I sigh. This is going to be an interesting thirty days.
Chapter Five
Shathar
I will have to share. And whenever I am not present, there is no way for me to know what Fiona will be doing with Khesan.
Though I hate it, I can’t fight it, not while he plays agreeable and understanding. I can’t let the youngling be more mature than I am.
Reclining in bed, I reach over and fiddle with the peculiar lamp on the bedside table. We have push lights back home embedded in the walls because they take up less space. This contraption has a lever or a switch somewhere—perhaps…
I almost knock it over trying to twist the light switch, but eventually I get it off. I wonder how much of adjusting to life on Earth will be like this, fumbling my way around until I figure out the answer.
This bed is soft, also unlike an Arshurian bed, which is firm and flat. I’m not sure what to do with the pillows that Fiona pointed out to me, but I embrace one like I would embrace a mate.
I hope that can be me someday. I hope I can be what she was looking for when she signed up for the Galactic Matching Program. Not only is she lovely to look upon, but she’s kind and caring, and intelligent, as well. I believe she is the perfect woman to grow old with.
I hope she will come to see that in me, too.
The next morning, I’m not sure whether the sun has come up because there’s cloth covering the windows. When I push it aside, a bit of sun trickles in, so it must be morning.
When I walk up the stairs, the lights are all still off. Perhaps I am up and awake before Fiona, which leads me to the next thought: perhaps I can have breakfast ready for when she emerges.
First, I familiarize myself with the kitchen. There is a stove that seems to operate with buttons. My embedded translator—which was placed in my head behind my ear, under my left fan—points out which side says “high” and which says “low.” This will be helpful.
Most of the cupboards are full of plates and cups, the drawers with odd silver cutlery. We mostly use our hands back home, so I note that humans don’t despite our meal last night.
There is a large box with doors that I assume is a cooler, and open it up to find it is, in fact, cold inside. There appear to be lots of items in it, but I’m not entirely sure what they are.
Meat. There we go, I recognize that. I pull it out and place it on the counter, then go seeking accompaniments. At home, a traditional breakfast is kitter bird with grains and fruit. Fiona appears to have some fruit in a bowl, and though I’m not sure what it is, if it’s in her kitchen, it must be edible.
I cut up the meat, then turn on the stove. At home, our heat source is underneath a single large pot, but this must have multiple heat sources. I put the meat on the heat source, which glows red, and then set to cutting up the fruit.
Smoke soon starts rising from the stove. I go over and flip the meat, and it’s charred black on one side.
Hmm. Must have turned it up too high. I turn the heat down and try again with another piece of meat. But more smoke rises and fills the room. I pull this next piece of meat off and it sticks to the heat source.
Suddenly, there’s a terrible, ear-piercing beeping. It’s horrifically loud, enough to wake up everyone in the house.
“What is that smell?” Fiona calls out over the furious beeping as she thumps down the stairs. She comes around the corner into the kitchen and stares at me. “What are you doing?!”
“I was attempting to cook breakfast,” I shout back. She sees the meat on the stove and rushes over, grabbing a pair of implements to try to scrape the meat off the surface.
“You need a pan!” she cries, tossing the meat in the sink. The beeping persists. “Fuck, the fire alarm is going off and I can’t reach it.”
This is going as badly as possible.
“Where is it?” I ask quickly.
More thumping, and Khesan comes rocketing into the kitchen.
“What is going on?” he calls over the noise. Fiona ignores him, running across the room to the wall and jumping up in the air.
“It’s up there!”
I rush over and lean down, offering my hands for her to step on. She hops into them, then I lift her up so she can reach a white cylinder up on the wall. She presses a button and the beeping, at long last, stops. Frantically, Fiona opens a window, and then another window nearby, ushering the smoke out.
Khesan is standing there open-mouthed, while I look upon the smoldering remains of the meat still stuck to the stove. Finally, Fiona returns, panting.
