“Yes, this. I feel understanding that the premise of that entertainment program is whack as fuck, but my feelings of concern, while perhaps incited by the program, are not because of it.”
“Not to downplay your feelings—like, you’re valid or whatever—but you’re still super hot, Al. I don’t think you need to worry about that.”
“I know that I am very beautiful,” Al said, nodding in agreement. “But pretend that I do not look like a Greek god—”
“Don’t act too humble now,” Ezra muttered.
“—do you believe that Jude would still feel affection toward me as a mate if my physical form were… different?”
Ezra crossed his arms and searched Al’s face with a look of suspicion. Then, as though deciding whatever he was thinking was of no consequence, he dropped all pretense of misgiving and reached into his pocket. When he pulled out his hand, he had something held in his fist that Al couldn’t make out.
“Okay, so the answer to your question is, first and foremost, yes, I think Jude would still like you even if you weren’t gorgeous. Or if you looked, let’s say, a bit unorthodox. But I think the bigger issue here is that you’re insecure and are worried about losing Jude, which is reasonable, because that’s how everyone feels when they’re in love. Unfortunately, there’s nothing you can do about it except do the best you can as a partner and be honest with Jude about how you’re feeling.”
“So if I am a good mate and if I communicate with Jude, he will be less likely to stop feeling affection toward me?”
Ezra smiled kindly. “That’s the idea, yeah. The problem is that it’s not foolproof. Nothing is. You can’t make the other person feel the way you want them to. There’s always gonna be a part of your relationship that’s out of your control, and you just have to learn to live with that uncertainty.”
Al considered this for a long moment, then decided, “I do not feel enjoyment at this prospect.”
Ezra laughed. “No one does, dude. But we do have ways of dealing with it.” He held his hand out and offered Al the object he was holding. After an increment of time, Al accepted it. Upon examination, he saw that it was a device shaped like a pen that he had observed Ezra bringing to his mouth and sucking on with considerable frequency.
“It’s a vape pen,” Ezra explained.
“Oh,” Al said with understanding. “Yes, while I was at the university last Thursday with Corbin, we saw other human students using similar devices, and Corbin said they were ‘douchebags.’ Is that the name for people who use vapes? Are you a douchebag?”
Ezra burst out laughing.
“Corbin certainly would say so. Listen, dude.” He put a hand on Al’s shoulder. Al was wearing a sleeveless shirt, so Ezra’s bare skin touched his own, and Al felt faint waves of kindness and sincerity that soothed his own feelings of panic. “Jude is a bit of a doofus, and he’s not always great with expressing his feelings, but he loves you, I can tell. You should talk to him about your insecurities. I can’t tell you what he’ll say or do, because he’s the only one who knows that for certain, but good or bad, communication is the most important part of a relationship. In the meantime, though”—he tapped the vape pen in Al’s hand—“no sense sitting in a panic spiral when you don’t need to. Just get high about it and figure the rest out later.”
Al absorbed these words and considered them carefully.
“All right,” he agreed, and held up the vape pen. “Show me how to become a douchebag.”
* * *
“Uh. What’s going on in here?”
Al, who was lying on his back on the kitchen floor, broke into a huge grin.
“Jude!” he exclaimed, scrambling up into an unsteady sitting position. “I understand why humans tell time so stupid now! The ones who made clocks and calendars were douchebags!”
Jude squinted. “Sorry, what?”
“You know, douchebags. Humans that use vape pens to become high on marijuana. It is a good English word. The only good English word. English is very bad, but I understand why time is bad now, because I have consumed marijuana and time is passing incorrectly.” Al was gesturing emphatically, and as he did so, he noticed that he had grilled buttered bread with cheese on the inside in his hand that he had forgotten about. He gleefully took a bite and then added, mouth full, “I feel lots and lots and lots of enjoyment about this food item. It does not even require strawberry jam.”
“Hey, Ezra?” Jude looked over at the other side of the kitchen where Ezra was lying on the floor with his leg at a 90-degree angle, resting perpendicular to the cabinets beneath the sink. He was also eating grilled buttered bread with cheese on the inside. “Did you get Al stoned?”
Ezra shrugged—a gesture that was awkward in his current position. “He was having a panic spiral. Thought it would help.”
“It did!” Al assured them both emphatically. “But Jude, I do feel a desire to speak with you. I have what Ezra calls ‘insecurities,’ and I feel it is necessary to discuss them with you.”
Jude blinked, glancing from Ezra to Al and back again.
“Yeah, okay,” he said. “When you’re sober, though.”
“This is adequate,” Al agreed.
Jude rubbed the back of his neck and clicked his tongue. “So, uh… can I get a grilled cheese, too, or—”
