Page 5

Chapter Five

Amara

I regret not taking the day off work after bringing Roth’kar home. It was an oversight on my part, but to be fair, Roth’kar’s arrival had been somewhat of a surprise and I hadn’t been thinking clearly.

He’s still in his room when I wake up to the sound of my alarm and get ready for work. Perhaps he’s sleeping off his long trip. I decide not to wake him before I scurry out.

My work bestie, Kendall, is the first one to ask me about my new alien husband. She’s the only one in the office who knows that I applied for the Matching Program, and of course, I told her when I was approved. I stir the creamer into my coffee, keeping my voice low.

“He has antennae,” I tell her. “Little antennae on his head. And… they’re freakishly cute.”

Her brows rise. “Antennae? Huh.”

“Oh. And four arms.”

This time, her eyes bug out of her head. “What? Four arms? Four hands? How many fingers?”

“Five, thank goodness. I mean, I’d obviously still welcome him if he had four or seven or whatever! But it’s nice that’s familiar when the rest of him is all purply blue.”

Kendall shakes her head in disbelief. “Wild. Amara, hooked up with a purple, four-armed alien. I love this for you.”

I laugh as we make our way back to our desks. “Yeah, but I have to figure out a clothing situation for him.”

“I’ve got someone.” We sit down next to each other in front of our computers, on our matching exercise balls. “You know how short I am. She hems all my pants.”

I grimace at the thought of needing a bunch of custom-made clothes for Roth’kar.

That would add up, fast. But I also knew upon applying what was expected.

I agreed to provide everything my new husband needed, and clothes were on that list. I just didn’t expect he would have four arms requiring accommodation.

I do my morning work in an hour, then get online to browse for clothes. There are other Karthinians on Earth—look at me, knowing how to say it properly—but the pictures I find are all of handmade goods. It’s $150 for a single shirt that would fit his arms.

Oh boy.

On my lunch break, I place a call to the tailor Kendall suggested.

“He has four arms,” I repeat when the older woman on the other end doesn’t know what to make of my request. “He’s an alien. My husband. I need a bunch of clothes for him.”

The tailor is quiet for a moment, then she answers, “I can provide a bulk discount. Bring him into the shop tomorrow.” Then she hangs up.

Well, that works for me, I guess. A bulk discount sounds appealing.

I’m nervous all day, though, wondering what Roth’kar is up to alone at home.

I probably shouldn’t have told him to go explore.

He doesn’t know how traffic signals or pedestrian crossings work.

He doesn’t have money and he doesn’t have a map.

He doesn’t even have a cell phone so he can call me if something goes wrong.

Man, I’m an idiot. I hope Roth’kar isn’t a pancake when I get home.

Since I can’t very well run to my condo in the middle of the day and I don’t have a landline, I use my anxiety to go internet shopping for things we’re going to need.

First thing I do is buy him a phone, then a nice waterproof case to go with it.

On my way home, I’ll make a copy of the house key and pull out some cash to give to Roth’kar should he go wandering about.

I left him food in the fridge but neglected to show him how to use the microwave. God, I’m bad at this alien wife thing.

After lunch, I get some more work done, just enough to get my urgent tasks off my plate. The rest can wait until next week. Then I make up an excuse to my boss about not feeling well and leave the office early.

I drive home as fast as I can and roar into the parking garage with a squeal of my tires. When I get back to the condo, the door is unlocked, which I hope means that my new husband is at home and safe. But inside, the lights are off, and I can’t see anyone.

Fuck.

“Hello?” I call out. “Roth’kar?”

There’s no answer. I flip on the lights and peer into my room, then his room, both of which are dark.

Damn. The afternoon is fading fast. He must have gone somewhere, and I gave him no tools whatsoever with which to survive.

Then I hear a yawn, and spin around to find four hands rising into the air above the couch. Roth’kar sits up, then yawns again, covering his mouth.

“You’re back,” he says, getting to his feet abruptly.

“So I am.” I let out a relieved breath. “I’m glad you’re here.”

He simply nods. “I tried to exit the building as you suggested, but when I followed the signs for exit , a very loud alarm went off. I was escorted back to your apartment by a rather large man in a blue uniform.”

I knew it would all go wrong, but at least he didn’t get any farther than the fire exit.

“I’m so sorry.” I fall into one of the chairs at the table. “I should have at least shown you around before suggesting you go out.”

Roth’kar sits across from me and reaches out to put a gentle hand on my arm. “It’s no cause for concern. I explained the situation, and the uniformed man led me back here.”

I shake my head. I can’t believe he’s had a run-in with the cops already, and I haven’t even had time to explain that he should avoid them.

Roth’kar continues. “He said, however, I need some sort of vee-sa ?”

I squint. “Vee-sa? Oh! A visa!” I didn’t even think about that. All aliens that settle on Earth need a galactic visa, and one of my first priorities should have been to take him to the registration office.

That will probably take all day. At least we won’t have to go to the DMV, though.

“Wow. Good thing that cop was understanding,” I say with a sigh. That could’ve gone badly very quickly for Roth’kar. Now I feel even worse. “Did the matching agency give you a temporary visa?”

Roth’kar stares at me. “I do not know what this vee-sa is.”

“It’s, like, a really stupid permit you need to have to be on Earth. I can’t believe Gazargo didn’t give you one.”

Roth’kar tilts his head, then spins on his heel, zooming down the hallway to his room. He returns with his bag, which he opens, revealing pitifully few contents before he produces a folder.

“Is this the vee-sa ?”

I open the folder to find exactly what I’m looking for, right on top. I exhale with relief.

“Good, it’s here. Keep it on you, then I can at least take you to the tailor.”

Rothkar’s antennae bob when he cocks his head. “Tailor?”

“A tailor measures you and then makes clothes, or alters clothes, to fit.” I hold out my arms. “Since humans only have two of these, there’s not much in the way of Earth-made outfits that will work for you.”

He nods in understanding. “Thank you, Amara. For doing this for me.”

I wave him off. “It’s my job as your wife to take care of you.” It’s strange how this word feels slipping off my tongue. Wife. “I wanted you to come here and share my life with me.”

Those glowing blue eyes study me, different enough from a human’s that I’m acutely aware of our differences. When I opted to marry an alien, I didn’t consider just how alien he would be.

“Then, as your ‘husband,’ what is my job?”

“Your job?” I stare blankly at him, because I have no idea how to answer. I didn’t consider too deeply what my future husband might want to contribute to our relationship. “I… I don’t know. I mean, you don’t have to have a job. I make enough money to support us.”

Roth’kar is quiet, still watching me, as if puzzling over me. I feel a little bare under his gaze.

“I suppose I will have to find a job, then,” he says at last. “Something I can do to help you and make your life easier.”

It’s sweet that he wants to contribute something.

“Well, do you know how to cook?” I ask, as I sidle into the kitchen to get started on dinner.

“I cook.” He follows me, gazing curiously around the kitchen. “I can’t say that I know how to use any of these devices, though. Or how to make human food.”

I brighten. “At least you know how! That’s what’s important.” I pull out a pan, then fish through the fridge for ingredients. I had a few meals planned, but seeing as how much Roth’kar eats, I may have to go shopping again soon. “I can show you.”

“I would appreciate that.”

Roth’kar is a good student as I demonstrate dicing vegetables, then hand over the knife so he can mimic it. I express he should be careful with the blade, and this draws the first bit of laughter I’ve seen from him.

“I can use a knife,” he assures me as he chops the onions with ease. He’s doing it the wrong way, but I’ll correct him later. It helps that he has an extra pair of hands with which to do things, which makes him shockingly fast.

I wonder how hard it is to control four arms at once. That seems like a lot for the brain to keep track of.

“Do you cook every night?” Roth’kar asks as the food simmers.

“No, not every night. Actually, very few nights.” My lips screw up at the thought of just how much fast food I’ve eaten lately, ever since Elvis died. “I eat out a lot.”

“Eat out?”

“At a restaurant. Somewhere you go where people prepare the food for you, and you just eat it.”

His brow furrows. “Like our slophouse.”

I’m not sure I heard him right. “Slophouse?”

“Where we ate when we didn’t eat at home.” He thinks for a moment. “The translator says it is somewhat like a cafeteria.”

“No restaurants? Like, places where you can choose what to eat?”

“Choose?” He shakes his head. “The food comes out, it goes on your tray, and you eat it. Seconds cost extra chips. If you don’t eat it all, you can put it in your shirt, but then it tastes like shirt.

Sometimes shirt is an improvement, though.

” He nods at the chicken in my hands. “Will you show me how to cut this up so I can do it in the future?”

It’s adorable how much he wants to learn, so I stand a little closer as we start the lesson.