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I don’t even want to try to unpack what that means. It doesn’t matter. “My mother… my zhann paid someone to make sure I never got pregnant,” I explain, throat tight. “Ever.”

“How is that possible?” I say, shocked.

I shrug. “A lot of money and a surgeon willing to do something illegal and immoral. It’s more common than people think.”

“You agreed to that?” zha asks, confused.

“No. I was a child, a zhannel, still.”

“That is terrible,” zha says, skin lit up pink.

After a hard swallow, I respond. “It was, but I don’t want to talk about it.

“I will not speak of it… except to say that while you may not be able to have yours, I still want to have mine.”

“Yours? Are you telling me that you have the zhannel? I thought you were male,” I hiss, annoyed with myself. “Arg, sorry. You just said you weren’t, but you are enormous and look so… nevermind. I still don’t get the reproduction differences, clearly. Not a male, right.”

“I said I do not know this word. Or the other. There are none of either. There are not two types of zhasie. Just one.”

I remember the singular pronoun, feeling stupid and judgmental somehow. “Right. Zha.”

“Yes. Zha.”

“Still. How would I get you pregnant? I can’t.”

“True. You don’t have the expellant.”

I pinch my nose, my head suddenly feeling too full. Nothing is stable here. Not even biology.

“This conversation is not only completely the opposite of sexy, it’s also giving me a headache. Just forget I brought it up.”

“No, I want to try,” zha says, skin flushing with a green glow again.

“But try what?”

“Will you not just trust me? Like I did with the treasure sticks?”

I cringe, thinking of how much excitement came from me lying about sticks to get a fire. “Well… That might not be the best example.”

“What do you mean?”

“Forget I said anything.” I say hastily. “Yes, I trust you. Let’s try the… Breathing thing? Whatever they did to me, if I don’t have sex I feel like I might die.”

“I do not know what sex is, but I will use my expellant and see if that helps.”

Zha raises a clawed hand toward me then sweeps it to the side, and I see myself flash red in fear, then green, then purple when I think of others who have touched me.

“I do not understand your signals.”

I gulp. “I am still learning. I don’t react well to being touched, but I liked it when you squeezed me. I know you said that you don’t touch to mate, but will you hold me?

My heart pounds, more afraid that I won’t like it than afraid I will, but I ask anyway. “Real tight. Like I showed you before?”

“It is strange, but I will.”

Then zha is stepping forward and I’m shaking. I’m a kaleidoscope of colors as thick arms wrap around me.

When the rage starts to build up, I remind myself that I gave permission. Then zha is squeezing me and I’m no longer angry.