Alien Tango

but no one’s stopped to realize that dear unlamented Granddad was incredibly powerful. It skipped their generation, but not ours, and not hers,” he nodded to Kimmie. He looked at me. “Aunt Terry taught me.”
    “I figured.” As fascinating as this was, I was wondering what the holdup on the food was.
    “They had to make more food, reheat other food, figure out how in the world to apologize to you without sounding like the most interfering bunch of biddies the world has ever known,” Martini said, rather cheerfully. “You know, routine.”
    “Food?”
    He bent and kissed my cheek. “Coming. Nice move on Barbara.”
    “I’m making a decision to hate all A-C women whose names start with B.”
    “Could be a sound policy.” Martini put Kimmie into a chair and pulled out the one next to it for me. “I understand one seat next to you is already taken.”
    I sat down, and he pushed my chair in. I felt a moment’s panic until he sat next to me. Marianne sat next to Kimmie. She looked pale. “Jeff . . . how many of the kids are empaths?”
    “Half. The others are all imageers. Don’t worry, Christopher’s taken care of them.”
    On cue Christopher came in and sat down across from me. “Thought we weren’t going to tell anyone.”
    “I like to break the rules.”
    “Every day in my memory. Kitty, you okay?”
    “Hanging in. About to faint, but great otherwise.”
    Martini was up and then back in seconds. He had a bowl of rolls. “Here. Go to town.”
    I grabbed two and started wolfing them down. “V’ry good. Th’nks.”
    “Can’t have you fainting on me unless I cause it.”
    “Mmmm huh.” I was on rolls three and four.
    “Jeez, you ever feed your woman?” Reader pulled up next to Christopher. “Paul and ACE are having fascinating discussions with the elders. I don’t think ACE is clear on the whole ‘body needs fuel to survive’ concept. Oh, girlfriend? Toss me some rolls.”
    I did, reluctantly. I gave one to Christopher and Martini, too. And Kimmie. Marianne said she could wait. Only one roll left.
    I ate it and shoved the bowl back at Martini.
    He grinned. “Yes, master.”

CHAPTER 51
    DINNER WAS FINALLY ON THE TABLE, and everyone was seated. I was never so happy in my life to have them pass on the blessing. I managed to ignore the “due to our guests’ overwhelming hunger” gibe and just dig in.
    True to its hype, Lucinda’s meat loaf was to die for. The rest of the meal was pretty great, too. I had a few more rolls, two helpings of mashed potatoes and gravy, a good portion of corn, some odd jello-type salad that tasted nothing like it looked but was still food, and a variety of other side dishes I ate too fast to contemplate.
    In the middle of my third helping of meat loaf I realized Martini hadn’t eaten much. I thought about it—he didn’t make food like this whenever he cooked, and he didn’t order food like this when we went out.
    I got up without fuss, told Martini I’d be right back, and went into the kitchen. It was huge, but I figured I could spot a refrigerator without too much trouble. Did, and it was fully stocked. Grabbed six eggs and then looked for where they hid the spices here. Found them near the pots and pans, which hung decoratively from a ceiling rack. My other best girlfriend in high school, Amy, had come from a wealthy family. I recognized the way the kitchen was set up—Amy’s mom had hers done similarly. The rich all thought alike, which made it easier for the middle class to make their man an omelet.
    This was the one dish I made with reasonable frequency, and only because Martini genuinely liked them and loved that I made them for him. True, I usually served these to him in bed, but I knew everyone on our team had been starving, and he hadn’t eaten enough to stay healthy. Besides, I had no clear idea of how to quickly make anything else that he liked.
    Found the right pan, got to work. Decided to see if there were additional ingredients he liked about. Mushrooms, check. Cheese, check. Several varieties, double-check. Chicken livers, not a check and not a surprise, either. Same with lox. He liked those, but he had only been introduced to them by me and my family. Well, couldn’t have everything.
    I was good at this, didn’t burn the pan or anything. Found a plate, slid my pretty good-looking omelet onto it. Turned off the stove, moved the pan to cool. Miraculous. No fire alarms had gone off, the pan wasn’t burned, no kitchen tools had