about the kitchen quickly and efficiently as I continue preparing Vanessa’s meal. Once I am done, I lay everything out on two plates, wash my hands, and head toward her house.

Carefully, I open the back door and close it quietly behind me with my foot, all without dropping the plates. The door to Vanessa’s room is ajar, and when I nudge it open, the door makes a loud creaking sound, and she pops up with a gasp.

“Oh! Oh, hi!” she says, her voice hoarse from sleep. “You scared me,” she says with a sigh, but then her gaze drops to the plates. “Wait, did you bring me food?”

“I did,” I reply. “Told you I would return.”

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