It made my delight at the surprises my alien had been leaving me all the more strange.
I never saw him doing it, never noticed him in the house, but every day there was a new bouquet of flowers on my kitchen table, varieties that were not available on Earth. I found chocolate that matched the kind I kept in the pantry, but of different varieties. One day, there was a diamond necklace on my pillow, delicate and of a similar style to the pieces I kept in my jewelry box. Each of the gifts showed an attention to what I already liked while also giving me something different than what I already had. They were unusual, sometimes from Earth, sometimes so exotic it was clear they came from the stars.
I was even more delighted by the fact that the hoof and nail cream I put next to the flowers with a bow and a sticky note on it with a cartoon drawing of a face with two horns, one broken, had vanished.
His gifts kept coming, left where I would find them, in every part of my house.
I stopped musing about my alien stalker leaving me gifts and focused on looking over what I was signing, which was just an acknowledgement of completion of work. After reading through it twice to make sure there wasn't anything that Porcha would be made about, I signed the tablet.
The security contractor took it back with a smile and a nod. As he was halfway out the door, he paused and turned back towards me.
"If you don't mind me saying, ma'am," he said. "Your husband is a good one. A little odd, but he is dedicated to your safety."
With that, he was gone.
My... husband?
I stared after him for a moment before shutting the door and locking it. What did he mean by that? Why did he think I had a husband?
I frowned as I realized the problem was likely just basic misogyny. I moved around my house, resetting my traps as I fumed. Of course, he thought I had a husband to pay for my top-of-the-line security system. I cross my arms, huffing to myself as I stomped back across the house.
I didn't need to get so upset about it.
I was used to the nonstop stream of microaggressions from men; it was a part of life. Plus, it wasn't like I had earned all my money myself, I had inherited it from money intelligent parents who had the good fortune to be born during a time period where creating intergenerational wealth was a simple matter of holding down a job and buying a house in a well off neighborhood for a years worth of salary, then selling it right before a huge housing market crash, only to buy an even bigger house in a better neighborhood for pennies on the dollar and then sit in that home until they died, leaving me a house, a trust fund, and a feeling of loneliness that I wasn't sure I would ever recover from.
I took a deep breath and reminded myself that annoyance only hurt me.
Whatever the contractor's intentions, my unhappiness in the moment wasn't caused by him; it was caused by my own mind fixating on his words.
The sun was kissing the horizon, so I went up the stairs to the bathroom connected to my bedroom and got a bath running. I dumped in some mineral salts and a few drops of a newessential oil that had appeared in my collection like a gift from the universe. I loved the scent of it, like a mixture of ylang ylang and a deep, delicious male musk. I stripped, took a long minute to admire myself in the reflection of the huge metal sheet that I had recently installed along the full far wall of the bathroom, then climbed into the hot water with a sigh.
Then I called Porcha on speaker, setting the phone on the small table next to my bath, along with the tablet that controlled my security system, propping it up so I could see the rows of green lights that indicated every entrance to my house was shut and locked tight.
"Porcha speaking," she said, her voice crisp and clean through the line.
"I changed the ringtone for my number on your phone," I said. "I know you know it's me calling."
"Habit is the bedrock for success," Porcha replied. "Having proper manners in all things requires practice."
"Pleeeeeeeeeeaaase," I laughed. "Having parents that took advantage of their privilege, had healthy spending habits, and worked their butts off before corporate greed took over the country and sucked the life out of the middle class is the bedrock of success."
"I know you didn't call me to discuss socio-economic starting points," Porcha said. "The security system is installed?"
"Yes," I said, grabbing the bar of soap and working myself over. "But the guy said something annoying as he was leaving."
"What did he say?" Porcha asked.
"He said my husband is a good one," I groaned as I lifted my foot to rub soap between my toes. "Can you believe that? I hired his company, I paid the..."
I trailed off. Wait, they never got my payment details. I hadn't paid for anything yet.
"Lamia," Porcha said. "You paid the what?"
"I forgot to pay them!" I said. "I'm sure I'll get a bill in the mail."
"That company requires a materials deposit up front," Porcha said. "You would have had to pay them to get them to start the work."
"But I didn't," I said. "They must have made an exception for me."
