Page 35 of Whisked Away By the Alien

After showering and dressing, I head out into the frigid temperature. A thick blanket of snow still covers the sidewalks, but I’ve waited long enough. The sooner I get to work and do whatever they may need, the sooner I’ll see Sten.

The warehouse bustles with activity as I climb the stairs to my office on the second floor. Mr. Wilson’s sitting in my chair going through a stack of papers on my desk that wasn’t there when I left. Several cabinet drawers are open with file folders sticking out. If Mr. Jenkins were sitting there, or even Mr. Kelly, then I’d be concerned. But Wilson’s the dock foreman. I don’t answer to him and he definitely doesn’t belong up here. Whatever he’s looking for, he’s not even trying to hide the fact that he’s trespassing.

“Uh-hum.” I clear my throat, loudly.

Wilson’s head snaps up. “Birnbaum. You’re not supposed to be here.”

“Neither are you. Ever. You handle the dock. I handle the office.”

“We’re trying to track down a missing shipment.”

“Last I checked, my desk wasn’t big enough to fit a shipping container.”

He pushes to his feet hard enough that the chair—mychair—rolls back and hits the wall. “Don’t get smart with me, woman.”

My instincts tell me to back away, but I can’t. If I show fear to any of these guys, it will only make my job harder. I’m already a goldfish swimming with sharks, but I use my attitude like a sharp knife, cutting through all the bull. When that doesn’t work, I grab the baseball bat from the corner of my office… the other side of my office where I can’t reach it.

I wish Sten were here.

I keep my feet planted on the creaking floor boards by the door. “If you want something in here, ask. But stay out of my desk and files. You’re messing everything up.”

“Maybe if you showed up on time, I wouldn’t need to.” He flings a blue file folder at me. That’s the most important file in my office. The one with my master list of shipping containers by vendor along with the map of where they’re located on the docks. The file opens and papers fly everywhere.

“Mr. Kelly gave me a few days off. I shouldn’t even be here right now.”

“No, you shouldn’t.”

That air of superiority and condemnation rubs me the wrong way, but I’ve learned a lot from watching my dad over the years. Staying calm usually keeps a situation from escalating. Unfortunately, I also have a lot of my mom’s quick-to-heat blood in me.

“If you have an issue with my hours, take it up with Mr. Kelly.”

“You have a smart mouth on you.” Wilson barrels past me to the door, but not before knocking over the two-foot stack of papers on my desk… papers he pulled from the filing cabinet without their folders.

I step back, giving him a wide berth. When he’s gone, I shut the door and lock it.

Nothing appears missing and I’m still not sure what he was doing up here, but I’ll talk with Mr. Kelly when I see him next week. I stare at the mess the asshole left for me. It will take me hours to sort and file everything.

I curse him as I start cleaning the mess. I should be with Sten. He fills my heart with light and joy. I have to get my ass in gear, so I can get out of here as fast as possible.

* * *

By the timeI finish organizing my files, it’s well past noon. Since I’m not being paid to be here today, I hop on the next bus to my parents’.

Two hours later, I walk through the door to my childhood home. The city cleared the streets in and around my neighborhood, but not uptown, which tripled my time on the bus. Standing, of course.

“Anyone home?” I call out as I shuck my coat. The place is unusually quiet. “Mom? Sten? Anyone?”

The baby’s cries seize me. Something’s wrong! I toss my coat onto the sofa and race upstairs to the nursery. The moment I step inside, I freeze at the sight before me.

My panic disappears, replaced by laughter which I struggle to contain.

Stenikov’s holding my squirming four-month-old niece under her arm pits while a cloth diaper hangs from her little thighs. I tilt my head forty-five degrees trying to figure out what, besides a miracle, is keeping that diaper on her. Or is it diapers, plural?That’s too much bulk to be one diaper.

Sadie’s bare and very well powdered bottom hangs out over the monster-diaper, she’s crying, and Sten’s horns twist at the tips. And, yes, there’s a cloth diaper hanging from one horn. How or why, I’m afraid to ask.

“Here, let me.” I ease Sadie from his hold, trying not to laugh as I realize her bottom isn’t the only thing covered in copious amounts of baby powder. Sten’s black hair has turned white, and not from the shock of how much work a baby can be. His royal blue skin doesn’t look as vibrant under several layers of powder, but the smile that forms when my hands brush against him as I take Sadie tells me all is right with the world again.

“How many battles have you fought?” I ask as I quickly remove the numerous layers of cloth diapers and the ten—ten!—safety pins holding them together.

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