by Cara Bristol
Yes.
“Over what?”
He wants a woman who can talk.
Rosalie sighed and squeezed her hand. “I was afraid of that.” Her mother always feared people would hurt her. That’s why she was so protective.
Cassie stared balefully at her notebook. Ironically, if she’d been forced to write with Psy, there wouldn’t have been a fight. In the heat of an argument, one did not sit down and, carefully, in one’s best penmanship, spell out one’s grievances. She recalled all the times her limitation had prevented her from expressing anger, hurt, sadness, disappointment, frustration. Like now. She couldn’t adequately explain to her mother what had happened without writing a damn essay.
Only with Psy had she been able to speak her mind.
Was that part of the reason she’d gotten so angry? Because telepathy had touched a painful nerve and revealed the full extent of her handicap, of her loss?
She’d never spoken, but she wanted to. So. Damn. Much. Then, given the opportunity to say anything, she’d gotten into an argument and shut down the communication altogether.
Perhaps she could have handled the situation better. She had told him he could ask her anything and that she’d preferred directness. She just hadn’t expected him to bring up the one topic she wished to avoid.
Until the fight, she’d never gotten the impression he found being with her cumbersome. He’d been in her head, and she’d been in his. He’d answered all her questions. He’d enjoyed her company, had enjoyed looking at her. She’d aroused him. The attraction had been strong and mutual.
She’d screwed up. She could kick herself.
“I didn’t really like him,” Rosalie said.
That wasn’t the impression she’d gotten. You acted like you liked him. You invited him to dinner, she wrote.
“Because I could tell you liked him. Now he’s the jerk who hurt my daughter! He seemed—never mind. It’s not important now.”
Seemed how? She lifted her chin.
“Like his niceness was an act. I sensed a lack of sincerity.”
No, he is a nice guy. The fight was more my fault than his. Probably all her fault.
“I doubt that.” Her support never wavered. She always took Cassie’s side.
She flipped to a blank page in her notebook and pressed the pen to the paper. A black smudge spread as she considered how to phrase the question Psy had raised. What exactly did the doctors say about my inability to speak?
“What do you mean?” Her mother drew her brows together.
What was the cause? The diagnosis.
“We’ve talked about this many times. Your vocal cords failed to develop. You would never be able to speak. I took you to every specialist imaginable. They all agreed.”
Did you take me later to be rechecked?
“Later like when?”
When I got older. Age seven. Ten.
“Not specifically for that. However, anytime you saw a doctor like for an ear infection or school immunizations, I always asked. Don’t you remember them checking your throat all the time?”
Cassie shook her head. Her early childhood was hazy, and didn’t doctors look in a person’s throat anyway?
“Why do you ask?”
Psy wondered if maybe something couldn’t be done now. Maybe there have been advances.
Her mother’s face tightened, and she pressed her lips together. “I would hate for you to get your hopes up, go through more painful tests, only to be disappointed.”
Painful?
“Oh, it was terrible. You cried. I cried. You couldn’t verbalize how much you hated it, but I could tell from how you carried on when you knew you’d be going to the doctor. You don’t remember?” Rosalie sought and held Cassie’s gaze.
Now that she mentioned it—yes. She did. A hazy memory took form. They had stuck something down her throat, and she had gagged. It had been awful. She shuddered.
Her mother covered her hand and squeezed. “If I could have done more, I would have. I hate that this man you hardly know got your hopes up for nothing.”
He didn’t. He just asked.
Her mother’s mulish expression showed she’d shifted into full mama-bear mode. Her assessment Psy had been insincere had been influenced by what Cassie had told her. She shouldn’t have shared anything. Once Rosalie believed somebody had slighted her daughter, there would be no forgiveness. She would never accept him now.
“I know I’m a little overprotective—”
A little? She arched her eyebrows.
“I’ll try to do better. I’ll try not to be so…overbearing.”
Whether her mother could dial it back remained to be seen, but the fact she admitted to the behavior and promised to work on it was huge.
I’d appreciate it. Thank you.
“It’s good you’re employed, and you went out on a date—even if he was a jerk. I wish your date had gone better, but one day you’ll meet somebody who deserves you.”
She already had. Hopefully her bout of anger hadn’t ruined the start of a promising relationship. She sniffed the sprig of lavender. Would Psy want to see her again? She faked a big yawn. I’m going to bed. She needed to text him and apologize. Good night. She kissed her mother and got up.
“Um, before you go, I have a confession.” Her mother pursed her lips. “I accidentally broke your cookie jar.”
Not the bear?
Rosalie hugged herself and slid her hands down her arms. “I was putting away laundry, and I saw it on your dresser, and I felt bad for telling you it was ugly when you liked it so much. This is your house, too. I carried it into the kitchen to put it on the counter, and I dropped it. I’m sorry.”
The bear had been her sole link to the visions.
It’s all right. Accidents happen. But of all things to break, why did it have to be the bear?
“I’ll replace the cookie jar. Pick one out. I’ll pay for it.”
She couldn’t just go to Walmart and get another one. The bear was vintage. They didn’t make them anymore. But her mother looked so contrite, she couldn’t be mad. Don’t worry about it.
Chapter Seven
After taking Cassie home, Psy returned to Lavender Bliss Farm to clean up the gazebo. Night had settled, and he flipped on the electric lights to stare at the bucket of melted ice, the dirty dishes, and the flies sitting on the drying food, the candles he’d never gotten a chance to light.
What a mess. The picnic, the least of it.
He cleared away the detritus, recorking the wine, emptying the ice bucket and their glasses over the side of the gazebo, and scraping leftovers into a plastic bag. At the sound of a footfall, he turned to see Chameleon and Kevanne. In his natural Xeno form, Chameleon lumbered up the steps, lifting his tail to avoid dragging it. Under the gazebo lights, his scales shimmered, appearing deep blue.
“We spotted the lights from the house,” Chameleon said. “We figured it was you, but thought we ought to check.”
Kevanne grinned. “How did the big date go?” Then she caught a glimpse of his face, and her smile died. “Oh, no! What happened?”
“She got mad at me.” He stowed the used plates, glasses, and flatware in the plastic storage box and snapped on the lid.
“Why?” Chameleon said.
“She thought I would like her better if she could speak.”
“Why did she think that?” Kevanne asked.
“I suggested she get her voice reevaluated.”
“She’s probably gone through many ups and downs and had her hopes dashed over and over,” Kevanne said.
“I think she’s my genmate,” he said glumly.
“Congratulations! That’s wonderful.”
“She told me to go away and never come back.” How could this have happened?
Chameleon squinted at him, eyeing his neck. “Your mating glands don’t look swollen.”
“They’re not. But that doesn’t always happen with Veritals.” He didn’t need mating glands to tell him he and Ca
ssie were meant for each other. The hunch settled in every cell of his being—except, ironically, in his mating glands. “What do I do? She won’t talk to me.”
“You have to fix it,” Kevanne said.
“How?”
“Start with flowers.”
“I gave her a lavender sprig.”
“Well, lavender is a good choice.” She grinned. “But this situation calls for roses. She works at Timeless Treasures, right? Send her a dozen roses. Better yet—deliver them in person.” She touched his shoulder. “Every couple has ups and downs. If you’re genmates, it will work out.”
“I hope you’re right.” He shifted his gaze to Chameleon. “Would the med pod work on a human?”
“You’re thinking of using it to repair her voice?”
“It couldn’t hurt to try.”
“Yes, it could!” Kevanne huffed and planted her hands on her hips. “I can’t believe you! You just said she reacted badly to the idea that she needed to be fixed!”
“Despite what she says, I know she desperately wishes she could talk. She dislikes writing and hates when people shout at her because they assume because she can’t speak she can’t hear. I don’t care if she never utters a word, but, if she wants to speak, then I want it for her.
“I wouldn’t broach the subject with her now,” he said. “She would have to be receptive to the idea, which she isn’t. And, I’d need to find out if the med pod would work on a human.” He shook his head. “Nature played a dirty trick on her like the Xenos did to us.”
A master species, Xeno Consortium had created the ’Topians. They collected DNA from across the galaxy then diced and spliced, mixed and matched the genetic material in laboratories to create life, which they implanted on terraformed planets. Not all the combinations benefited the organisms. Chameleon, a former member of the High Council, a rare Xeno with a conscience, had confirmed what they had suspected: the consortium programmed hardships and defects into their creations.
Some of the most intelligent beings had the shortest lifespans, while some who lived the longest had been afflicted with painful physical ailments. Vaporians died if they didn’t mate soon after adulthood. And to reproduce, all ’Topians had to find and bond with a genmate.
The Xeno Consortium hadn’t anticipated they would evolve and advance at lightning speed and develop scientific technology to counteract many of the congenital afflictions. The med pod could cure almost any disease or injury befalling them.
Whether it could cure a human remained the big question. Humans and ’Topians did share some of the same DNA. Would it be enough? And if not, could the med pod be calibrated for a human?
“Your heart is in the right place,” Kevanne said. “But you need to give her time to cool off. Then you have to mend fences, and, from there, take it slow for a while. Don’t say anything about the med pod! Get to know her better; let her get to know you.”
The picnic items had been stowed away, and, after Chameleon dragged a cart to the gazebo, Psy helped him load the plastic tote boxes. “Thank you both for all your help setting this up. Even though it didn’t end the way I’d hoped—”
His phone booped with a text.
I’m sorry. I overreacted. I hope I didn’t ruin things.
He broke into a wide grin of elation and relief.
“Cassie?” Kevanne asked.
“Yes.” He nodded as his thumbs flew over the mini keyboard. It was my fault. Nothing ruined! I’d like to see you again.
I would like that, she replied immediately, punctuating her text with a big smiling emoji.
Tomorrow night? I’ll pick you up.
After long seconds, she answered. Perfect. But, pick me up at work? I get off at 6 p.m.
OK! I can’t wait to see you.
Me, too. Again, I’m so sorry for acting like an idiot.
They exchanged a few more comments before signing off.
“All is well?” Chameleon asked.
“All is well. We have another date tomorrow night. I’ll meet her at the antique store.”
“You still need to send flowers to the shop. She can put them on display so the customers can see them.”
With Kevanne’s help, he ordered a huge bouquet of red roses and had them scheduled for delivery the next day.
* * * *
“Good morning!” Psy boomed as he bounded into the kitchen. He had a date with Cassie, and he’d awakened this morning to the best omen ever. Today was going to be a great day!
Sipping from his cup, his housemate turned from the coffee pot. “Good morn—” Inferno spewed coffee all over the floor. “What the herian happened to you?”
“My mating glands have activated.” His happy grin felt twisted.
“Your face and neck have ballooned. You don’t even look like yourself.”
“Isn’t it wonderful? Cassie is my genmate!” The ease of establishing the mind-link had made him fairly certain they were genmates, but it was wonderful to have physical proof. He’d awakened with achy joints, a headache, and extreme tenderness in his face and jaw. A check in the mirror revealed his face and neck on both sides were extremely swollen. Elation had given him a burst of energy, helping to mitigate the odd fatigue.
“Congratulations!” Inferno cocked his horned head. “I thought Veritals only got mild glandular action—if any. I’ve never seen anyone with mating glands as swollen as yours.”
He shrugged and moved to the coffee pot, his joints aching with the movement. “Although reactions usually are mild, they can be extreme. She’s worth it though.” He filled a cup and sipped the brew.
“Of course she is. There isn’t anything we wouldn’t do or go through for a genmate.” Inferno leaned against the opposite counter of the galley style kitchen and studied Psy’s face. “Seriously, though, you look awful.”
“You flatter me.”
Inferno’s red face turned serious. “I’m happy for you but envious, too. I know I need to be patient, but I crave what you have, what Chameleon has, what Wingman has. If we hadn’t escaped the bombardment, all of us would have died, and Shadow still might if he can’t find a genmate. My life isn’t endangered by not mating. I should be grateful for what I do have. I’m being selfish.”
“Not selfish, ’Topian. We were genetically programmed to need a specific mate.” Psy tried to comfort him. “It would be strange if you didn’t yearn for a genmate. We’ve only been on Earth about six months, and half of us have found human genmates—plus some of Mysk’s people have also. It will happen for you, too!”
“But look at me!”
“What about you?”
“I have red skin, horns, and a tail.”
“So?”
“Humans do not have red skin, horns, or tails.”
“So? They don’t change color or fly, either.” Chameleon could do the former and Wingman the latter.
“Many people mistake me for the devil.”
“What’s that?”
“It’s a supernatural being they believe is responsible for all the evil and pain in the world. Some humans see me and run away screaming.”
“I had no idea,” Psy said. “People weren’t afraid of you at Kevanne’s lavender festival.”
“Because they thought I wore a costume. How will I meet my genmate if she’s afraid of me?”
“We’ve sometimes felt cursed by the Xenos’ programming which necessitated us finding a genetic match, but it’s also a gift because it means when we do meet our genmate, nothing can keep us apart. Your genmate will be drawn to you regardless of your appearance. She will love you for you.” He paused. “My date with Cassie didn’t go as planned, either. It started off well but ended badly. I feared she’d never see me again. But she texted me. Even though she got mad at me, she contacted me and apologized.
“Genmates have to be together. They just do.”
Chapter Eight
Flowers arrived midmorning—a dozen perfect long-stemmed red roses interspersed with baby’s breath and fern
in a beautiful cut-glass vase. Cassie was in the back room when Verna carried them in during a lull in business.
“These just came. Somebody’s sweet on you.” She winked. “Good date, huh?”
She and Verna hadn’t had a chance to talk. Customers had rushed in the instant the store had opened, and the shop had been busy all morning.
“Ya gonna see him again?”
Tonight, she wrote. After work. He’s picking me up here.
Verna’s smile widened. “You can’t go wrong with a hunky alien. Wouldn’t mind a silver-haired alien fox for myself.” She canted her head. “Did your mother like him? Did you tell her he’s an alien?”
I said he’s out of this world and left it at that, she joked.
Verna chuckled.
She didn’t mention her mother had changed her opinion. Verna would disapprove of Rosalie’s disapproval. Somehow, her mother never came out in a positive light, and Cassie felt disloyal. She loved her mother, and Verna was a great boss and friend. She hated being caught in the middle.
She had enough to feel guilty for—overreacting to Psy’s genuine concern and then poisoning her mother against him. Sharing the conversation between her and Psy had been a big mistake. Fiercely protective, Rosalie would take Cassie’s side and would never forgive anyone who’d transgressed against her daughter. Despite the later claim, Cassie was convinced her mother had liked Psy at first.
Now, she didn’t.
It would save a lot of hassle if her mother didn’t know she’d decided to see Psy. Although unlikely, her mother might forbid her to see him “for her own good.” That would lead to a confrontation. As her legal guardian, Rosalie had ultimate say-so, but Cassie was a grown woman and should have the right to see whomever she desired.
For tonight’s date, she’d told her Verna had asked her to help out after hours, getting ready for a big sale. Since her mother avoided Verna and had no interest in antiques, she wouldn’t drop by the shop. Eventually, the truth would have to come out, but she wanted to enjoy the bliss of a new relationship without negative commentary.
The real issue was far bigger than whom she dated.
