Page 2 of How My Fake Alien Boyfriend Learned to Cook and Saved the Family Business

Maybe if I can cut down on some food costs…shuffle around our hours of operation for a while…

Any way I sliced it, we would still barely be breaking even for the month. The accounts couldn’t handle this for much longer, much less my dwindling personal savings. I knew Dad had given me this responsibility because he truly believed I could make it right. I also didn’t think he knew exactly how bad it was. He was terribly preoccupied with navigating his health and trying to keep Mom’s helpful, but overbearing, smothering at bay.

My head fell back against the wall. I banged it lightly a few times for good measure, letting the sting distract me.

The hard truth was that I didn’t know how much longer I could make it work. Probably a month at most. Maybe two if we picked up for the summer with more tourist foot traffic. Short of a miracle, the family business was on its deathbed, just months—if not weeks—from breathing its last breath.

Once more, I bumped my head against the wall. A ceiling tile came crashing down and landed on the floor by the desk with a dusty fwump. Coughing in the aftermath, I groaned and decided that was my sign to leave for the night. I had been there long enough, crunching numbers and getting the same results each time.

When I stepped outside, the sky was clear, and the air was warm with a hint of spring chill. One benefit of small-town life that I had completely wiped from my memory: the stars. I never got to see the stars like this in Nashville, so that was one positive for being back in Roswell Falls.

I studied the sky to see if I remembered anything from childhood, when I had become obsessed with space. And, as if manifested from my desperate thoughts, a shooting star appeared, its tail long and bright against the dark sky.

What were the chances, I thought, after spending an entire evening praying for my luck to change. Then: It couldn’t hurt, right?

I closed my eyes and made a wish.

Please bring me a miracle.

Kal

“Don’t touch that!”

Sel smacked my tentacle hard enough to sting. I pulled it away from the panel of flashing lights and buttons with a scowl.

My first thought was that if they didn’t want people to touch the thing, why did they make it look so temptingly touchable? Second thought: if they were trying to train me on this stuff, shouldn’t they actually train me?

But no one was even giving me that courtesy. Just a cursory run-through of the rooms and equipment, and the barest of explanations about what each machine did.

Because they know you don’t belong here. That you won’t stay long.

I shook my head to clear the negative thoughts before they could gather like so much dust. I had worked too hard on keeping a positive mindset to let old habits creep back in.

When Sel turned her back to continue our tour of the command center, I reached my tentacle back out and tapped one of the bright red buttons. Then I stuck my tongue out toward the back of her head for good measure.

And, of course, I ignored the subsequent beeping that sounded a lot like a warning. Surely those two things were unrelated. Purely a coincidence.

Besides, I had every right to be there in the Exploratory Unit command center, the same as all of my coworkers. I took the courses, passed the test, got the job. Not to mention, I had worked there for longer than most of my coworkers. Behind the scenes, sure, but that had to count.

Right?

You mess up one little mission simulation and cause the computers to melt down, and suddenly you were “not fit for exploratory missions,” and designated planet-bound for the foreseeable future. I maintained that it was not my fault that the equipment labels were hard to read and the instructions were unclear. If anything, my mistake could have been reframed as necessary quality assurance.

Idiot proofing, I thought morosely. And you’re the idiot they need to prepare for.

I exhaled slowly, trying to regain my composure. Positive thinking was hard work for me, and I constantly had to practice keeping the insults in my head at bay. Unfortunately, I had more experience producing negative thoughts than ignoring them. That habit was reinforced by my work environment; I was constantly the target of criticism.

I knew what my coworkers said about me because they weren’t afraid to say it to my face. I didn’t belong in the Exploratory Unit because I was too clumsy, too emotional, too different. On my worst days, they would imply I was a waste of a team member who would be a better fit for flipping patties in the mess hall kitchen.

They didn’t respect me, despite my accomplishments. I was positive I knew more about Earthlings than all of them combined. I could speak more than fifty different human languages, recite human customs in my sleep, and I had spent nearly my entire life studying Earth. More than anything, I understood humans. At least as well as one could understand humans from millions of light-years away.

Unfortunately, when those around you kept telling you that you’re not worth a damn, it tended to go to your head. I’d learned that the hard way.

Still, I knew damn well that I was more than qualified to work in the Exploratory Unit, which is why I stuck around. And it had paid off when the unit leaders finally pulled me out of the admin pool and put me on mission control.

The foremost human expert was retiring within the next month, and her successor was out on maternity leave. Leadership needed someone who could step up in a pinch and wouldn’t break the budget.

They’d found someone desperate enough in me. Even with no raise or additional benefits, I’d practically salivated when Sel came to me with the offer, a sneer stitched across her face and a condescending tone that could melt mainframes.