by Emmie Christie
When Jan reached four years into sixty, his daughter and her son flew off into the glorious first exploration past the Milky Way to somewhere called Z-1.
He waved them off like someone in Victorian England would’ve waved off a ship headed to the New World, smiling with cracked lips, his stomach riddled with resentment. He plodded home and stared down a bottle of scotch. The bottle won.
Drunk, he studied the way of things. The way the old wooden fence withered in the bracing space winds, those that had descended on Earth hungering for trees and mountains. He studied the way the light tangled like necklaces through the trees, much too jumbled to ever wear again.
His neighbors had long since edged closer to the urban center, the pillar dedicated to the rockets, hoping that proximity meant waiting list quality. Harjit dropped by every Monday at four to deliver groceries and a pitying smile, and Jan glared at him until the young caretaker left.
When the scotch wore off, he studied the way the rain grated against his window, like a visitor who didn’t understand the social cue of what slapping your knee meant in a conversation, accompanied by ‘well,’ and ‘it’s been fun.’ He closed the curtains. Why couldn’t they all just leave him alone?
The groceries Harjit had left — fresh fruit and asparagus from R-4, and some strange new pasta they’d grown on C-13 — waited and wasted in the fridge. He ate alcohol and beans. From Earth.
The ‘letter’ arrived a month after the expedition had left, scrolling large-sized text on his wall. “We’ve settled, Dad. It’s so great here. For us, only a few days! We wrote as soon as we could.”
“That’s great, Maddy,” he wrote back, tapping on his phone.
“Have you tried to get on any planet waiting lists?” Upbeat. Positive tones, but with underlying worry.
“Why should I? It’s not like the Earth’s going to die in my lifetime.”
“Dad—”
“I’m fine here. Really.” He studied the way the words from his daughter curled around the end table, arching into geometry.
“Well, we’ve sent you a gift.”
“I don’t want a—”
Something hurtled through the wall, something wrapped in fur and energy. It landed on his couch and opened wide eyes set in a furry face.
“Oh, hell no!”
“I think you mean hell-o!” The thing — it reminded him a fox with taloned feet — wrapped its obnoxious, fluffy tail around his leg.
A tixi. Great. These things proliferated on several planets. People obsessed over them just because they could talk.
“Maddy, baby, I don’t need a pet.” Jan extricated his leg from the thing and jabbed at his phone. “I’ve had enough of them over the years when you wouldn’t walk the dogs.”
“She’s not a pet. You’ve heard of them, right? There’s lots of them here on Z-1. They’re really helpful.” A pause. “Well, gotta go. Talk to you later!” The scroll flicked off on his wall.
“I didn’t ask for you.” Jan glared at the thing. Then at the wall, where the words had disappeared.
The tixi lifted its talon and poked at the air as if lecturing in a college classroom. It spoke with a trill behind every word. “I go where I am needed.”
Great. It would shed everywhere. He stomped off to the TV room. “Stay there! I’mma pass you off to Harjit when he comes on Monday, so don’t get too comfortable.”
The tixi lay at the foot of his bed the next morning. And then on his feet the next, creating a pocket of warmth after the chill night when the space winds had roared, and the rain grated on his windows. It had grown a bit in the night to the size of a big dog, but it shrank back down when it hopped off the bed and followed him into the bathroom. The creature didn’t shed at all, at least it had that going for it.
Harjit came and went, lecturing Jan to eat his vegetables. “Ah, you got a tixi! That’s a great idea.” The young man scanned the countertops, hands on his hips. “Good job keeping the place clean. Here, I got something for you. It’s from Y-12.”
The white plant curled in a sinister way, like a mustache on an evil Santa or something, and Jan shoved it to the back of the counter away from the light. The tixi watched him.
Dang it! He’d forgotten to give the creature to Harjit. Oh, well. He could do it next Monday.
That Sunday night, the tixi asked, “So, what do you do for fun around here on the old Earth?”
“Nothing, if you’re also old.” Jan popped the cork on another scotch. “Sit and wait around for groceries that we don’t eat.”
The creature nibbled at a talon, then brought in the paper and did the crossword. It puzzled for a while over a clue. “Alright, help me out here,” it said. “Red bird. Eight letters.”
“I didn’t ask to play.”
“What else are you gonna do? Red bird, come on. This one is supposed to be easy for humans.” The tixi sidled up to him on the couch, brushing its soft, glossy side against his hand. It grew a little bit, its fur fluffing out like it had dried itself on a heating vent.
He sighed but allowed it to stay next to him. “Cardinal?”
“Nice. That fits. Okay, what about this one. Six letters, the clue is ‘knot.’”
Jan almost said it, then his tongue tripped over the word, and his breath lodged in his throat. He reached for the tixie’s fur and buried his face in it.
The tixi grew on the couch to the size of a human, and its fur fluffed even more, its softness enveloping him, gathering around him like wings, reaching for what jumbled up inside him, the tangled memories.
Maddy, in her prom dress. His little girl, ready to leave for the big girl dance, bright-eyed and bright hoped. Grace would’ve known what to do, but he didn’t even know what to do with his hands. Had they always been so long and dangly?
She smiled at him and pressed a necklace in his palm. Giving him something to do, to fidget with while she got ready. “I’ll be alright, Daddy. Here, can you untangle this knot for me?”
He stayed for a moment in that moment, in that precious second that glimmered in his mind.
“Damn you!” He ripped away from the tixi, panting, fists clenched.
“Is something wrong?” Its growth paused. It still resembled a fox with those ears, but its fur had splayed out like an eagle’s giant wings. “Your eyes requested comforting, did they not?”
He staggered, dropping the scotch bottle on the carpet. It bled pale yellow on the carpet. First Grace had died, then Maddy had taken her son to space. They’d all gone so far away.
“Earth-man?” The tixi brushed a wing against his arm. “Are you well?”
“Does it look like I’m well? You damn well did this to me!”
“Should I alert a doctor?”
He sank into the couch cushion and covered his eyes. Tears slid between his fingers. “Just clean that up, would you? Can you do that at least?”
He fell asleep on the couch and woke up warm. Well, the tixi had slept on him. He grimaced, heaved the creature off — it had shrunk back again to normal fox-size — and lumbered to the kitchen to make coffee. The stain from the spilled scotch had vanished. “At least you’re good for something,” Jan said.
The strange plant from Y-12 that Harjit had brought seemed different somehow. It curled up like a swan’s neck, not sinister at all, but graceful and fluid. He pulled it out of the dark part of the counter, into the light.
He poured his coffee and huddled outside. The tixi preened next to him, tail curled around her talons.
The way the light tangled in the branches’ shadows…
He growled. Tears dripped down his cheeks, a few dripped into his coffee. He glared at the tixi. “Alright. What the hell did you do to me? Did you slip me some stupid pill?”
“We tixies specialize in comfort. You had a coating of pain over your eyes, and it seems that is now gone.”
He had heard the stories but had never believed them. “That’s a load of hippie space-trash.”
He trudged inside the house and reached for a vodka this time, something more potent that looked like water. He could drink more that way, pretending.
But the bottle had a wrongness to it; it bulged in a way that repulsed him. He slammed it back down and whirled on the tixi. “This is ridiculous. I didn’t ask for this — this difference in my eyes! I just hugged you!”
The tixi promenaded through the door and draped her tail around her talons. When had he started thinking of it as a she? “Cleaning and comforting are the same to us tixies and produce the same results. I cleaned the alcohol out of the carpet by comforting the floor, you know.”
“Bullshit! This is such bullshit! How dare she do this!” He grabbed the bottle of vodka, gripping it through the anger. Upended it in his mouth, forced himself to swallow.
It tasted like piss. Well, it always had, but for some reason, now it bothered him, and it bothered him that it bothered him.
What, he couldn’t even drink anymore? Maddie had stolen that from him, too?
Sober, he decided to cook some food. Harjit hadn’t come with a new batch yet this morning, and mold grew on some of the strawberries, but he could still use that C-13 pasta. He ate some of that with alfredo sauce, and it tasted good.
He hated that it tasted good.
He hated the way the fence outside made him want to fix it instead of letting it rot. He hated that he had dragged that stupid white plant into the sunlight on the counter. He hated the way that the leaves played in the space-winds, laughing and twirling like children. He hated the way Maddy had held her son’s hand and waved to him with the other, as if she could have both — even when she was the one who had left. He hated the way— hated—
He cried.
He loved her. He missed her. But he wanted her to be happy.
The tixi wrapped her tail around his feet. He allowed it.
“Guess you’re not really a pet,” he managed to say. “And you clean things pretty well.” He held out his hand. “You can stay, if you want.”
The tixi wrapped her talon around his hand and shook it. “I stay where I am needed.”
* * *
About the Author
Emmie Christie’s work includes practical subjects, like feminism and mental health, and speculative subjects, like unicorns and affordable healthcare. She has been published in various short story markets including Daily Science Fiction, Infinite Worlds Magazine, and Flash Fiction Online. She graduated from the Odyssey Writing Workshop in 2013. You can find her at www.emmiechristie.com or on Twitter @EmmieChristie33.