Page 67 of Evan and the Alpha

“You got away with a lot as a kid.”

“Yeah, and then I told you guys I was gay and everything went to shit after that.”

She laughs a little, like it’s funny or something. “Yes, suddenly there were rules for you.”

I open my mouth to protest—there were rules before, but when I told them that, there were suddenly these big, unyielding, unfair rules.

I sigh instead, wondering if there’s a point in arguing with her. There hasn’t been before. She’s not as stringent or angry as Dad, but she’s sort of that “love the sinner, hate the sin” kind of Christian about the whole thing. Like, she pretends to love me, then uses every opportunity to attack me about my sexuality. Who I am.

Why don’t they want you to be happy?Sobek’s words ring in my ears. I wish I fucking knew, bud, I wish I knew.

She cards a hand through my hair. I let her. My feelings about my parents, my whole family, are complicated, but she’s still handing out something that seems like comfort, and I want it.

Maybe that makes me weak or foolish or something. I should cut them off. I wonder if we can kick them off the planet, tell them to go home? Never talk to me again. Never see them again.

The thought makes me ache, not exactly with anticipation or happiness, but it’s not sadness either. Like I said, these feelings are complicated. If they weren’t, I think I would have cut them all off by now.

Selfishly, I want Mom in particular. She’s the only one out of all five of us who knows anything about pregnancy and childbirth.

And even if Min’s tests say I’m fine, even if I don’t wanna go back to the station, I’m scared. I know Mom’s right. I’m—well, I was born as a male human. XY chromosomes, functioning “correctly” as far as we know. I’ve never really felt like I wasn’ta guy or like I should be a woman or something like that. I like other men, but I’m pretty firm on my own identity. I’m a guy.

So, yeah, it’s breaking my brain a little that I’m a pregnant guy—pregnant XY chromosomal male human, not a trans woman or anything like that. And that’s …

Scary, because I don’t know how this is working at all. It doesn’t fit with my understanding of myself. Who I am. How my body works. And apparently I’ve undergone some changes, but I don’t know how or to what extent.

Like, Min’s saying everything is cool, but do I actually have a uterus now or something? Where’d that come from, and how? And, like, the baby’s placental, I guess, ’cause humans are placental mammals (or so Darwin says, anyway, and Vince agreed), and since I’m carrying the pregnancy, it’s following my biology, not Sobek’s.

So that means there’s a placenta attached to a wall somewhere inside my abdomen. If I don’t have a uterus, where is it attached? And what’s gonna happen when it detaches?

And where’s this baby going? Out the way it came in? I have no idea, no idea at all. I’ve got a vague inkling that giving birth is dangerous for human beings who are equipped to do it—Mom won’t talk about giving birth to me, but I know she got her tubes tied right quick after; she’s talked about Scott and Vince as being “easy” births.

So, like, how dangerous is it going to be for me?

Mom’s got a point, and she’s pressing on all the right pressure points in my psyche. I’m scared, and she knows it.

But it doesn’t feel like she’s taking advantage of my fear. It’s more like—well, like she understands what I’m worried about. Like she knows what I should be worried about and she agrees that I should worry.

Sobek has zero idea. Kroakka lay eggs. He’s just straight-up confused by my biology, thinks it’s silly. I think he’s still half-waiting for me to lay an egg any day now.

Maybe not, now that he’s seen the ultrasound pictures. There’s no shell around our baby. There’s definitely an umbilical cord.

Mom rakes her hand through my hair again, wrapping me in close, and I let her do it. I close my eyes. I feel like I am a baby myself, seeking comfort in her arms again.

I’d say she feels it too, knows where my mental state is, when she murmurs, “My baby” and kisses the top of my head, but then, she always calls me that. “I just want to make sure you’re safe. You understand that, right?”

I sigh deep, glancing down. I’ve got a hand curved under my belly—it’s still not much of a bump, but it’s noticeable. “Yeah. Think I do.”

She kisses the top of my head again. “Then you’ll come with us,” she says, pushing me back and holding me at arm’s length. Her gaze searches mine.

“Mom—”

“Please, Evan. Let me take care of you, baby.”

I almost cave. In the seconds I hesitate, though, she continues. “Let’s go back to the station and we can help you, we can deal with that parasitical monster inside you and—”

I shove her away as hard as I can. She’s not expecting it; she falls to the ground. I scramble to my feet, desperate to get away from her. I feel like she just tried to dig my heart out of my chest with her bare hands. “Fuck you,” I manage to spit, backing away. “Fuck you, my baby’s not a—a monster!” Tears sting at my eyes.

How could she? How could she say that? I feel so, so sick.