There was so much to think through, so much I still wanted to ask. But just then my stomach growled. I’d been so interested, I hadn’t even noticed I was hungry. I realized now that I was starving.
“I’m sorry, I’m keeping you from dinner.”
“I’m fine, really.”
“I don’t spend a lot of time around people who eat food. I forget.”
“I want to stay with you.” It was easier to say in the darkness, knowing how my voice would betray me, my hopeless addiction to her.
“Can’t I come in?” she asked.
“Would you like to?” I couldn’t picture it, a goddess sitting in my dad’s shabby kitchen chair.
“Yes, if you don’t mind.”
I smiled. “I do not.”
I climbed out of the truck and she was already there; then she flitted ahead and disappeared. The lights turned on inside.
She met me at the door. It was so surreal to see her inside my house, framed by the boring physical details of my humdrum life. I remembered a game my mother used to play with me when I was maybe four or five. One of these things is not like the others.
“Did I leave that unlocked?” I wondered.
“No, I used the key from under the eave.”
I hadn’t thought I’d used that key in front of her. I remembered how she’d found my truck key, and shrugged.
“You’re hungry, right?” And she led the way to the kitchen, as if she’d been here a million times before. She turned on the kitchen light and then sat in the same chair I’d just tried to picture her in. The kitchen didn’t look so dingy anymore. But maybe that was because I couldn’t really look at anything but her. I stood there for a moment, trying to wrap my mind around her presence here in the middle of mundania.
“Eat something, Beau.”
I nodded and turned to scavenge. There was lasagna left over from last night. I put a square on a plate, changed my mind, and added the rest that was in the pan, then set the plate in the microwave. I washed the pan while the microwave revolved, filling the kitchen with the smell of tomatoes and oregano. My stomach growled again.
“Hmm,” she said.
“What’s that?”
“I’m going to have to do a better job in the future.”
I laughed. “What could you possibly do better than you already do?”
“Remember that you’re human. I should have, I don’t know, packed a picnic or something today.”
The microwave dinged and I pulled the plate out, then set it down quickly when it burned my hand.
“Don’t worry about it.”
I found a fork and started eating. I was really hungry. The first bite scalded my mouth, but I kept chewing.
“Does that taste good?” she asked.
I swallowed. “I’m not sure. I think I just burned my taste buds off. It tasted good yesterday.”
She didn’t look convinced.
“Do you ever miss food? Ice cream? Peanut butter?”
She shook her head. “I hardly remember food. I couldn’t even tell you what my favorites were. It doesn’t smell… edible now.”
“That’s kind of sad.”
“It’s not such a huge sacrifice.” She said it sadly, like there were other things on her mind, sacrifices that were huge.
I used the dish towel as a hot pad and carried the plate to the table so I could sit by her.
“Do you miss other parts about being human?”
She thought about that for a second. “I don’t actually miss anything, because I’d have to remember it to be able to miss it, and like I said, my human life is hard to remember. But there are things I think I’d like. I suppose you could say things I was jealous of.”
“Like what?”
“Sleep is one. Never-ending consciousness gets tedious. I think I’d enjoy temporary oblivion. It looks interesting.”
I ate a few bites, thinking about that. “Sounds hard. What do you do all night?”
She hesitated, then pursed her lips. “Do you mean in general?”
I wondered why she sounded like she didn’t want to answer. Was it too broad a question?
“No, you don’t have to be general. Like, what are you going to do tonight after you leave?”
It was the wrong question. I could feel my high start to slip. She was going to have to leave. It didn’t matter how short the separation was—I dreaded it.
She didn’t seem to like the question, either, at first I thought for the same reason. But then her eyes flashed to my face and away, like she was uncomfortable.
“What?”
She made a face. “Do you want a pleasant lie or a possibly disturbing truth?”
“The truth,” I said quickly, though I wasn’t entirely sure.
She sighed. “I’ll come back here after you and your father are asleep. It’s sort of my routine lately.”
I blinked. Then I blinked again.
“You come here?”
“Almost every night.”
“Why?”
“You’re interesting when you sleep,” she said casually. “You talk.”
My mouth popped open. Heat flashed up my neck and into my face. I knew I talked in my sleep, of course; my mother teased me about it. I hadn’t thought it was something I needed to worry about here.
She watched my reaction, staring up at me apprehensively from under her lashes.
“Are you very angry with me?”