Mail Order Mom, page 2
“Same difference,” she dismissed. “It states in his application he’s a captain. I thought that meant he’d be a captain of a plane or a spaceship—”
“On spaceships, they call them commanders, I think.” I opened my bottle of water and took a drink.
“Well, he drives some kind of machine they use to...” she waved both hands over the pavement, “...to turn dirt or something. Apparently, that qualifies him to call himself a captain.” She sounded exasperated. “He drives a tractor for a living, Susanna. How can I possibly marry him? Me, Mara Takolsky! Dad would roll over in his grave if he knew.”
Dad must’ve rolled a few times by now, from the moment his beloved protégé Tom turned out to be a thief and scoundrel, to all our possessions being sold at auction to cover some of the debt Tom and Jim had made in my and Mara’s names.
“I can’t be a farmer’s wife!” Mara wailed. “I can’t spend the rest of my life wearing housecoats, milking alien chickens, and taking care of his bratty kids.”
“He has children?”
She faced me, her eyes wide in horror. “Four of them! Imagine that.” She shook her head with another shudder. “It could be worse, I suppose, since Aldraian marriages are super prolific. They say they get like a dozen babies from each pregnancy.”
“Why does he only have four, then?”
“I don’t know. Who cares? Just be happy it’s not twelve,” she groaned, rubbing her forehead.
It definitely didn’t sound like the lifestyle Mara would fit into. I felt sorry for her. But even more so, I felt sorry for the poor alien guy who would have to deal with her displeasure if she ever came to his planet.
“Can you get out of this?” I asked.
She looked outright miserable when she said, “No, I signed all the papers already.”
“Because you believed him being a captain meant something more exciting than driving a truck?” I wasn’t impressed with her lack of responsibility. Though, it didn’t surprise me, either.
She pursed her lips as her chin trembled. “At the very least, I’d hoped that captain was a rank in the army. That he lived in the city. But Aldraians don’t have any real cities. Even their capital looks like a bunch of hills.” She sobbed, dabbing at her eyes with her napkin. “He lives in the countryside. Imagine me out in the country? On a farm?” A real tear rolled down her cheek, soaking into her napkin. “He’s expecting me to board the ship to Aldrai next week.” She gazed at me imploringly. “Susanna, I just can’t do it...”
Oh, I knew that look well. And its meaning.
“So, you want me to do it for you? Is that why you came here?”
She clasped her hands, pressing them to her chest. “Could you please? It’d be a win-win solution. For everyone.”
I arched an eyebrow. “Would it, now?”
“Look...” She perked up, her tears drying up instantly. “What do you have to lose? A shitty job or two and an equally shitty apartment.”
My sister had never been to my apartment, but she was obviously familiar with the housing situation in New York. It was no secret one couldn’t afford much of a place working retail jobs, no matter how many of them one had.
“So, you think I'd do just fine as a farmer’s wife and raising four kids?” I asked skeptically.
She scooted closer to me along the bench. “We both know you have more patience than me. You’ve been working in that clothing store for months now. Personally, I would’ve scratched the eyes out of that old crone at the cash register long ago. But you keep taking every pissed-off look she gives you.”
“I need that job to pay my rent.”
“Exactly! That’s what I mean,” she exclaimed cheerfully. “You adapt easily. You accept the situation, no matter how shitty it is.”
“That’s not a compliment,” I noted, unimpressed.
She just waved her hand again. “You know what I mean. You’re also much better with kids. You wanted some of your own, remember? With Tom?”
Right. I had. Until I found out he’d had a vasectomy back in college and never bothered to tell me, even after we’d both agreed I would get off the pill and start trying for a family.
I heaved a sigh. There had been so many lies in my eleven-month marriage. Now it felt like there hadn’t been even a shred of truth.
“Oh, and you were always so nice to our little cousin Billy, too, when all I wanted was to rip the brat’s head off,” Mara continued. “Could you do it, please? For me?”
Her pleading tone brought up the memories of so many other times I’d taken her place before. Like every time she’d failed a school test I’d passed. She’d beg the teacher for a retake, then send me to take it for her. The dates she’d promise to go on but then change her mind. The group meetings in college she found too boring to attend.
We looked so much alike people could only tell us apart by the clothes we wore, and switching clothes was easy.
Sometimes, it’d been fun to pretend I was my twin, since my own social life wasn’t nearly as vibrant as Mara’s. Other times, she would manage to make me feel sorry for her.
Now...
“It’s not just a date, Mara. I’d have to live with that man as his wife.”
“But it’s only for a year, according to the contract,” she said quickly. “After that, you can say it’s not for you and come back. A lot can happen in a year, right? They may find Tom and Jim by then and recoup what they stole. Or Bolshoy could finally get it through his thick head that we don’t have his money and leave us alone. And don’t worry about the wife part.” She wiggled her eyebrows with added meaning in her eyes. “The alien dude doesn’t want sex.”
“What?” That was weird. “Did he just say it like that?”
She shrugged. “Pretty much. It states right in his application. That was one of the reasons I signed the contract in the first place. I mean, who would ever want to have sex with an Aldraian, right?”
“I don’t know. I’ve never seen one.”
“Lucky you.” She made a face as if she’d bitten into something sour. “Anyway, you can fuck him if you wish for all I care, but trust me, that no-sex clause is a blessing.”
I pondered everything she’d told me so far. The man’s situation started to intrigue me, bringing questions. “Why does he need a wife, then? If he doesn’t want sex? And what happened to the mother of his children?”
“She died. Years ago. His kids need a mother. He has two daughters...blah, blah, blah...” She took a drink from her water bottle. “Being a stepmom is so not my thing. I prefer the role of Cinderella with Prince Charming and the cool shoes.”
“How about the hard work and abuse part of Cinderella’s story?” I snorted, unable to picture Mara humble and industrious.
“Yeah, no,” she dismissed. “I don’t need any of that. I’ve had my struggles. I’m about to land my very own Prince Charming, who already buys me a lot of fancy shoes. I can’t leave Jason for some alien farmer-ogre with a bunch of bratty kids. Can’t you understand, Susanna? Please help me.”
I bit my lip, mulling over her proposal.
I held no illusions; Mara’s motives were purely self-serving. She didn’t care if I worked myself to death at as many jobs as twenty-four hours a day would allow me. She wouldn’t be here if there weren't benefits for her. But she was right. There were some advantages in her plan for me too.
I’d never worked with kids before, but it couldn’t be much harder than serving the cranky, well-to-do women with superiority complexes who were Aileen's customers.
A change could be good for me, considering the circumstances.
And yes, getting away from Bolshoy and his people would be a huge bonus.
“Maybe I should consider applying myself?” I wondered out loud.
Mara gasped. “Why would you do that? When I already found one for you?”
I shook my head. “I would go on my own, Mara. As myself. But I'm not going to pretend to be you.”
“Well, that can’t happen, Susanna.” She spread her arms, staring at me in disbelief. “The ship is leaving next week. I got the ticket for it this morning. All documents are done in my name. The papers are signed. What difference does it make whether you go as me or you? No one would know, anyway. We look so alike, our own mother couldn’t tell us apart.”
Maybe if our mother had spent more time with us instead of letting a bunch of nannies raise us, she would’ve found it easier to tell us apart. Instead, she made us wear color-coded clothes—pink for Mara, purple for me. Though, I’d always liked pink more.
“To aliens, humans all look the same already,” Mara insisted. “But with us, we could alternate sleeping with him, and the guy would still think he only has one wife.”
I kept shaking my head.
“Maybe, if you could bring me along—”
“Susanna!” She slapped her knees impatiently. “Are you really that dumb? Or are you just not listening to me? I don’t want to bring you along. I don’t want to bring anyone. I don’t want to go! I want you to go instead of me.”
“I’m afraid I can't help you with that, Mara.”
She groaned in frustration. “But why? What do you have to lose?”
Mara was right. I had nothing left other than the seventeen dollars in my account that had to last until my next paycheck.
I’d lied for Mara before. However, I’d also been lied to, a lot. Lately, it seemed my entire life had been nothing but lies. And I was tired of it.
“I’m not pretending anymore, Mara. I’m trying to give an honest life a shot, here.”
She gazed at me with so much disappointment, like she’d caught me committing a fashion crime. “Oh, you’re stupider than I thought.”
I was getting tired of her insults too.
“You know what? Maybe you should try to clean up your own mess, for once. Honor your commitments.”
“Great.” Mara scoffed. “Now, you’re talking about honor. How very grand of you.” She got up, hanging her overpriced and over-hyped bag on her arm. “I hope you enjoyed your gyro. Who knows where your next meal is going to come from?”
Watching her leave was a relief.
Maybe it was a mistake to turn down the opportunity to leave Earth and all my troubles behind. But I’d be going to another planet, pretending to be my sister, pretending to be interested in making a fake marriage work. I’d be living a lie. Again.
I couldn’t do that to the unsuspecting alien truck driver. But more importantly, I couldn't do it to myself. I had nothing left in this life but my integrity. Giving that up would truly leave me with nothing.
“Well,” I said to the pigeons that were scouring the pavement for crumbs, “maybe I should look into that marriage program myself. What do you think?”
However, the thought of putting myself out there in search of a romantic relationship made me sick to my stomach. I had given it my all with Tom, and I had nothing left to give to another man, either human or alien.
Chapter 2
SUSANNA
My phone rang the moment I opened the freezer that night in search of yet another frozen creation for my dinner. I bought enough in bulk each paycheck to last until the next one. Budgeting was an important skill I’d never needed to learn before but had mastered it quickly now.
Glancing at the screen, I saw it was my sister. Wondering what she wanted this time, I hit the green button.
“Mara?”
“Susannaaaaa!” Her loud wail almost made me drop the phone. She sounded as if she was being murdered.
I yanked it away from my ear, shoving the freezer door shut.
“What’s going on? Mara? Are you okay?”
“They sent me his head!” she bellowed.
“What head? Who?”
Was she drunk?
“The mafia!” she screeched. “They shipped Jim’s head to me.”
I stared at the rusty scratch on the fridge’s door, stupefied.
“Just the head?”
“Yes!” she yelled hysterically. “He’s dead!”
“Holy sh...” I sank onto the threadbare pull-out couch that also served as my bed. “They cut off his head?”
“Yes! They said I’m next...” The last words were drowned by her loud sobs.
My hand covered my mouth in horror.
This couldn’t be happening.
“Are you sure it’s his?”
“Of course I’m sure! I know my fiancé, head to toe. Oh, this is so gross,” she wailed. “He has a bad sunburn on his nose. Do you know how gross sunburn looks on a dead body?”
“No, I don’t.” And, frankly, I didn’t want to know. I should feel sorry for Jim. He wasn’t even thirty years old yet, but he’d brought it on himself. In the process, he’d gotten my sister entangled in this mess too. Right now, all I felt toward Jim was anger. “Did you call the police? Or that Jason guy of yours?”
“No.” She broke into tears again. “I’m calling you.”
“Why me? What the hell am I supposed to do about a dead...head?”
“They said they’d kill me if I went to the cops. I don’t know what to do, Susannaaaaa,” she bawled loudly.
“I really don’t know, either.” I wished so badly I didn’t feel as helpless as I was at that moment.
“You’re my sister!” Mara’s tone turned demanding. It’d been two decades since we were toddlers, yet my sister still believed she could get anything she wanted in life just by throwing a tantrum. “You’re in a very similar situation, too, you know.”
“Am I?”
We’d both been lied to and manipulated by the men we thought we could trust. In that respect, Mara was right. We were in exactly the same situation.
Someone knocked on my door. Loudly.
To my already strained nerves, the sound came like a gunshot. I jumped on the couch, jolting in fear.
“Someone is at the door,” I whispered, crouching to hide behind the armrest as if they could see me through the door.
“Don’t open it,” Mara whispered back.
Of course I wouldn’t. But the door was so flimsy, a good kick would be all it took to break in.
“It won't stop them from getting in,” I whimpered, scared out of my wits.
Another knock shattered the silence of my musty-smelling living space.
“Delivery!” a male voice yelled from behind the door.
“Don’t fall for it,” Mara urged me.
As if I would!
Thankfully, next came the sound of footsteps going up the concrete stairs back to the street level.
“He left,” I informed Mara over the phone.
“Are you sure?”
I wasn’t, but what would be the point for whoever it was to stay at my door after pretending to leave? If Bolshoy wished to get rid of me, his thugs could easily kick the door in and wring my neck, shower this place with bullets, cement my feet in a bucket of concrete, or whatever gory things the mafia did to those who wronged them.
Carefully, I creeped to the door, staying low. Keeping the chain on the door, I cracked it open.
There wasn’t a soul behind my door, just a cardboard box on my worn, rubber doormat.
“There’s a box,” I told Mara.
“What is it? Did you order something?” she asked.
The cardboard box was a perfect cube, like something one would ship a soccer ball in. Or...one’s husband’s severed head.
“You’re next!” was written in red letters on the side of the box.
I slammed the door shut.
Bile rose in my throat, my knees weakening. Clasping the phone in my hand, I leaned against the door, then slid down to the floor.
“Susanna?”
The musty air of my apartment suddenly proved impossible to breathe. It rushed in and out of me in pants.
“Mara, we need to get out of this city... Out of the state... The country... The planet. Did you decline that ticket to Aldrai?”
“No, I couldn’t decline. It’s too late. But I asked Jason to do something about it today. He has connections high up in the government—”
“Call him right now; ask him not to do anything.” I scraped a hand over my face, trying to collect my thoughts scattered by panic. “No. Ask him to get a second ticket. For me.”
“Are you going?” She sounded shocked.
“Yes. We both are. Tell them you need to bring a companion for moral support, to help with the kids, or whatever—”
“But, Susanna, I can’t go, remember?” Mara whined. “Jason is about to propose. I feel it—”
“Jason won’t propose to a dead woman, will he? And you will be dead if you stay here.”
I would be dead too. My thoughts whizzed back to the box outside and the words written in something suspiciously red on it.
“You’re next!”
Another bout of nausea rose in my throat.
“We’re getting out of here, Mara. We have to. The sooner, the better. And as far as we can.”
Chapter 3
SUSANNA
“Is this what you’re going to wear?” Mara critically eyed the clothes I’d laid out on my bunk.
I rubbed the back of my neck, stretching my shoulders. We’d woken up from our five-month-long cryosleep yesterday. I still tried to work out the stiffness from my muscles and get my joints moving the way they should.
“This.” I pointed at my knee-length black-and-white dress. “Classic is good, right?”
Mara curled her lip, obviously unimpressed. “You know they invented ‘classic look’ for poor people who can’t afford to buy the latest fashion every season. ‘Vintage style’ is for those who shop second-hand, by the way. Like there’s any class or style in wearing someone else’s used clothes.”
I just shrugged. “I am ‘poor people’ now, remember? You are too, by the way. We had to borrow the money for the second ticket.”
“I’m not poor!” she scoffed. “I may be temporarily down on my luck, but I might’ve solved the situation by now, had you not dragged me away from Jason.”
I closed my eyes, taking a deep breath and calling on my patience. It’d been less than twenty-four hours of us sharing the spaceship cabin, and I already felt like jumping the ship to escape my sister’s company.
