False Labor

Brain slug eye spots are weak optical sensors, useful for navigating their native temperate rainforests based on the intensity and location of their local sun, moon, and stars. Human eyes are much more prominent and critical sensory organs. When integrated into a human host, the host's eyes become primary sensory organs, but the eye spots don't cease operation. This is part of the reason why brain slugs prefer to be exposed on the host's neck. This means hosts literally have eyes in the back of their head (just not very good ones).
—How To Talk To Brain Slugs, Chapter 1: Sight

The days were getting longer. The sun barely set by the time Mel stepped into the Cosmic Fill-Up. He nodded at Tomie and Bobbie behind the counter, then checked in. As much as he missed walking into work with Jordan and Soong, he had to admit that he felt a little relief. Having a guest in the apartment was intense; and four bodies in the same space meant privacy was barely possible.

Ha-Yoon stuck her head out of her office. She looked like she'd had about as much sleep as Mel had.

"Hydrogen tanks are being refilled tonight," she said. "The driver will handle that, but I need you to go and reset each of the machines, and double-check to make sure the tamper seals are intact."

"Okay," Mel said.

She was still looking at him. There were times Mel swore that she could read him like a book.

"How are Jordan and Soong?" she asked.

"Soong's getting better. Still a bit weak. Jordan's still taking care of her," he paused, not sure how much else to say. Then he added: "Jordan's sister stopped by yesterday. Spent the night."

Ha-Yoon's eyebrow went up.

"Sister? As in, sister-sister, not brain slug sister?" the manager asked.

"Yeah. Her name's Rachel," Mel said.

"Oh, I need to hear this," Ha-Yoon said. "Come on, we're doing an inventory check."

Inventory check meant the two of them squeezed into the small, cramped room at the back of the Cosmic Fill-Up where they kept all the stock that wasn't out for sale. Pallets of snack food, canned and bottled drinks that didn't need to be refrigerated. Most of which was tracked by RFID tags, but some of the cases were open, so their barcodes had to be scanned by hand.

Mel scanned while giving a carefully-edited version of events.

"She fell asleep cuddled against you on the couch!?" Ha-Yoon said.

"Just kind of resting her head on my shoulder," Mel said.

"And Jordan saw you? How did she react to that?" the woman asked with disturbing enthusiasm.

"She didn't, really. I think Jordan's cool with it? I mean, she didn't give any indication of being upset that I could tell," he said.

"Hmm-hmm," Ha-Yoon said. Her smile was terrible to behold. Smug. Knowing.

"What?" Mel said.

"The thing about sisters," she said. "Is that they like to shop in each other's closets. Sounds to me like Rachel likes you. And she's going to be moving in?"

"She wants to be involved in Jordan's life," Mel said. "Although I don't know how that's going to work. And I already have two roommates, don't have room for another."

Ha-Yoon rolled her eyes. "Not talking about roommates, I'm talking about mating. You're lucky you were wearing pants. Or maybe not."

Mel shook his head, unwilling to pop that particular bubble of whatever erotic scenario his manager had running in her head. Ha-Yoon could believe whatever she wanted. His real life was weird enough, but it wasn't some soap opera drama of women vying for his affections.

At least, he thought, as he reconsidered the last 24 hours. I hope not.

Mel thought about that as he checked off the next item on the list, sanitizing the food kiosks. Somebody had made a mess with the curry packets that approached postmodern art. As Mel scrubbed at the brown glop, he thought of how Rachel had looked at him, how he'd acted with her. There hadn't been any flirting. He'd been trying to avoid upsetting her. And somehow she'd seen him getting sucked off twice anyway.

It shouldn't have been a great impression. Yet he blushed when he thought of her head against his shoulder. His pants shifted uncomfortably as he remembered her watching him. At the counter, Tomie turned her head, which only made him blush harder.

He was still blushing when Amelia came in, tie-dyed t-shirt and stretchy maternity pants not quite covering the gravid abdomen that jutted out in front of her and hung down over her thighs. She smiled at him and waved as she headed toward the coffee machine. Then a look crossed her face, an instant grimace, knees buckling. Mel moved without thinking, caught her arm before she lost her footing. Heavier than he thought, though he knew a lot of that was the baby.

Amelia's stomach looked enormous as he guided her to a chair, her tie-dye print riding up under her breasts to expose more of the stomach. This close, he could see the dark line that emerged from the stretchy waistband up to her popped navel, the paler lines of stretch marks on the sides of her taut stomach. She breathed loudly as she settled down.

"Are you okay?" he asked.

Her hands were rubbing her stomach, palms flat on either side.

"Y-yeah. Just Braxton Hicks, I think," she said.

His blank stare must have told her something.

"Before a woman gives birth, the uterus contracts, similar to labor pains. They're called Braxton Hicks contractions, or 'false labor.' Water doesn't break, cervix doesn't dilate, but it hurts like a bitch. Preview of the real thing. Like a muscle cramp you can't control. I just need a minute," Amelia said. She gave a pained smile. "Your momma didn't give you any brothers or sisters?"

Mel smiled back, but it was ****. "No, she died when I was young. Um. Take all the time you need. What were you going for with the coffee? I can get it for you."

She told him. He got her coffee. Then he fetched her milk, too. Checked her out while she was sitting there, and then, when she could walk again, carried coffee and milk out to the car, a small white hydrogen fuel-cell two-door Toyota with a baby seat in the back.

"Thanks, human guy," she said, as she gently eased herself into the driver's seat. Mel felt a bit of relief when she engaged the autodrive instead of reaching for the wheel.

"No problem," he said.

"Sorry about your momma," Amelia added.

"Thanks," Mel said, not sure what else to say. He'd had versions of the same from a lot of people his entire life and had never really known how to respond to it. His parents were basically strangers to him. Mel knew more about Rachel and Jordan than he did about his mother or father. That thought felt odd.

Fortunately, the hydrogen truck drove up, and Mel was soon too busy listening to the driver, a tall man named O'Malley, who had a husband and an ex-husband, and the husband also had an ex-husband, and both of the ex-husbands were apparently doing something involving catfishing, which wasn't a term that Mel was familiar with and the explanation that followed made Mel glad he had essentially no presence on or experience with social media.

The hydrogen stations were reset. Tamper seals intact. Mel returned inside.

It was a quiet night. Tomie didn't follow him into the bathroom. The brain slug hosts sat at his table during the midnight meal; which he took as a polite, silent confirmation that whatever deal Tomie and Jordan had struck meant they were all friends again. Or at least, neutral co-workers. Tomie and Bobbie held hands, ate from each other's food. Comfortably normal.

As Mel ate his burrito—and after the leftover spring rolls, he was ready to investigate what other foodstuffs he could have in wrapped tube form—he considered exactly how and why the brain slug hosts sat the way they did. The slugs on their necks weren't extended or poking out, which probably meant they were monitoring the space behind them. Making sure their hosts could eat safely. Which would be an interesting evolutionary advantage, wouldn't it? Give their hosts a bit of an advantage in the wild.

At least, such were Mel's thoughts as he finished his midnight meal.

At the end of his shift, Mel signed out—and turned to see Tomie there. She held out a sealed envelope to him. Mel blinked took it, turned it over. Legal size. Blank on both sides. No stamp, address, anything.

"For Jordan?" he asked.

Tomie nodded. Mel instinctively let his fingers play with the envelope. It felt like it contained folded paper. Maybe this was a way the different hives communicated without direct contact? But why not send it through the post office? Too sensitive?

Literal snail mail, Mel thought.

"Okay," he promised. "I'll give it to her."