Page 47 of How My Fake Alien Boyfriend Learned to Cook and Saved the Family Business

Lola was carrying an oven-hot tray to the cooling rack when I peeked around the corner from the dish pit. There wasn’t much for me to do, other than clean a stack of plates here or there. Still, Lola was bustling around as if the restaurant was full of customers, face serious as she mumbled angrily to herself and cradled her sprained wrist.

I understood what was happening. Lola was in pain, and she was trying to work through it. I felt sick to my stomach knowing that her pain was because of me. If I hadn’t stood so close, if I hadn’t let my guard down, if I hadn’t let Lola kiss me, and hadn’t kissed her back—what would be different?

Maybe neither of us would be hurting now. Lola, because of her injury. Me, because for the first time, I’d had a taste of what it felt like to be wanted by someone. Because later that night, as I was falling asleep, I had let myself imagine what it would feel like to belong somewhere—like here on Earth, with Lola.

I couldn’t keep watching Lola working while in pain without saying something. As much as I thought I’d grown used to being the source of someone’s frustration, I was still hyper-aware of being disliked for it. I’d grown a tough skin among other Xaereans, but it had worn soft since arriving on Earth.

I steeled my nerves and spoke up. “If your wrist is hurting, don’t you think you should take a break?” I said.

Lola looked at me like I’d lost my mind, and I grimaced. I truly thought that was a completely normal suggestion.

“I can’t stop cooking,” Lola said. “This is a restaurant. I’m the cook.”

I took the few short steps to peer through the window of the door separating the kitchen from the dining room. The restaurant was practically empty. There was one customer sitting at a booth nursing a cup of coffee, and Darlene wiping down the pie case.

“You don’t have any customers,” I told her.

The expression that passed over Lola’s face told me she already knew this and wasn’t happy about it.

“I’m not cooking for customers,” Lola said, turning back to a mixing bowl. “I’m cooking because I need to develop a new menu.”

“But…” I went to stand by her, watching. “You’re hurting yourself.”

Lola didn’t answer. Instead, her face grew redder as she continued to add ingredients to her mixture. Lola was clearly in pain but trying to work through it. By the time I spoke up again, a sheen of sweat had gathered on her brow. I wanted to reach out and wipe it away, but I didn’t.

When Lola bumped her wrist against the edge of the counter and hissed, I couldn’t sit by and watch anymore.

“You shouldn’t be doing this,” I said, pulling the bowl away.

“But I have to,” Lola said, trying to pull it back.

I reached for the bowl again, also grabbing the metal utensil she was using to stir.

“Hey! I need that!” Lola reached a limp hand out, trying to take it back, but I used my body as a shield.

“No,” I said. I was firm, addressing Lola with more confidence than I felt. “You’re in pain, and you need to see a doctor.”

“I’m fine,” Lola insisted, trying to reach around me. “And how do you know what a doctor is? Do they even have those where you’re from?”

“Where is Kal from that doesn’t have doctors?” Darlene ducked her head through the kitchen door and made both of us jump in surprise.

Lola looked at me with wide eyes. I returned the expression. “Nowhere,” she blurted. “I mean…Ohio!” Lola amended in a rush.

Darlene narrowed her eyes and looked between us. She was clearly suspicious of the answer. “Ohio doesn’t have doctors?”

Lola swallowed loud enough for me to hear her throat work. “The Amish part of Ohio, Darlene,” she said. A sharp poke to my side. “Which is where Kal is from. Isn’t that right, Kal?”

I had no idea what Lola was talking about. I didn’t know what an Amish was, or an Ohio for that matter. But if Lola wanted me to play along, I would play along.

“Amish, huh?” Darlene looked me up and down slowly. I nodded when Lola poked at me again with her elbow.

“Yes, Amish. Definitely Amish.” And absolutely, one-hundred percent not an alien that didn’t belong on Earth.

“Didn’t realize Amish men could look like you,” Darlene said with a wink. “Maybe I should move to Ohio.”

“Darlene! You’re married!” Lola hissed. “I went to your thirtieth anniversary party!”

Darlene shrugged. “I got married, and I could get divorced. Who knows what tomorrow will bring?” Another wink. Then: “Our last customer just left. Mind if I cut out early?”