“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I wish I could be what you needed. Whattheyneeded.”
“You are more than enough for our offspring and for me,” Al said firmly, and Jude sighed. He thought of his debt, and his shitty art degree, and how he had never once in his life been able to keep a plant alive, and knew in his heart that Al was too blinded by his affection to see that he was wrong about him.
Before Jude could say so, however, Al caught him off guard by saying, “I believe my communication device will be completed this afternoon.”
This information unexpectedly hit like a ton of bricks, and the air was sucked from Jude’s lungs. He opened and closed his mouth multiple times, trying to formulate a response, but nothing came to him. Eventually, he settled on, “What?”
“With fewer students on the university campus, I have been able to work more freely without being noticed,” Al explained. “I have one last piece of equipment to install, and after this I believe I will be able to phone home.”
“Okay, E.T.,” Jude mumbled.
“I have told you that movie is not scientifically accurate. A bicycle would not withstand—”
“I know,” Jude said, cutting him off at the pass, painfully aware of how long that particular rant could get if he let it. “I—I guess I don’t know what to say. Does that mean you’re going to…” He couldn’t bring himself to say the words.
Quietly, Al reminded him, “You are the one who asked me to leave.”
Jude wanted to protest, but was Al wrong? It was because of Jude that he was leaving the planet, and likely never coming back. Jude had the absurd and mortifying desire to tear up about it, but he quickly blinked that back before it could become a thing.
“I will, of course, stay with you until you give birth and the eggs have hatched,” Al continued. He didn’t mention Jude’s mood shift, but he did hold him a little tighter as though he felt it—and probably, he did.
“And then you’ll go?” Jude said, surprised at how small his voice was.
“And then I will go,” Al said simply, but Jude knew there was plenty of emotion hidden behind those words.
“Can I come to the campus with you this afternoon?” Jude asked abruptly. He shifted around so that the two of them were facing each other.
Al searched his face with concern. “You should rest. You are nearing the end of your pregnancy, and surely you require adequate relaxation.”
“I’m not useless,” Jude protested. “I’m pregnant. Up until two weeks ago, I was going to campus five days a week. I don’t want to stay cooped up in here. It’ll be good for me to get some fresh air, and besides, I want to see your communication device in person.”
Truth be told, Jude couldn’t say that was his true motivation. It wasn’t like he could understand Al’s mother tongue, or any of the math and science that went into creating the device in the first place, but the thought of not being there when Al made the call felt wrong. Part of it was curiosity—how often did you get to hear an intergalactic phone call between aliens?—but the other, louder part just wanted to be there with Al while he did something difficult. To support him, like he knew Al would do for him if the tables were turned.
“If you don’t want me there, I don’t have to go,” Jude added meekly when Al did not immediately reply. “I just thought…”
“I always feel desire for your company, Jude. You may come with me.”
It was good news, so why did Jude feel so torn up about it?
Hating the way it made him feel, he reached out and cupped Al’s face, leaning in for a long, languid kiss he hoped would take his mind off things.
“When do we need to leave?” Jude asked, giving Al’s nude body a good looking over.
“Not for many, many Mississippis,” Al assured him.
“Good.” Jude straddled Al and bent down to capture his lips again.
The long-distance phone call could wait.
17
Al
“I still do not feel comfort with you driving your bad car when you are very close to concluding your pregnancy,” Al said warily as Jude put his car into drive and pulled away from the curb.
Jude snorted. The check engine light came on as it often did, and Jude hit the top of his dashboard with the flat of his palm until it went out again. “You don’t like me driving my carperiod, dork. I’m sorry, but you’re insane if you think I’m gonna wait a million hours to take the bus for a ten-minute drive.”
“The bus does not—”
