Page 39 of Whisked Away By the Alien

“He’s not a citizen,” Eli argues. “That’s the point. He’s nothuman.”

“You know what I mean.” Golda grabs my hand again, this time taking large strides as she moves deeper into the home. “I’m starved. Have any lox and bagels?”

It’s an interesting strategy, pulling me along with her, inserting me into her family’s bunker so deeply they cannot keep objecting. She’s a strategist, my female.

Myfemale. I like how that sounds.

“Why is he smiling?” Rachel asks, pointing to me.

“I don’t know. Why don’t you askhim? And he has a name. It’s Sten. He’s fluent in English and Common, and a few other languages. But not much Yiddish yet.”

“Yet?”

“Bubbe came for Hannukah.”

“Ahh,” both Eli and Rachel say in unison. It’s rather curious the effect that one elderly human female has on so many people. I must study Bubbe more.

“You have my sympathy,” Rachel says. It’s the first nice thing this female has said to me. I think.

“Your grandmother is like a fierce warrior, except she spars with words instead of weapons. I suspect she comes across grumpy intentionally to mislead those around her.”

“No, she’s an old grump,” Rachel says, but the female offers a slight smile, as if she’s trying to accept me.

I look to Golda, whose genuine smile lights the entire room. My getting to know her sister is important to her, so I strive to be as non-threatening as possible, starting with forcing my horns back.

“Your daughter is a very easy youngling. She doesn’t cry much, but she wakes very early each morning.”

Rachel’s brow furrows. “Thank you?”

“You remind me of my sister Aja. She is suspicious of most people but can be reasoned with.”

“You have sisters?”

“Yes, Rachel,” Golda says as she withdraws a container from the cooler in the kitchen. “And Sten has parents. Funny how similar aliens are to humans. Hide the horns with a stovepipe hat, then douse him in a little more baby powder and he’ll be a regular, albeit, broader Abraham Lincoln.”

“Baby powder? You’re talking in riddles again, Goldilox.” Rachel pulls the container from Golda’s hands. “And that’s fettucine alfredo. Too many calories. The celery’s in the bottom drawer.”

“A, I’m not a rabbit. B, I’m hungry and I want real food. I didn’t get to eat lunch today. I spent a few hours cleaning up a huge mess in my office at work that I didn’t even make. And C, you’re not in charge of me.”

“Don’t be a brat.”

“That’s it. We’re out of here.” Golda slams the cooler shut and grabs my hand once again. She moves fast, my little female, scooping up her coat, and heading out the door with only a brief delay as she stops to kiss the youngling’s forehead. A minute later we’re walking down the snow-covered street. Neither of us talks. I sense Golda needs quiet right now.

Human families are complicated, and Golda cares about hers immensely. Otherwise, I do not believe she would be this upset with them.

I slide my hand over hers and bring it to my lips to kiss her palm. “Tell me what I can do to help you, Commander.”

Big brown eyes look up at me. They’re glossy, filled with tears that she quickly wipes away.

“I’m sorry, I get oversensitive sometimes. Rachel’s always been the pretty one. And smart, I mean really smart. Book smart. She means well, but her comments hurt. I shouldn’t let what she says get to me, but I do. And in front of you, yet. That’s not how I wanted today to go. I wanted you to like her, and for her to like you.”

As I peer into her face, I cannot understand why she thinks her sister is ‘the pretty one’. Golda is far more beautiful, on the outside and inside. She has deep brown hair that matches her eyes, a soft lush body that I have trouble keeping my hands off of, and the most expressive face I’ve ever seen. She stood up for me today and the first day I met her. And the second. Defended me against insults and physical threats.

“Families are often the source of our greatest joy and our greatest sorrows, but we are usually better people for having them in our lives.”

“I bet you and your sisters all get along.”

“Pff. Aja never believes anything I or our sisters tell her unless we can prove it. Bozi thinks only of herself most of the time and Maza tends to pit us against one another, but I think that is because she’s so bright that she’s bored.”

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