Page 29 of Whisked Away By the Alien

It’s hard to think objectively with Sten holding my hand. All my troubles melt away with his touch. He’s a stranger to our world, thrust into the craziness that is my family, and yet he’s helpingme. It should be the other way around. I should be helpinghim.

He squeezes my hand, then releases it. The loss tears me from my thoughts and I turn to see why he let go.

* * *

STENIKOV

The more Iobserve this family, the more fascinated I become. Mr. Birnbaum, a calm male, rarely reacts to his wife’s or mother-in-law’s comments. Mrs. Birnbaum and her mother are often rude and invasive, and yet loving at the same time. Yet I worry about Golda. My sweet female appears… lost. She’s pulling back, defensive around them, unlike when we were in the kitchen, just the two of us.

I don’t quite understand the dynamics here, but I can see Golda’s family stresses her to the point that she won’t even look at me. My heart tightens at the very thought that I’m the source of the trouble, especially when my Golda withdraws from the conversation. I want nothing more than to see that beautiful smile on her lovely face.

When I take her hand in mine under the table, I’m stunned, not by how soft her skin is, but that our hands fit together like puzzle pieces. I wonder if our bodies would fit together perfectly, too.

My pleasure cock hardens at the mere thought of being with Golda. I need to keep my thoughts elsewhere. I’m not here to share pleasure with a female, but to learn. From the mistakes I’ve made thus far, it’s clear I have a lot to learn if I’m going to understand humans fully.

When Bubbe rises, I release Golda’s hand and push away from the table to help the elderly woman. She leans on my arm, allowing me to guide her to the sofa. While gaining her acceptance would go far toward earning respect among these humans, that is not why I help Bubbe. She’s elderly and needs aid, but I must be cautious how I deal with her. While this female is frail on the outside, she has the heart of a kuvak, ready to pounce on anyone who crosses her. And her tongue and mind are as sharp as a kuvak’s claws.

“Golda, bring the sufganiyot to the living room. I’ll get the coffee,” Mrs. Birnbaum orders.

“I must help in the kitchen,” I announce to Bubbe.

“Bend down so I can reach you, Stenala.”

I do not bother to correct her regarding my name this time, as the nickname appears to be a social convention. Instead, I bend down as she commands.

She pats my cheek. “You’re a good boy, Stenala. Now, go. Help that granddaughter of mine, and I don’t mean with the dessert.”

With a brief nod, I head into the kitchen, still trying to decipher Bubbe’s words. Golda’s rushing around, placing the donuts we made earlier onto a tray.

“Can you hand me the powdered sugar up there?” She points to a glass container with a fine, white substance on the top shelf in the pantry.

“Thanks,” she says when I hand the jar to her. As she sprinkles the fine powder over the donuts, many of the particles waft into the air and cover Golda’s sweater and face. She’s too distracted to notice.

“Are you upset with me?” I ask.

“It’s not you. My parents…” She shakes her head. “Never mind.”

With one finger, I brush a speck of white powder off her nose.

Soulful eyes lift to me. “Are you sorry you’re here, Sten?”

“I’m very grateful to be here. To know you and your family. To learn from you. Why would you think otherwise?”

“Because of all the drama. This is part of why I moved out. It’s a lot of work managing my parents and doing crisis control. Don’t you feel all the tension?”

The only tension I feel is in my pants. Drekking jeans. I look forward to using these pants for target practice, but that must wait until I retrieve a pair of trou from my ship.

“I see the tension in you, but not your parents or the kuvak.”

“Kuvak?”

I need to avoid thinking of people in terms of the vicious animals I’ve encountered in my past. “Wrong word. Your mother’s mother.”

“Oh, Bubbe. So, kuvak means grandmother in zyanthan?”

I think I now understand the meaning of the wordoyshe’s used many times today. But I shouldn’t use it until I’m sure of its meaning. “Not exactly. I can teach you some of my world and language, if you’d like.”

That earns me a smile, one I will treasure when she leaves here tonight. And for some time after.

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