Penny fumbles to turn on the stove. She’s not used to the touch screen buttons yet, accustomed to the knobs of her own gas stove in her apartment, but she’s determined to learn.
“L’a!” she calls out, putting a pan over the stove. “How would you like your eggs?”
L’a sidles up close next to her, his hip brushing against her waist.
“I believe Terrans call it ‘over-easy’,” L’a says.
“Got it,” Penny says, tossing a chunk of butter into the pan. She fumbles with the temperature slider, making sure it isn’t on too high. She must be doing something right, because L’a doesn’t try to usher her away. Instead, he leans down to press his forehead against her own. It’s the equivalent to a kiss, to her partner’s people—to the A’rtes. His quiet breath, soft and even, is cool. The A’rtes run cold.
“Y’la,” he says, once he breaks away. Y’la means close partner. “My sire wishes to meet you.”
Penny fixates on the stove. “Oh,” she says. “Did they have a date in mind?”
“They proposed a meeting next weekend,” L’a says. “I am told a week is an appropriate amount of time to ask in advance a meeting such as this.”
“Okay,” Penny says, ignoring the panic clutching at her throat. “I can do that.”
Naturally, they had met through friends.
Penny’s best friend knew Sam, who knew T’Val, who knew Jericho, who knew and befriended L’a because they were neighbours. Jericho helped L’a move some furniture into his house when he first settled into the predominantly human neighbourhood, despite L’a insisting that he would be fine on his own. This, of course, was true. The A’rtes reportedly have the strength of five times that of humans. Earth officials were initially frightened by this knowledge—surely, with their superior strength, organized military, and intelligent minds they would seek to overthrow Earth—but the A’rtes representatives were insulted when this fear was voiced to them at the first UN conference regarding their intentions more than three decades ago.
We seek the galaxy’s protection, not its subjugation, they had said. Surprisingly, they meant it—and suddenly Earth was contending with their first intergalactic ally.
On Jericho’s birthday, Penny had been invited to his house, accompanying Sam. Although Penny knew a lot of the guests, and was happy to catch up with them, she is an introvert at heart. After belting into a karaoke machine with a couple of the other guests, she had found herself wandering to the kitchen for some peace and quiet.
L’a was there, downing a clear bottle of mudshake.
“I like mudshake too,” Penny had immediately blurted out, taken by the curling sweep of his black hair, his narrow pupilless orange eyes, and his long, pointed ears. He was wearing a navy blue tunic and black jeans.
L’a blinked slowly at her, face flushing orange. “I was under the assumption that this was ‘chocolate milk’,” he had said.
“Oh!” Penny had said. “Uh, mudshake is basically chocolate milk, but with alcohol.”
“‘Alcohol’,” L’a had parroted, “is much stronger where I am from.”
“I hope we didn’t disappoint you too much.”
“Hardly,” L’a had said. “This ‘mudshake’ is refreshing. The A’rtes have not yet created their own sweet alcoholic beverages.”
“I’m sure they will soon.”
“Indeed,” L’a had said gravely, staring straight into her eyes.
Sugar does not exist on A’rtes. It runs amok on Earth, however, and the A’rtes, upon migration to Earth in exchange for their assistance with restoring and enforcing Earth’s defensive and environmental barriers, began to integrate sugar into their own diets, as L’a had.
“Should I bake them cookies?” Penny asks the next night. They’re sitting in the living room, in the middle of watching a movie. “Just chocolate chip. Nothing crazy.”
“I do not think that would be wise,” L’a muses. “My sire is a bit old fashioned. As much as they enjoy Earth and its delights, sweets are far removed from their pallet.”
“Oh, okay,” Penny says readily. “I can bake them some bread, then? Focaccia, maybe. It’s more salty than sweet, usually. Or I can make them some lumpia? They like pork, right?”
Without waiting for a response, Penny hastily takes out a small notebook from her pocket, writing the suggestion and other ideas down. A few minutes of scribbling later, movie long forgotten, L’a gently grasps her shoulders.
“You worry needlessly,” he says. “I have told only good things about you. They will like anything you make.”
Penny cracks a smile. “There are bad things about me?”
“Indeed,” he says, and Penny smacks his shoulder. L’a continues, unbothered, “You have a penchant for self-injury. There are only so many times it’s safe for a human to be in a regeneration pod.”
Penny pouts. “It wasn’t even that bad last time.”
“You sustained a burn the size of your fist on your foot.”
“Good thing I’m dating a galactic nurse.”
“…you wound me with your ‘logic’.”
Penny just smiles.
Penny hadn’t gotten his phone number. She hadn’t even gotten his name.
Briefly, she’d considered speaking to Sam, who knew T’Val, who knew Jericho, who must have known the A’rtes, if he was invited to the party. Then she’d realized that that was probably creepy.
She’d asked Sam anyway.
“There were a lot of A’rtes there,” Sam had said, entirely amused. “You’re gonna have to describe him a little better if you wanna figure out who he is.”
“He’s cute,” Penny had said, and Sam had shaken his head with a heavy sigh.
“Do the A’rtes have something against knocking on wood?” She’s curled under L’a’s bedsheets. She’s staying over for the night. Next to her, L’a puts down the novel he was reading—Parable of the Sower by Octavia Butler, Penny’s favourite writer—amused.
“You never knock, even if I don’t have a doorbell. You call me instead.”
“It’s considered a bad omen,” he says eventually.
“Oh,” Penny says.
“Why do you ask?”
“Just. Thinking about how I’m going to approach your sire’s house.” She tucks her hands under a pillow, curling up on her side. She peers up at him. “Will they have a doorbell? Oh, but what if it isn’t working? L’a, you could just call them right? And when they open the door, how should I greet them?”
“I feel that I have stressed you out,” L’a says, putting down his book. “Perhaps I should have told you the day of, so you would not have the time to be so frantic.”
“L’a, please don’t joke about that.”
“I suppose I will cease.”
“Thank you.”
A period of silence.
“My sire and I have a telepathic bond when we are in close proximity,” L’a says, lifting his book again. “If there is any issue with entry into their home, I will notify them. I would not leave you stranded.”
Content with his response, Penny unwinds, her fists unclenching. She rolls over, resting her head on L’a’s lap.
It was a coincidence, when they ran into each other again.
Penny was baking sourdough bread when she had violently and accidentally slammed her hand between the oven and the oven door as she was closing it. The oven mitt, already worn to shreds and oversized, had cruelly slipped off, leaving her hand entirely too exposed to the heat.
She’d turned the oven off, closed its door, and hurried to the kitchen sink. She couldn’t help her small hisses of pain as she ran her hand under cool, closer to warm, water. She’d stood there for a good half hour when she noticed that her skin was starting to swell.
After wrapping her hand lightly with a roll of bandages she kept in a drawer, she hurried to the closest clinic. Most clinics had healing pods, available to all citizens. She could probably calm the worst of her injury there.
One bus ride later, she arrived. There was already a large line-up in front of the healing pods. She had quietly cursed herself for not having a registered teleporter nearby. No, she had to rely on inconsistent (but cheap) public transit, which took her to the clinic nearly half an hour after she’d initially taken off.
Her hand was starting to sting something fierce.
“Do you require assistance?”
“I’m just waiting for the healing pods,” Penny said, still frowning down at the bandages on her hand before she looked up and met—
Narrow, pupilless orange eyes.
“I see,” the A’rtes said, glancing down at her clearly bandaged hand. “I detect charred flesh. Are you burned?
“Yes,” Penny said, taking in his plain light purple scrubs that weirdly compliment his eyes. She took note of the nametag pinned neatly onto his breast.
It read L’a.
“The current wait is about three hours,” he said. “You can also wait for intake with one of our doctors. It will also be about a three point five hour wait.”
“Ah,” Penny said. “I think I’ll just wait for the healing pods, then.”
She winced, then. Her hand stung terribly.
“I can give you a numbing gel and replace your bandages as you wait,” L’a said. “Take your queue number for the pod and sit down. I will find you.”
Penny had nodded, watching him leave with strange reluctance.
D-Day came faster than Penny would have liked. Armed with her warm container of lumpia—made with pork, of course, because the A’rtes do not eat beef—and L’a by her side, she feels like she can conquer anything.
At least, until she actually makes it to the door.
Don’t knock, she reminds herself fiercely as she presses the doorbell button. A gentle chime rings.
Behind her, L’a places his hands on her shoulders.
“Relax,” he says, gently squeezing her, and Penny makes a small noise of assent in the back of her throat.
Mere moments later, a pretty A’rtes opens the door. They look a little bit like L’a, with their narrow pupilless orange eyes, but their hair is a neon pink, and their long ears are pierced. Like L’a, their fingers, which are splayed out into a two-fingered wave, their index and middle fingers pressed together, are also slightly longer than the average human’s.
“Welcome,” they say, and Penny recognizes the A’rtes greeting only because L’a had coached her just the night before. “My name is T’Lyn.”
“May your house be free of imposters,” she responds, lifting her right hand for her own two-fingered wave, and L’a’s sire nods approvingly.
Penny sits down next to L’a, T’Lyn sitting across from her with a worryingly blank expression on her face. Penny tries not to take this too personally. The A’rtes have always had rather neutral expressions, which helped their diplomatic ventures with Earth’s people greatly.
“Dinner will be ready momentarily,” T’Lyn says in smooth English. “I see you have already brought a dish. It is much appreciated.”
“It was no problem,” Penny says with a smile she can hardly restrain. She nervously fidgets with the plastic film covering the glass tray of lumpia. “Would you like to try some?”
T’Lyn tilts their head. “Thank you. However, those of my generation only partake in one meal a day. I would like to delay consuming food at early notice, if I can.”
“O-oh yes, of course. I’m sorry.”
Underneath the table, L’a traces circles on the back of her hand, soothing laps around her knuckles.
“There is no need to apologize,” T’Lyn says, shaking their head. “You would not have known. I am aware that my son has taken up many Terran habits. Of course, this is not a bad thing. It is… acceptable, given that Earth has decided to embrace us. Mostly.”
“Mostly,” Penny echoes.
“Mostly,” L’a echoes solemnly. Then,“Sa’mekh, Penny treats me well. Far more than just ‘mostly’.”
“I see that as well, Sa’mur.”
Penny’s heart feels warm.
“So, um,” Penny starts awkwardly, conscious of the happy thudding in her chest. “What do you do for a living?”
“I am a government worker a part of the A’rtes relations department,” T’Lyn says. “I assist A’rtes with their integration to life here on Earth, such as securing housing and careers. I also assist humans who wish to immigrate to our home planet, A’rtese.”
“Do you get many immigration requests?” Penny asks curiously.
T’Lyn nods. “Although A’rtese is quite hot, humans who already live in the equator are more readily able to adapt. Those who aren’t simply have to, as humans say, ‘suck it up’, should they wish to go through with the immigration.”
“Have you gone back to A’rtese recently?”
“Once a year, for my sire’s sake, as she craves A’rtese’s dry heat,” T’Lyn says. “Has L’a spoken of her yet?”
“I have mentioned little,” L’a says.
“I see.”
They fall into an awkward silence.
T’Lyn stands up. “The meal should be ready. I will start preparing them.”
Penny starts to stand up. “Would you like any help?”
“Do not worry. Just wait. I will be out again shortly.”
Penny watches T’Lyn leave with sweat in her brow. She then swivels to L’a, who stares at her with his usual blank stare. “Did I offend them?” she mouths.
The corner of L’a’s mouth twitches.
They had met each other for the third time in a grocery store, of all places. In the dairy aisle.
L’a was staring holes into a bag of Neilson chocolate milk, and the chocolate milk carton sitting above it. His face was blank. He did not realize the endearing sight he made.
“I prefer the carton, for that,” Penny had said as she sidled up next to him, because she’s nosy and this was the third time she’d run into him, and she thought it to be fate. “I’m a sweet tooth, but even I have trouble finishing three litres of the stuff.”
“I see,” L’a had said. He had turned to her, staring down at her bandage-free hand. “I am glad you’re better.”
“Me too.”
“We have met often.”
“Seems like it,” Penny had agreed, her bag of groceries swaying with her aimless arm movement. “Sorry, if it seems like I’m following you around a lot. I’m not trying to.”
“Your presence is not displeasing,” L’a said.
And Penny got his number.
T’Lyn is an excellent cook. On the table is an array of native A’rtes dishes, most of which resemble awkwardly coloured poached eggs or gelatin. Tucked next to Penny is a large bowl of rice, which Penny looks to with great comfort. Her glass tray of lumpia sits in the center, transferred onto a clear plate.
T’Lyn had clearly made an effort to make both Filipino and common A’rtes cuisines, and getting to eat both at the same time makes Penny’s heart unbearably warm.
She watches silently as both T’Lyn and L’a close their eyes, murmuring something under their breaths. She often sees L’a do the same when they share meals together. When they open their eyes again, T’Lyn starts piling their plate. L’a doesn’t move. It’s only when Penny lifts her own knife and two-pronged fork that L’a starts filling his own plate.
They eat. Several times, Penny tries to make conversation, but the hammering in her chest causes her to cease and keep quiet. Instead, she focuses on the food, making sure to try at least a little bit of everything. One of the green egg-like dishes makes her stomach squeal in protest after one bite, so she discreetly moves it to the edge of her plate.
(When T’Lyn isn’t looking, L’a slips his two-pronged fork under the egg dish, sliding the helping into his own mouth. Penny wants to kiss him stupid).
T’Lyn leads them back to the front door with a surprisingly warm expression.
“Come again,” they say, offering a two-fingered wave. “Next time, you shall meet my own sire.”
Penny returns it. “I’d be happy to,” she says, and she means it.
Penny then watches when L’a takes their sire’s hand and leans down, brushing it against his forehead. Penny feels warm. The farewell—presumably from that of an A’rtes child to a parent—looks identical to a Filipino’s greeting to an elder.
Shortly after, Penny and L’a file back into the car sitting vigilantly in the driveway. L’a turns on the ignition, and Penny’s butterfly heartbeat calms at the familiar rumble of the engine.
“That went well,” Penny says, and thinks she believes it. She must have stared at the grooves of the dashboard a little too hard, because L’a leans towards her, pressing his forehead lightly against hers.
Then he leans down and kisses her the human way.
“It did,” L’a says when they break apart. His orange eyes are bright.
ysawrites 