Lighters
A variety of cigarette packs
What appeared to be an aisle’s worth of candy
A stack of New Mexico postcards
Sunglasses
and god only knew what all was buried underneath. Joe had, evidently, bought out a gas station.
“Oh, well, back before I came to Earth and shacked up with your mom,I spent a lot of moons in Sector 2.72.3 doing a spiritual journey with the Slime Worms, and I really jived with their culture, if you know what I am saying. And in their culture, it is customary to bring a gift whenever a new child is born. I got lots of gifts while I was there and thought it was totally radical, so I wanted to do the same for you. Feel me, dog?”
“Sure,” Ezra said after an awkward beat. “Um. Thank you. We appreciate it.”
“No worries,” Joe said. He planted a wet kiss on the baby’s head and set him down, then came over to look into the bassinet. “What’s the sitch with these dudes? They look like they’re about to bust out of their cell, but they don’t seem to be making it that high of a priority.”
“We don’t know,” Ezra said, glancing at the egg with mild trepidation. It kept moving slightly, so he knew that the babies inside were still alive, but it was distressing to see them both so unwilling to come out.
Titan nodded. “I considered an attempt at reading their emotions, but I fear that if I touch the egg in its precarious state, it may shatter, and forcing the offspring out of their shell could cause irreparable damage to their psyches.”
Joe nodded thoughtfully, then, without warning, put both of his hands on either side of Ezra’s face and clamped his eyes shut, like he was trying to concentrate.
“Um,” Ezra said, voice distorted as Joe pressed his cheeks together. “What are you doing?”
“Darvrokian infants have an emotional link to the parent who birthed them that doesn’t require touch,” Joe explained, not opening his eyes. “So when the babies inside a shell are like, ‘Hell nah, dog, I do not wish to come out,’ sometimes a birth parent can coax them out using that link.”
“And how do you know this?” came a stern, skeptical voice at the door. Ezra, unable to turn his head as it was currently in Joe’s death grip, looked as far as his eyes could go to see Mr. Leon watching Joe with distaste. Joe opened one eye to cast a glimpse at Mr. Leon, and then shut it and went back to concentrating.
“I have spent the entirety of my life studying how species all over the galaxy reproduce, man,” he said breezily. “I am very knowledgeable of how these things go down.” He held Ezra’s face for several more seconds, then, just as suddenly as he had grabbed him, let go. He blinked his eyes open and, letting his arms drop heavily to his sides, he searched Ezra’s face with an uncharacteristic sadness in his expression.
“Oh dog,” he said with a grimace. “That is not tubular at all.”
“What’s not tubular?” Ezra asked, furrowing his brow. Joe sighed and nudged Ezra’s mom gently. She got the hint and went to perch on the side of the bed, patting the spot beside her invitingly.
Ezra, not sure in the least what was going on, went and took a seat.
“Sometimes certain offspring are more sensitive to emotions than others,” Joe explained, speaking with great care and compassion, more like a nurse than a ginormous space slut. “Those homies in there? I think they feel your emotions to a significant degree, and it’s making them afraid.”
