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They’re so small.
Really, in the end, that’s what gets me.
Of course, I’ve seen pebbles before. For Chrissake, I teach pebbles every day! But they don’t typically enter schooling until they’re about 20 Earth years old. Pebbles younger than 7 don’t even ever leave their homes except in rare circumstances.
And Adrian and Rocky’s pebbles are… just hatched.
There are five of them; fives are special to the Eridians. In the light—it’s a permanent installation in Rocky and Adrian’s home, since it’s one of the few places I visit often enough to necessitate it—they are multicolored. It looks like their coloring is arbitrary; not all of them look anything like either parent.
The oldest one is already scampering along weakly, while the others are still experiencing their first sensations and will begin to walk soon, Adrian had informed me.
Rocky is humming, something new parents are wont to do, I have learned. Perhaps wont is incorrect, it is a biological impulse, since they rely on sound. It creates a baseline for the pebbles to learn what their parents “look” like, to train their echolocation, and because they are so vulnerable. It’s a leftover habit from their hunting days, so that baby pebbles would know to find their parent in case of any danger.
I had hummed with Adrian and Rocky too, for a while. Until my vocal cords were tired, anyways. Both of them had insisted I partake, even though I wasn’t sure I was qualified enough to join in.
The oldest one—I haven’t named them yet; naming is an important custom and is usually done in ceremony once six days have passed, and I surely cannot name them before their parents do—they scuttle up to me, trilling small noises that’s best interpreted as baby nonsense. I cannot help but smile as I hum back at them.
Their carapace is a shade darker than Adrian’s, and I lay my palm (covered by the latest iteration of the xenonite suit—it almost molds to my skin now) flat on the ground, encouraging them. Now is the only time I’d ever be able to carry them. Even then, I suspect, I might struggle.
“Pebble go to Grace,” Rocky says to his child, and I look at him.
“Will they even understand you?”
Rocky’s carapace tilts to the side in his approximation of a smile. “No, pebble not truly understand. Language develop in 3 Earth years. But parent speak to pebble anyways. Get them used to our sound.”
The pebble lets out a few notes, then climbs onto my hand. They are so small.
I gently lift them off the ground, and other than a noise I’ve learned is an Eridian squeak, they don’t appear to be particularly distressed. They’re about as heavy as I’d expected.
I look at them, and the love that swells in my heart is too much to contain. I sniffle, preparing to hear Rocky complain about my leaking again, dabbing at the corner of my eye.
“Grace… leak again,” is all Rocky says, and I understand enough of Eridian to catch the tonal inflection that indicates statement instead of tease or question.
“Yes, Grace leak again,” I say honestly, my voice wavering very slightly. “You’re a dad, Rocky!”
Parent.
An interesting thing is that pebbles call their parents by their names. Kind of. Since there is no specific biological distinction between both parents, and since they both lay eggs, there was no need to distinguish between mother and father. So, they usually call their parents by saying ‘parent’ and then their name.
I wonder what they’d call me.
“Rocky,” I say eventually, setting the pebble down when they start to get antsy.
Rocky hums a few notes that indicates a nonverbal question.
“What would be the word for Uncle?” I ask.
Rocky’s music stops almost entirely for a second, and the silence is disconcerting. Though, before the pebbles can react, he continues the same notes to soothe them.
I frown at him.
“♫♪♬”, he responds, though it is… hesitant.
I sing the notes back to him in confirmation. It’s a habit of ours when I encounter a new word, though that has been few and far between in the past few years. This word is… interesting. Of course, parent is short, barely two syllables. Ideally, family words shouldn’t be all that long either. But who am I to judge? I’ve been here a scarce seven years, and every day there is a new facet of Eridian culture that smacks me in the face.
Two of the pebbles chirrup at me when I sing.
Rocky hums in confirmation, though there is an uneasiness underpinning his symphony.
I want to call him out on it, but Adrian enters at the moment, having gone out to inform their cluster-siblings of the pebbles’ hatching. Makes me wonder why I’m here if not even Adrian’s siblings are allowed in at the moment.
Sure, I am Rocky’s alter-mate—that’s a term I coined, technically; it doesn’t necessarily imply I’m the alternative, but rather that my love for him is not romantic but not entirely platonic either (thank you, Tumblr)—but by all reckoning I should be in the second cluster of loved ones and not the first cluster. The first cluster is usually reserved for only mates, cluster-siblings or chosen family, but even that varies from Eridian to Eridian, while the second cluster encompasses family as a whole. Okay, I think I’m being a bit hypocritical here.
Adrian’s humming joins in with Rocky’s and I let myself loose in the moment, riding on the song of parental love.
It’s only a few weeks later I understand what Rocky has done.
One of my kids, who I call Jasper because their carapace is colored red with streaks of black-brown, similar to the rock-aggregate on Earth, brings their parent to meet me after class.
“Teacher Grace, this is Uncle ♬♫♪♪,” the pebble introduces.
Adam, I decide. Adam brings their forelegs together and… bows, for lack of a better word. It’s a custom Eridians do to honor one of higher status, and I’m incredibly uncomfortable every time they do it. But I’ve gotten used to it and won’t complain.
Jasper used the same term for their parent that Rocky gave me.
“It is pleasure to meet Savior Grace,” they greet me.
I respond in kind, but my mind is stuck on the introduction.
They talk to me about the possibility of Jasper skipping class for a couple of days due to a religious pilgrimage. I’m not familiar with all the religions of the Eridians; there are just too many, like on Earth, but I’m made to understand that this is a custom for pebbles in that religion who are just going to turn 30—“Happy hatch-day!” I play on my translator once I’ve been told their birthday is coming up next week—and that they need to be by their sacred site the night before their hatching day.
Religious exemptions have always been a thing, so I smile and say that any homework or tests missed can be made up after Jasper returns.
Jasper trills a thank-you towards me, and I shoot back a welcome note.
Once they are done, I give in to my curiosity.
“Uncle, question?” I play the same notes that Rocky sung to me a few weeks ago.
Adam’s carapace freezes a bit. A sign of discomfort.
“I don’t mean to insult, statement!” I say hastily. “I am just curious. I’ve heard that a parent’s cluster-sibling is called ♪♫, so I wonder why this separate name. Rocky says it means something similar.”
Shame I didn’t bring it up with Rocky, but every time he uses that address in my presence, it’s almost as though he’s worried about my overhearing it. Over-understanding it?
Adam sighs out a few notes.
“Not all Eridians are poly-mates, Savior Grace. It is not uncommon but there are many who think it is… untoward. Apologies for discomfort. The word, it is not word for cluster-sibling, as you know, Savior Grace,” they begin tentatively. “Savior Rocky is not… entirely correct. It would mean… closest equivalent would be ‘secondary-nonbiological-parent-who-raises’. I am not Jasper’s birth-parent, but I am one of his birth-parent’s mates, so I am involved in raising this little pebble,” they conclude, knocking Jasper on the head in a show of affection, to which Jasper whines.
I blink at Adam and Jasper. My mouth is almost agape.
“Savior Grace okay, question?” Adam says, after I have made no response for the past few seconds.
A secondary parent, who’s nonbiologically related to the child, but still raises them?
I rub at my eyes, taking off my glasses.
“What?” I manage. I don’t realize I’m speaking in English until I hear the confusion in Adam and Jasper’s notes.
I don’t remember the walk to their home. Or the airlock’s hiss, or my suit. I am focused on ‘Uncle’, or rather the fact that Rocky gave me a term that’s basically the equivalent of ‘Dad’ to me, and didn’t tell me about it.
“Grace?” Rocky questions, surprise in his music, when he opens the door to let me in.
“♫♪♬?” I say to Rocky, almost entirely atonally, without bothering to greet him or anything.
I enter the house, my eyes adjusting to the light as Adrian automatically flips it on.
Rocky shrinks back. Adrian hums a laugh.
Clearly, they know what’s going on.
“Really, Rock? Uncle?” I ask peevishly.
Rocky doesn’t say anything. Adrian lets out a sigh, and then says, “Grace, define Uncle.”
“W-Well,” I stammer, caught off guard. “Properly, it’s used to refer to a parent’s brother. Aunt would be the female equivalent. But colloquially it’s used by a kid to refer to anyone who’s decently older than them as a form of respect.”
“So this term is not used for parents, correct?”
“...No,” I say, slowly.
Adrian hums again, then knocks Rocky’s leg in some mix of camaraderie and smugness.
“Rocky?”
“Rocky not sure Grace want title,” he responds abashedly, falling into the comforting pidgin of our Hail Mary days. “Is… special to Grace, the term parent.”
“Of course it is, Rock—” I choke out, but Adrian interrupts me with an almost-irritated hum.
“You were here for the hatching, Grace. You were also here for the birth-humming, were you not? Only parents are there for those events. You are our first-cluster, Grace.”
Eridians have multiple pronouns for others depending on who they’re addressing and where. Normally, Adrian uses the ‘dearest-of-my-beloved’ form, but now they are specifically using the ‘you’ that indicates first-cluster preference. Both pronouns are incredibly intimate, but I get Adrian’s point.
I swipe a hand across my face roughly, narrowly avoiding my glasses. “Thank you, Adrian.”
Then, I look at Rocky. “What do you mean by special, Rocky?”
“Grace say Grace never have kids. Even before you come to Erid. Because you not want to have reproduction with anyone else. Or mate. Rocky not sure if you would take kids as parent.”
“Oh, Rocky,” my voice cracks. “Not wanting a romantic relationship and wanting to have kids are two separate things. I was happy, for a long time, with my kids. My students. I’d made peace with it. Back on Earth, both my desires would’ve conflicted with my ability to live a normal life. My kids were—are—the light of my life, Rock. I just didn’t know I could have had something like this. Not until you gave it to me.”
Rocky is silent for a long moment.
I don’t like it when my words make his music go quiet.
“‘Made peace’ is just something Grace say,” Rocky points out, eventually. I wince at the reminder of our conversation a long time ago. “Grace is Rocky’s alter-mate. Rocky is Grace’s. Of course pebbles would call you ♫♪♬.”
He reaches out to knock his foreleg against mine. The tears are streaming down my face now.
“You are Grace.”
The you here is one of the most intimate addresses an Eridian can give. ‘Non-romantic beloved’ is the closest I can approximate it to. It’s not a commonly used form, since nonromantic and nonplatonic relationships like ours are not as common amongst the Eridians, though they do exist, but it’s the form Rocky uses for me all the time, so I’ve gotten used to it. I sob a bit, hysteria tinting the edge of my mind. When I had first come to Erid, I wasn’t really aware of all the pronoun-differentiation, so it was a shock the first time another Eridian had clarified what pronoun form Rocky had been using for me.
“Grace forgive Rocky?” he asks tentatively.
“Yeah, buddy,” I whisper, my voice hoarse. “Of course.”
Adrian hums a laugh full of love. Rocky trills his love to me.
“What is English equivalent to ♫♪♬?”
I cannot speak for a few moments. I drag in a shuddering breath, fighting to get my tears under control. When my voice finally works, I murmur, “Papa.”
One of the pebbles scurries towards Adrian.
It’s Wulfi. Their carapace is striking shades of yellow and orange, partially similar to the wulfenite mineral. This name was easy to come up with; I was still struggling with some of the other pebbles.
They were Rocky’s kids. My kids.
Of course I could not arbitrarily pick a name for them.
Adrian lifts Wulfi easily, comes to my side, then taps my hands with one of their legs.
I cup my hands together, understanding what he wanted to do.
“Wulfi, this is your Papa,” Rocky says, and the tears start almost immediately again. “Very leaky Papa.”