Page 56

Jennette

A month later, I still can’t believe Tam is here with me.

That magical moment when we connected on a spiritual level convinced me this is the right course, and nothing can change my mind.

I love waking up with him, even if I’ve had to make some adjustments.

We bought blackout blinds and mounted them the first week.

Now he can move around the house as himself, even if he can’t go out like we did in Rellows.

This afternoon, I’m lounging on the sofa, sci-fi romance forgotten on my lap, watching Tam’s latest attempt to win Spock over.

He’s on the floor, hand extended, a crunchy kitty snack between them.

Spock slinks from the shadows, eyeing Tam with skittish interest. Scotty has long since abandoned any pretense at dignity; he’s currently begging for head rubs.

Spock inches forward, one tentative paw at a time, drawn by the scent of the treat and maybe a growing trust in the alien who has invaded his space. And then it happens: a quick brush of fur, a gentle headbutt. My finicky cat has officially decreed that Tam is part of the family.

“You finally got him.”

“I hoped patience would suffice.”

With great forbearance, Spock accepts a series of pets, and then he seems to realize that these pets are even better . Seven fingers as opposed to five? Sign a cat up! Scotty mews for his share and Tam gazes at me in what I presume to be bemusement.

I tell him, “That’s why you were born with two…”

“Extensors. For petting cats?”

“Exactly. If you asked them, that’s what they’d say.” I get up and stretch. “I should do some laundry tonight. I won’t have as much time after tomorrow.”

“When classes resume,” Tam says.

I nod. He insists on helping, and I used to argue since he doesn’t even wear clothes. But he does sleep in the bed, and he wants to feel like he’s contributing. So I showed him how to work the washer and dryer. And I try not to laugh when he fumbles through folding fitted sheets.

“I do not believe this can be assembled in such a way.”

In all honesty, I can’t fold fitted sheets either, but I show him a video of how it’s done, mostly to prove it’s theoretically possible.

He watches it four times, and then he replicates the movements with eerie precision—from tucking the sides inward to laying it flat and turning it neatly into a square.

“Holy crap,” I say. “Now you’re just showing off.”

“There are many things I cannot do for you. So it makes sense for me to provide value in other ways.”

Ugh, I hate that he’s thinking along those lines. “You don’t have to ‘add value.’ I want you here. I’m happy because we’re together. There’s no price point for joy.”

“I’m not trying to commodify our relationship. Or make it transactional. I just—”

“Want to help. I get it.” I offer a hug because it’s the fastest way to show that I understand his motivation.

With a little patience and some help from his tech gear, I’ve developed a few recipes that allow him to vary his diet.

He can eat chickpeas, mung beans and sprouts, spinach, soybean-related products like tofu, and a few other vegetables like Swiss chard and collard greens.

I didn’t plan on becoming a vegan on a limited diet, but I enjoy trying new recipes.

And I like the challenge of taking something very simple and making it taste good to both of us. He doesn’t share my tastes entirely, however. Sometimes when I concoct a dish and think it tastes fine, there are more subtle flavor conflicts that are discernable only to his palate.

I’m making dinner while Tam clacks away on his laptop. He dives into work with a fervor that I find endearing, and he’s more dexterous than most human programmers, even though this equipment is designed for our use. Currently, he’s contracted to correct the code on a project someone else messed up.

“Getting everything squared away?” I ask, chopping some spinach for a simple green salad. I’ll add crisp bean sprouts for texture.

“More like cutting off the heads of digital hydra,” he replies without looking away from his screen. “Every time I fix one bug, two more pop up.”

“Sounds like you need a raise.”

“I’ll settle for dinner with you and the chance to wake up with you again tomorrow.”

“You have both those things,” I assure him.

I set down the knife and rest my hand gently on the side of his throat.

It’s taken a while to figure out what gestures comfort him.

For me, this would register as vaguely threatening, but among Tam’s people, only those you trust would touch you like this anyway.

I offer a few gentle strokes and receive a sound not unlike Scotty at his happiest.

“You’re the best,” he murmurs, his voice deepening with pleasure.

I finish putting our meal together and we savor a leisurely night together.

Right now, we’re watching a show on Netflix while I review the course materials for classes that start tomorrow.

Teaching at community college was never my goal, but it pays the bills, and I’m significantly happier since Tam moved in.

“No, you.”

He nuzzles against me, but as ever, he doesn’t push for more.

Since I’m generally not high libido anyway, his restraint works for me.

My only concern is if he’s hesitating out of uncertainty—about me, us, whether he’s staying, or if he’d leave Earth first chance he got, should he be offered a choice.

I don’t want anyone with me who’s there out of convenience and not preference, but Tam’s situation is… different. To say the least.

Sometimes I catch him working on something in the office, but he hides it quickly.

It seems to be a techy something, but I already know he likes to invent things, and I don’t want to come across as nosy.

I’m sure he’ll tell me what he’s tinkering with when the time is right.

Part of me wonders if it’s related to him trying to leave, but that seems like a leap.

It’s not like he can build a ship in my duplex, and I’m prone to overthinking.

Three more weeks fly by as I dive back into work. We spend less time together, but I appreciate those moments even more, especially the way he keeps Spock from getting anxious while I’m gone. One night, Nancy comes over to watch a movie with us, something she does every now and then.

As she’s leaving, she whispers, “I really like this one. I thought he seemed too young, at first, but he’s very mature for his age. Good work.”

Yikes. Exactly how young does he look to Nancy?

Tonight, Tam faces the biggest challenge in our time together: dinner with my mother and sister.

The memory of his first encounter with them lingers.

They haven’t dropped by since, and my texts with Glynnis have been a touch…

adversarial. She is determined to undermine this connection; it’s always bothered her if I have a partner and she doesn’t.

Glynnis has her entire identity wrapped up in being the popular one, more so than me anyway.

“Remember, Mom loves flattery,” I tell Tam, “but be subtle about it. And Glynnis, well…just agree with her even if she’s glaringly wrong.”

“Flattery and agreement. Got it.”

I check the kitty food dishes, top off their water fountain, and then drive us to my mom’s house.

She’s been in the same blue ranch house since I was fourteen.

Three bedrooms, one and a half baths. Since I told her Tam’s vegan and has food allergies, she agreed to use one of my recipes, which means he can eat with us.

Otherwise, we’d be off on the wrong foot.

When we step inside, I smell roast chicken and zucchini casserole.

Dammit, Mom. Just for one night, you couldn’t let up?

My mother greets us with stony expression, eyeing Tam with wariness she can’t or chooses not to control.

I wonder how he looks to her. And to Glynnis.

We might be in trouble if they compare notes about their impressions.

“Mrs. Hammond, your home—”

“Come to the dining room,” Mom says abruptly.

Wow, she didn’t even give him a chance to finish his sentence.

He was probably preparing to compliment the house.

I do like the place. She’s decorated in cool blue tones, accented with beachy bits like shells we brought back from vacation and pictures of ships at sea.

Wicker baskets abound, along with lots of throw cushions.

It’s a comfortable space, not too much clutter.

I follow with a bad feeling. And yup, there is a single small bowl of chickpeas, no seasoning, in front of one chair.

The rest of us are having roast chicken, mac and cheese, and zucchini casserole.

It used to be my favorite meal as a kid, but I’m not ten anymore.

My mom refuses to accept the fact that I also like kimchi and pho, and spicy tofu curries, all sorts of new foods that she refuses to try.

Glynnis emerges from the kitchen with a pitcher of… Okay, what the hell is that? It’s murky amber, and I’m afraid of what I might learn about my sister.

“I’m making my own kombucha now,” she announces. “It’s transformative.”

I doubt anyone but Glynnis would say that about kombucha, but before I can ask a harmless question about it, Tam says, “It seems to be teeming with bacteria.”

“Are you saying I’m dirty?” Glynnis demands. “I was really careful with the fermentation process! It’s beneficial gut flora, not—”

“Let’s just eat,” Mom says tightly.

I have a sinking sensation that lasts for the rest of the meal.

Mom and Glynnis talk to each other, ignoring Tam and me.

He tries to interject a few times, but Glynnis talks over him.

By the end, he is slowly, silently eating his sad chickpea dinner, one by one.

I’m so mad at them that I can barely stop myself from snapping.

Tam goes to the bathroom down the hall, not to use it but to take a break from the tension. In his absence, Mom and Glynnis head to the kitchen together to get dessert he can’t eat. I follow, intending to help, so I’m right outside when they start whispering.

“I can’t believe he’s allergic to kombucha too,” Glynnis mutters.

Mom sounds annoyed. “There’s something so weird about him. Did you notice how he never smiles?”

“Maybe he’s got autism or something.” Her scathing tone says everything.

“And the way he speaks is strange too. I have no idea what Jennette sees in him.”

“Any warm body will do?” Glynnis suggests. “She’s so desperate for validation. She doesn’t even have real friends, just losers she met online in some weirdo club. It’s no wonder Nina stopped answering. She messages me on social sometimes.”

Wow. That really fucking stings. I want to leave without saying right now, but if I do, they’d know I heard every word. And then they’d explain how they’re not wrong for talking like this about me since it comes from “a place of concern.”

This is where Mom defends me, right? When we’re together, Mom tells Glynnis to stop sniping at me.

Mom sighs. “I’ve tried to support and understand her differences, but her behavior is abnormal. I’m so tired of walking on eggshells and digging so deep for something positive to say. Good Lord. Is this the best she can do? His hair can’t naturally be that color.”

“What?” Glynnis seems surprised. “But—”

“What’re we talking about?” I ask breezily as I step into the kitchen.

I can’t let them compare notes right now.

Once I get Tam home, I can choose never to let them lay eyes on him again, and they can argue about who’s right about his hair color until the cows come home.

As a long-term solution, avoidance sucks, however.

Although the way I feel right now, I might just stop answering their calls for a while.

“Nothing,” Glynnis says.

“Can I help?”

Mom shakes her head. “No thanks. I’ll cut the cake. Give me a few minutes.”

“Actually, I need to get home and feed the cats. Thanks for dinner.” I speak through my teeth, biting back the anger.

Thanks for nothing.

I don’t wait for a reply. I feel like I might choke on bitterness. I knew that my family wishes I was more normal, but I didn’t realize that every interaction felt like a chore, and they’re bending over backward to be “tolerant.” I really miss my dad right now.

When Tam comes out of the bathroom, I snag him. “Let’s go.”

“Shouldn’t I thank them?”

“Nope.”

We leave without another word. In the car, I say, “They were talking smack in the kitchen. I’m too pissed to hang around.”

“I’m sorry. It did not go well.” That’s a statement, not a question.

“Not your fault, nothing to apologize for. I just don’t fit in with them. For them, it feels like work to interact with me.”

“It’s their loss,” Tam declares.

“I’m glad you think so because you’re kind of stuck with me.” I don’t mean for that to sound so depressing but it’s accurate, and it makes me feel like I’m holding him hostage.

“Untrue,” he says softly. “I’m here because I want to be. I plan to stay with you.”

I can’t bring myself to ask if he means for now…or for always.