Page 33 of Secret Twins for the Alien Dad

“Oh, no, sir.” I came prepared, very prepared. I open the case in front of his face just to see the delight in his eyes. 50,000 Koltecs makes everyone a lot happier. I’m just wondering what Myra will think.

Standing there alone in my new digs an hour later, the apartment's emptiness fills me with a similar kind of dread. Myra’s been a little hot and cold lately, it's true. She’s also pregnant, hormonal, and oh yeah, her life’s in danger. She’s been weirdly apologetic about the babies. I think it's me who owes her something.

I pace the apartment, my head filling up with all the things I don’t want her to think. I don't want her to think I’ll just take off. That I won't help with the babies. That I want her tied down with me forever. But of course, she’s my mate. She does belong to me forever, and I to her.

If I could just find a way to tell her without making it seem like she doesn't have any choice in the matter. Looking around at the place, that's what I need. I need to give her choices. That way, if she chooses me, we’ll both know it’s for the right reasons.

It’s not the babies, or her endangered life, or even our pull together as mates. If I lived in a world where people never knew, were never sure if they were really destined to be together or not, I’d still want to be with Myra. I guess that’s the pitfall I keep feeling in my stomach. It's the question, would she want the same with me?

The emptiness of these rooms is unbearable, so I hit the streets for a store. I need a bed, a couch, and a sense of home if Myra’s going to look at this apartment and see me in a different light.

“We have free delivery for every purchase,” a salesperson greets me on my way in. Ten minutes later, I hear them check in. “Do you see anything you like, sir?” I can barely think where to begin.

“You have couches?”

“This way.” As we walk to the back of the store, the room opens up mental possibilities I'd never thought of before. Screwing up my eyes, I realize for the first time that there are different kinds of lives. I mean, of course, there are, but looking at the items before me, a couch isn't just a couch, is it? The couch I pick has to say something to Myra.

A cozy synth-cotton mega couch says, 'holo-vision and chill.’ A floral loveseat says, ‘This is the last exciting thing that will ever happen to you’. A black synth-leather couch says, ‘one-night stand’. That’s what got me into this mess in the first place. I’m trying to convince a woman to make her one-night stand her life mate.

While I've been trying to convince Myra slowly and patiently that I’m not going anywhere, the furniture needs to have the same story. The bed needs to say ‘This side is for you,’ and the tables need to invite her to sit and enjoy a meal with me. It's funny, thinking now how I never set down roots.

A different hotel room every night was part of the excitement. I was just a young Kaledian sowing wild oats. Not unexpected or discouraged, but I am getting on in years. Holo calls with my mother seem to get longer and closer to that point, too. A smile builds up inside me. Think of it, the look on Mother’s face when she meets Myra.

“I’ll take this giant white one,” I announce proudly to the store clerk. “Same-day delivery, right?” I select the whole set, matching bed, too. I can't find the right breakfast table, but I remember an antique store in an older part of town that should have just the thing.

If I ever thought about getting a place, it was so that I could have a pool table. Now I’m thinking about the bay window in the apartment and how it has the right light for a crib. How to position the couch so it catches the afternoon sunlight. I think about my babies, sleeping on their mother’s chest when I come home from a long day. How I long to be cozy and warm with them in my arms.

As I step back out into the streets, there’s just that one tiny thing still nagging at me. How to talk to her about us being fated mates? Is there even a way to bring it up without sounding crazy? Humans didn’t grow up with the stories like I did. There will be so much history about it that Myra can’t even begin to understand.

A tiny bell hits me over my head as I crouch into the store. Some of the older shops here in Mairg were designed in the human way back when this was a mining town. Cocking my head to the side isn’t ideal, but I’ll deal with it.

I’m supposed to be looking for a table, but something glittery catches my eye. I hold it delicately in my fingers. This is it. This just might work.

“Sir has excellent taste,” the shop owner says as he takes it from me momentarily to show me how it works. Thisisit. If I can’t tell her, maybe I can show her.

“I’ll take this, and the green linoleum table you have in the back, plus the chairs.”

“Very good, sir.”

I hit the streets again with newfound energy. Hitting shop after shop, I’m an uncontrollable warrior, but this time my prey is bassinets, crib sheets, toys, and books. Myra needs to see a changed man. A changed man who in this instance knows which kind of baby carrier will be best for human-Kaleidian babies.

Thinking of the little tyke sends my nostrils flaring in the direction of a street vendor.Tefir rice again, little one?

I jump into the food line, emboldened with a new kind of mission. “Daddy’s coming, kid. Hang on!”

17

MYRA

Zair is waiting for me on the way back from work with takeout in his hands and a shopping bag hanging off one arm. My stomach grumbles at the smell wafting from it. I’d been pregnancy craving tefir rice with extra granthen all day, and here he is like my personal savior.

“Hey, stranger,” I say, trying to sound casual as I unlock the door with Eva’s spare key.

“Hey, yourself.” He sets the food down on the table, and I grab plates for the three of us, leaving Eva’s on the counter for when she comes home.

“You really didn’t have to bring me dinner,” I say as I scoop out some of the delicious rice with granthen. “Not that I’m objecting, of course.”

“Of course not,” he replies, his green eyes crinkling in amusement.

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