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I am not jealous. I was the one who made first contact with sentient, intelligent life outside of our solar system. I worked with said alien to help save both of our planets. Adrian waited for me. For decades, they waited, holding onto hope that I would return to them. Savior and Hero have been added to my name, and to our alien’s.
I am not jealous. Our alien named me during one of our very first meetings, bestowing me with one of the highest honors of my kind. Names are sacred: they’re everything you have been, everything you are, all that you could be. Names are important. Even if it’s a clumsy jumble of sounds, and not a traditional Eridian song. Rocky is mine. They met me, decided I was important to them almost immediately, and gave me a name in their own alien tongue. It’s more rare than anything on this planet; aside, perhaps, from them and our Adrian, who had the honor of being the second Eridian to be named by them before they even knew it. They are ours, and we are theirs: one of the perfect numbers, the sacred three.
I was not jealous when our alien, our Grace, went on to name others in their language (something called “English” that sounds like nonsense, to a species like Eridians). There might be more of us with human names now, but my mate, my Adrian, and I—we were the first. And we are the ones they return to, so that we can watch them sleep, and they can watch us. It’s only reasonable that Grace would name the others they meet, because despite becoming fluent in our language years ago, their limited vocal cords prevent them from being able to speak it. Human names are only the logical solution.
Which means that I am not jealous when others whistle and sing with the exaltation of being named by Savior-Hero-Friend-Grace. The reaction is a reasonable one; I cannot fault them for treasuring such a gift.
And I am still not jealous when I find myself standing in front of Grace’s house one morning, and notice a bracelet of crystals wrapped around their wrist that was not there two days before, when I last visited. I am not—
“Rocky!” They grin at me as they stand in their doorway. The expression stopped being terrifying long ago. It’s still a little strange, the way they like to show off their blade-like mouth bones (their teeth), but it’s meant to be a display of happiness. I decided to embrace it when we were alone in space. “You’re here early, pal. What’s up?”
I plant all five of my hands firmly on the ground so that I can angle my carapace towards them. The behavior is a learned one, but instinctive by now. Depending entirely on the strange, gelatinous spheres in their skull to interpret the world around them means that it’s easier for them to know where to look at me if I use one side of my carapace as a “face”.
“We finished the testing ahead of schedule,” I say, unable to keep myself from sounding a little smug. “I was able to leave a little early, and Adrian thinks we should have the water temperature fixed by the end of one Earth week.”
“Holy cow, really? You’re a genius. You both are.”
The compliment makes me feel warm, and I let it roll over me. One thing I will never get used to is the praise they’re so quick to give when it comes to Adrian and I. It doesn’t matter how often I tell them that our efforts are the least we can do, after they gave up their chance to go home for us. So I could be returned to Adrian. So our world could be saved. Of course we want to do everything we can to repay that great debt. Of course our people were eager to make their stay on a foreign planet as comfortable as possible. Savior-Hero-Friend-Grace—or, when it’s just the three of us, simply Grace—deserves nothing less.
“Yes,” I tell them. “Yes, yes, I know; we’re very smart, and you’re still very bad at math. You’d still be stuck on Mary if it weren’t for us. Will you let me in now, so I can beat you at chess again?”
They chuckle, those great exhales of air forced from their strange organs called lungs. Another sign of happiness, it’s one of my favorite human sounds, and not just because it resembles the song of joy my kind makes. “Teaching you that game was a mistake.”
But they step aside anyway, and make a dramatic and grand, sweeping gesture with their free hand to usher me inside. The movement makes the crystal beads around their wrist clack. I find myself thinking about them again, entirely against my will—I can hear that they’re made of quartz. A simple enough crystal, of which there is an abundance of on Erid. The beads are hand-carved, though; the imperfections on each sphere are minute, but still there, all the same. Tell-tale signs of a labor of love.
Someone took the time to make this. Someone who wasn’t Adrian, or me, someone who does not normally work with crystal and stone.
…Who was it?
There’s something strange welling up inside me, something that isn’t physical and would not show up on any medical exams. It’s—acidic, corrosive, the same way Grace’s oxygen was corrosive when I broke out of my xenonite barrier to save them. I decide to stamp it down forcefully, the way I work dents out of metal with my hammers when I’m busy in my shop. When I’m done, the sheets always sound lovely, a thing of beauty earned through hours of hard work. If I can do that, then surely I can make this odd feeling bend to my will, too.
Pondering on something as inconsequential as a stupid bracelet will get me nowhere. There are more important things to focus on: like spending my morning with Grace. Adrian will be by later, after they finish their official report, and then we’ll all walk down to the beach together to watch the waves. Still, I treasure my solo time with our Grace. Several Earth years spent in deep space by their side has created a bond that cannot be replicated under any other conditions.
Most people who hear the three of us think we’re all mates. Adrian and I rarely bother to correct them. We are, in a way; Grace has my mark seared into their fragile skin forever, the same way I have Adrian’s stone and they have mine. We are all three bound together, by fate, by choice. There are no words for it—and despite my constant want to understand and name most things around me, we’re perfectly happy to leave this undefined.
Grace is mine as much as they are Adrian’s, and Adrian is ours, and I am both of theirs. It’s a beautiful balance, and we need no other.
So why would someone else think they have the right to make a claim over Grace? What stranger would dare to throw our intermingling orbits into such disarray? Especially someone who could never understand the intricacies of our songs?
It takes more effort than it should to abandon that thought, and that makes me feel uneasy. Grace has a right to visitors, I tell myself. Grace can see whoever they wish. The gift of gemstones and clothing—jewelry, Grace said once; to humans, our clothing is more reminiscent of something called “jewelry”—to a potential mate is an old, archaic practice. Most have left it behind, with the past, especially after the first elevator into space was built. The time had come for a new age, and with it came new customs.
Of course, there are still some who cling to the traditional rites. The bracelet could be entirely innocent, or it could be a sign of something far more sinister. Do they have a suitor who seeks to take them from us, or is it simply a token of goodwill?
If someone has come to court them, why haven’t they said anything? Does Grace even know what the gesture could mean?
Either way, they act like nothing’s happened. They chatter about the brilliance of their beloved students, whose lessons only started weeks ago, as they wander into their kitchen—their place for meal-preparation. I listen as I settle in at the chess board set up on the table in their gathering room. It’s just as we left it the last time we played, waiting for us to return so that I can thoroughly vanquish them once again. Despite their complaints, I think they enjoy it. They aren’t very good at hiding their feelings; humans, I have come to believe, are simply too expressive. Especially ours.
Grace has learned a lot about most of Eridian culture (except—possibly—when it comes to courting) after all of their years by my side, and their time in their new home, so they take care to avoid eating around everyone but me. The act doesn’t bother me like it used to; I had to get used to it during our long journey home. But even Adrian prefers to stay away during their mealtimes. When I’m around, however, they like to sip on things called drinks. Which they insist is not like eating, though it’s all processed the same way.
When they eventually return to me, they have both of their squishy hands wrapped around a warm mug. Ah—coffee, of course. Or at least, something close to it, that’s made from a fungus found deep in the local Eridian canyons. Grace’s drink makes no sense to me, seeing as caffeine is a literal poison, but apparently consuming it is a norm back on Earth. It took a lot of convincing for our science department to look into coming up with some way to replicate it, and Grace treasures their one dose every morning. (Their medical team, erring on the side of caution, won’t allow them to have more than that. Because I told them to. But that’s a secret.)
“So, where were we?” they ask, as they settle into their chair across the table from me. The mug gets set on a little coaster, to protect the table, and they run their strange and soft fingers through the hair on top of their head. It makes the beads around their wrist clatter.
The noise digs in, like a blade into all of the tender parts of me, the parts that are supposed to be protected by my stony carapace. It’s hard to focus on anything else. Each time they smash against one another with every movement Grace makes, it’s a reminder. And Grace has never been one for sitting still, always flitting about like the winged birds that exist on Earth.
“…Rock? Hey, bud, are you still with me?”
I return to myself when I fixate on their face. Their odd accessory called glasses, which supposedly aids their sight, sit perched on the bridge of their nose, and their eyebrows are furrowed. I know the tone of their voice, and I know this expression—they’re concerned.
Guilt rushes in to douse the acidic, biting feeling that I’m struggling to dismiss. Over the many years of our friendship, Grace has had to worry enough: about me after our disastrous fishing expedition, about our mission, about me again when they realized I was stranded in deep space, and about themself, while they slowly starved before we were able to find a way to keep them fed. The last thing I want is to be another source of distress for them. Especially when they have every right to their own, private life. If someone has decided to court them, they’ll share the news on their own time, when they’re ready to do so.
Right?
“Apology,” I say, but I can’t quite get the melody right, and it falls a little flat. “I was distracted.”
“Yeah, I could tell. What’s on your mind? Do you wanna talk about it?”
No, not particularly. I scrounge for a safer topic to throw at them, to divert their attention away from the truth. “I’m thinking about your medical team. They shouldn’t let you have so much caffeine.”
It makes them laugh again. “We‘ve been over this a thousand times. I used to drink way more back on Earth.”
“It’s a poison,” I reply, exactly the same way I’ve told them over and over again. Around us, the air shifts, and the tension and worry give way to the comfort of an old argument. Good, good, good. “Humans don’t make any sense. You consume things that hurt you: caffeine, capsaicin. It’s a miracle your species has survived for as long as you have.”
They wave me off. The motion makes the stupid beads around their wrist clatter again. “Yeah, yeah, I get it. Humans are weird. Are we going to play, or are you going to bully me some more?”
We play. I still bully them. And I try very, very hard not to let the clacking of their bracelet get to me, but it’s hard, with my hearing as good as it is. It makes me want to dig my claws into something and tear it to shreds. By the time Adrian is finally able to escape from the lab, I’m only all too eager for our walk on the beach. At least the waves help drown out the sound, and Adrian’s enthusiastic reports about the fine-tuning of Grace’s biodome give me something to focus on.
When Adrian and I eventually return to our home, I barely have a second before they’re pressing their carapace against mine as they croon a soft melody. “Something’s bothering you. What’s wrong, soulsong?”
I almost consider telling an untruth, the same way I avoided this very topic with Grace. But after a moment, I whistle a tune of resignation. I cannot run from them—not Adrian, who has been with me since before Grace was even born. Their stone has been a part of me longer than it hasn’t.
“It’s Grace,” I say mournfully.
Adrian goes tense. During those early days, our human had been a constant source of stress. It’s a miracle they were able to pull through, after the diseases that came for them because of their malnutrition, and the effects of Erid’s gravity. The last year has been the first one where we haven’t had to worry, and they were finally able to start accepting non-essential visitors and begin teaching the pebbles.
I realize my mistake almost immediately, and hurry to correct it before Adrian can start to fret.
“They’re fine,” I add, and they relax. “Physically, mentally—all of their latest labs came back clean. It isn’t their health that I’m worried about. It’s… I think another might be courting them.”
And oh, how I hate to have to put my feelings into words! To say them aloud—to give them voice—makes them more tangible, somehow. More real. And it forces me to realize just how ridiculous and illogical I’m being. I sound like one of the feared predators we have on Erid: they dwell in the deepest caves, and are fiercely territorial, guarding their food stashes and egg clutches with horrible, serrated obsidian claws.
For a moment, Adrian says nothing, and I find myself dying to know what’s going on inside their perfect, crystal mind. Are they upset by this possibility, too? Are they angry? Are they—
Adrian’s amusement is one of my favorite sounds. It’s beautiful and enthralling. Once Grace told me how they missed something called wind chimes, dangling metal ornaments that sing in the Earth breeze, and the noise Adrian makes now reminds me of that. I just wish it wasn’t at my expense.
They laugh at me, and I sink down, hiding my carapace behind my limbs.
“It isn’t funny,” I protest.
“No, it’s very funny,” they say. “The thought of it—dear, it’s absurd.”
“It is not! There are several who would court them, if only given a chance.” I know this for a fact. For every Eridian who sees Grace as some sort of unnatural oddity, there are five more who would eagerly take one of Erid’s saviors to their nest, if only Grace was willing.
I always thought they weren’t, but that was before they started wearing jewelry made by another. Now, I’m not so sure.
But Adrian refuses to be deterred, though they attempt to soothe my irritation. They lean down to nuzzle against me once more as their laughter fades to a comforting rumble. It works, despite my best efforts to cling to my annoyance. That’s the problem with being mated for most of your life; your partners learn all the tricks to calm you down, even when you still want to be mad, damnit.
“Grace has no interest in anyone,” they assure me. “They are ours. Not in the same sense that you and I belong to one another, but they’re ours, nonetheless. Even if someone had come to court them, I’m sure they would tell us. You don’t need to be worried.”
I want it to be true, I really do. It would be nice to have my fears swept away as easily as that. But I’m an engineer—my entire career revolves around finding problems. And their solutions are rarely as simple as one might think.
Still, I let myself lean into Adrian. Decades without them by my side means I’ve come to treasure every second that I get to have them again. And I try very hard to believe in what they’re telling me.
For a little while, it works.
Until I come calling again five Eridian days later, and Grace greets me with another bracelet around their soft, fragile wrist. Stacked right on top of the first, this one is made of little beads of labradorite—something that Grace once said is shiny and blueish-green, much like our Adrian, according to them. Grace likes labradorite.
It’s very hard not to let my thoughts spiral as we watch Star Trek together on their laptop. Just like before, Grace acts like nothing’s wrong, but I can feel myself sinking deep into despair as I sit, nestled beside their thigh on the couch. Is the new gift a token of affection from the same suitor, or is there another? Which option is worse? I can’t decide. They’re both disastrous.
Grace, as annoyingly intuitive as ever, picks up on my mood fast. But I refuse to divulge my fears. Adrian isn’t concerned, and Grace clearly isn’t upset, either. The issue lies solely with me. I don’t want to be the one, discordant note in the song the three of us are weaving together.
So we sit through a few episodes of their favorite show. Grace tells me the same trivia they share with me every time we watch them. And then they have to work on lesson plans for their students; they tell me they’re on a unit about Earth geology, which covers plate tectonics and an ancient supercontinent that was called Pangea. It’s apparently all very interesting, and it keeps leading to their pebbles attempting to fit themselves together like puzzle pieces no matter how hard Grace tries to get their class back under control. A barrier of xenonite between them and the little ones means that sometimes there’s only so much they can do.
“Y’know, you could join me for a class, one of these days. If you want,” they offer, as they type away on their laptop. “The kids would love to have a guest speaker, especially if it’s Erid’s most famous hero. And they’ll probably listen to you better.”
In spite of the turmoil broiling inside of me, I whistle a note of amusement. “One of Erid’s most famous heroes.”
“You know what I mean.”
“Yes, yes, yes. I know. I’ll think about it,” I say.
And then Grace smiles at me, and it’s almost enough to get me to cave. But I hold fast—they might be stubborn, but I have centuries on them, and I’m still sulking! Even though they don’t know why. Even though it’s more than a little unfair, because despite all my efforts to keep it to myself, no one knows me quite the way Grace does, aside from Adrian. And I’m sure they can see right through me, with those weird, squishy eyeballs of theirs.
Why they haven’t called me out on it yet, I have no idea. But I haven’t called them out yet, either, so I guess we’re equal. Again.
Just like we always are. Which is one of the reasons why Adrian and I decided they were ours.
And then I’m hurting all over again.
Why do things always have to be so complicated? I helped save Erid, I helped save Earth, I helped save Grace. The hardest things were supposed to be behind us. And yet here I am, worrying, worrying, worrying. But knowing how ridiculous it is doesn’t make it go away. If anything, it just makes the feeling worse—like a tiny stone lodged in one of the joints of my limbs, and irritating everything around it. The more I think about it, the worse it feels.
It’s especially awful when the problem is right there, within perfect hearing range. And it’s only growing.
Each time I visit, Grace asks me again about being a guest speaker, and I say I’ll think about it. And as that count goes up, so does the amount of jewelry they proudly wear on display. Every few days, there’s another bracelet. And another. The crystal the beads are carved from is always different: various types of agate, fluorite, jade, the list goes on. It gets to the point where Grace is wearing them on both wrists, the abominable collection slowly creeping up their forearms. Each movement they make is a symphony of noise; which would sound beautiful, if it weren’t for the fact that it means someone is trying to take them from us.
My acting is only so good. I can feel myself getting more irritable with each passing day—my responses are clipped, short notes that betray all the things I’m hiding underneath the surface. Not unlike a volcano, the pressure can only build for so long before something errupts.
It comes to a head one afternoon while Grace and I are playing a round of chess, passing the time together as Adrian fine-tunes the lights of the biodome. And I’m so distracted that I lose. For the first time since they had taught me the rules to this strange Earth game, I lose.
Grace doesn’t celebrate the way I expect them to. They blink (which makes their eyes squelch), and look down at the chess board. And then they reach up to scratch their head, causing the damn bracelets to clatter together.
“Whoa,” is what they finally say. “How’d that happen? What’s going on with you, Rock? You’re off your game today.”
I know! I know I’m—I’m off my game, whatever that means! Stupid humans, with their stupid language, and their stupid courting while they act like nothing’s happening. While they make me feel like I might be losing my grip on sanity just a little bit. It’s… it’s…
“Unfair!” My whistle is high, a tone I haven’t had to use with them since I realized they were trying to hide the beginnings of their malnutrition from me on the journey home. Only too late do I realize I’m speaking aloud. But by then it can’t be helped, so I decide to roll with the momentum instead. It was bound to happen sooner or later. “You are so fucking unfair. Stupid, squishy space blob, stupid human, stupid Grace. Showing off your stupid courting gifts like I can’t already hear them perfectly well. How long were you planning to draw this out?”
And Grace, in their typical, annoying Grace fashion, blinks at me like I’m babbling nonsense. “…What?”
I groan (which, for Eridians, is a low, rumbling growl) and jab one claw at the jewelry they wear. “Those! Those cursed things on your wrists! How many potential mates do you have lining up at your door when Adrian and I aren’t here—or is it just the one?”
That gets a better reaction out of them. They try to swallow, and choke on their own saliva. Gross. “Po-potential mates? Rocky, what are you talking about?”
“The bracelets—the courting gifts!” How simple do I have to make this? They can be stubborn, but I’ve never known them to be purposefully obtuse, unless they’re trying to get on my nerves because they think it’s funny. “The tokens given to potential suitors. Adrian is sure there’s nothing to worry about, but I’m not convinced.”
And the worst part is, I think, that I wouldn’t mind if they decided they had the space in their fleshy heart for someone else. After all, Adrian and I were already a mated pair before Grace and I found each other. It’s only fair that they might want that same sort of bond with someone else. Grace is incredible—I call them stupid, but they’re brilliant, they’re brave, they’re kind, they’re good with pebbles. There isn’t much more that one can desire in a mate. (Except, perhaps, for a better memory, but a wrinkly, wet, lipid brain can only do so much compared to one that’s made of crystal.)
No, I can’t blame anyone for wanting them, or for them seeking out another. What hurts, what bites like acid churning inside of me, is the fact that they didn’t tell me.
For years, when all we had were each other had in the vast emptiness of space, we told one another everything. There were no secrets. When Grace eventually divulged that they never wanted to be sent on their mission, that they were scared—scared and held down and forced to sleep against their will—I told them that I was scared, too. I recounted the deaths of my crew mates. I told them about the horrible ways that each one of them died, painfully, slowly, and how I cowered in the corner of my workshop all alone, and avoided sleep until I was delirious because I had no one to watch me when I was at my most vulnerable. Grace and I are equals. We always have been.
I just don’t understand why they would keep things from me now.
Grace doesn’t say anything for a long, long time. I hear them breathing, deep and intentional, slow inhales and slow exhales that are punctuated by each beat of their heart. The song sung by their body’s organs is a symphony I grew to love many years ago—proof that they’re alive, that I didn’t lose them out in endless void the same way I lost my crew. And the way I hope I’m not going to lose them now. It’s what I focus on now as I wait for them to find what they want to say.
Finally, eventually, they sigh. “Rocky. Pal… is that really what you think is happening?”
I hate it when they use that tone. It’s the same one they put on for their pebbles when they’re trying to douse an argument; a conflict deescalation tactic, it’s called. The most irritating thing about it is that it usually works.
“I don’t know what else I’m supposed to think.” I’m not pouting. I don’t have a face, not like them, with all of those gross, leaky holes. I’m not pouting. Literally, physically, I can’t. But I am crossing two of my limbs. As a barrier between us, perhaps. Something to hide behind.
Of course, that’s never stopped Grace before. It doesn’t stop them now, either. They lean over the table to cover one of my hands with their own. Even through the form-fitting xenonite, I can feel their chill. Sometimes it reminds me of a corpse; Eridians lose much of their body heat after death.
“Rock.” They look me right in the carapace, and with us touching, I can hear every detail of their body. “Buddy, I’m sorry. I had no idea.”
Oh. That… whatever I thought they might say, it definitely isn’t that. And they sound… sad.
It shouldn’t make me feel guilty. I’m angry, here. I shouldn’t be sad. But there’s just something about humans—something about Grace, with their wet eyes and their gross mouth—that manages to twist my insides up into something dangerously soft and squishy. Like the alien I’m supposed to be mad at.
“So if it isn’t that, then what is it?” I demand. Or try to demand. My song isn’t harsh enough for that.
Grace retracts their hand so that they can look down at their collection. They give their arms a little shake, and make the beads sing. “They aren’t for, uh… courting, I can tell you that.” Having to say the word out loud makes blood rise to their face, which would normally make me chitter teasingly at them. “You know I’ve had a couple visitors. Turns out lots of people want to see the weird, squishy alien in person.”
“Yes, yes, yes, I know that,” I say. Now that Grace is well enough, everyone’s been dying to get inside the biodome. The wait list is weeks long. “What does that have to do with anything, if they aren’t looking to be your mate?”
When they laugh, it isn’t their usual sound. It’s stunted and awkward. Grace has always hated anything that implied them having a mate. A traditional mate, which is part of why this believed betrayal has been such a sting. “Well, one of them—I named them Blueberry—” Which makes me snicker. Being named after a food? How perfectly insulting. “—is an anthropologist. They had a lot of questions about human culture. It was fun.”
“How did that lead to the bracelets?”
Grace shrugs, twitchy up and down motions with their shoulders. “I told them that we have things similar to what you guys have, like your clothing, and how humans really like jewelry, too. I guess it gave them an idea, because they came back the next day with a bracelet for me. They said it was a… thank-you gift, I guess. Y’know, for everything.”
Humans do like jewelry. I remember that—like Eridians, they enjoy adorning themselves with metal and gemstones. Even though they prioritize color, and the way light refracts off the pieces (it’s something called sparkle) over the way they sound.
I hum, low and mostly to myself. It would make sense, I suppose, for one to want to offer a token of gratitude. After all, when we first made it to Erid, we had a swarm of scientists who were practically begging to be chosen for the honor to work on Grace’s biodome. My home planet is perfectly content to ignore their desire to wave away all the hero worship; we wouldn’t still be here without them. Compared to the gestures they’ve turned down so far—like the several statues they said they don’t want, but that are being built anyway—a bracelet is nothing.
“And the others?”
Grace’s grin is lopsided. “I guess the word got out. It became a thing when someone new comes to visit. I didn’t mean for it to happen, but everyone’s put so much work into them, and I don’t have the heart to turn them down.” They pause and run an index finger along one wrist. “I like them. They’re pretty, and they mean a lot to me. And I guess it would be pretty rude to refuse a gift.”
“Unless it’s a statue,” I whistle dryly at them.
The joke makes them laugh. They sound… relieved. “More like several dozen statues. That was just excessive. But anyway—the kids like them. They can hear me better when I wear them, now that I have more solid surfaces on me, and they make all sorts of noise when I move around.”
Of course. Always the teacher, our dear Grace thinks of their pebbles before anything else. Adrian and I have loved to watch them slip back into their element. The self-confidence they’ve been struggling with for years melts away once they become Teacher-Savior-Hero-Friend-Grace. I know from first-hand experience that they’re the best in their field on not one, but two planets. And they do sound better with the jewelry. Especially, I’m sure, to the little ones, whose hearing is still developing. It’ll be decades before the sense is as fine-tuned as it is in an average adult’s.
It seems that I have some apologizing to do. I’m still not good at that, after forty-six years with no one but myself and my own thoughts. Neither is Grace, but that’s just because they like to be annoying and stubborn.
I slink down, lowering my carapace until I’m practically huddled in my chair. “I’m sorry, Grace. I’ve been stupid.”
Grace shakes their head so furiously it’s a miracle their glasses don’t fly off their face. “No, it’s okay, really. I guess I still have a lot to learn about Eridian culture. Especially… stuff like that. I didn’t even know that was a thing.”
“I should have told you.” Remorse eats away at me. “Courting rites are important; you deserve to know, if you decide you want to find a mate.”
That makes blood rush to their face again. It’s always so interesting, the way that happens. Even after all these years, humans are still so strange. “Wh—I don’t—Rock, I appreciate the sentiment, but I don’t really think that’ll ever be necessary.”
“But what if—”
“Buddy, it’s okay. Really.” They lean across the table again, to fill the space between us. “I don’t want a mate. Not like that, I mean. I never have; it just isn’t my thing. I have you, and I have Adrian. I have my best friends. That’s all I need.”
And what a weight off of me, their words are! The things I didn’t know I needed to hear—like the fog Grace loves, they vanish without a trace. It’s so simple that it’s almost annoying, which is fitting. Very in character for our Grace.
They don’t need anyone else. They don’t want anyone else. It’s the three of us, with the wonderful, sometimes obnoxious balance we’ve managed to find together.
I won’t lose them. I am, I decided a very long time ago, tired of losing the people I care about. It won’t happen again, not if I can help it.
The relief is so great that I practically melt into my chair. “Good. Good, good, good.”
…And then it turns to irritation almost immediately when they smirk at me. Out of all of Grace’s wide spectrum of smiles, I like smirks the least. A smirk is never a good sign.
“I gotta say, though—I didn’t take you for the jealous type.”
“I take it back,” I declare, rising to stand, as I head for the door. “I’m not sorry at all. You’re stupid and annoying, and it’s a good thing no one is courting you, because they’d realize it and leave. And to think, I was going to be a guest speaker for your class—”
There’s a clatter as Grace knocks several chess pieces to the floor in their haste to follow after me. “Wait, you’ll do it? For real?”
“No!” I scurry away. “No, no, no! Not anymore! Too late!”
“Rocky—” they trip over their own weird, human feet. “Buddy! Wait! Come back! We can still work this out—”
Five limbs are much more efficient than two, and it means I’m considerably faster than they are. Still, I make an effort to slow down enough to be just out of reach as they chase me outside and all the way down to the tide line, singing insults the entire time.
Grace just laughs. And then they faceplant directly into the sand. Clumsy, foolish, wonderful human.
Yes, I suppose Adrian was right from the start. There was never anything to worry about; I think we’re going to be just fine.