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Mason chucks the ball harder than he means to. Practice always ends like this, determination turning into burning frustration. Dad told him he has to be careful about his strength; he could hurt someone. All that focusing, however, means he has less time to actually play the game. His mind always wanders from the arc of the pitch to the force he puts behind it. Mason has never thrown off mark, but has always thrown too unpredictably. He can’t seem to find the happy middle between a light toss and a dented metal bat.
“You gotta watch where you are throwing that! Almost got me,” the coach says with a chuckle. The joke falls flat, and Mason only stares at him. He trudges over to the ball, picking it up out of the coach’s hand. “You’ll get it,” he reassures, but Mason already knows he has it. He can see so clearly the line the ball has to travel, the exact weight to trace it, but his stupid arm won’t throw it. It’s always so hard it hurts to catch, or so soft he barely reaches the batter at all.
In the car with his dad, he is silent. His dad knows that Mason doesn’t like to talk after practice, so he wordlessly hands him his headphones. The sound of the car is too loud and makes thinking, or in his case brooding, hard. He can feel the vibrations of the engine, the small noise of the radio, the blinking of the turn signal. If he closes his eyes it’s almost like he can picture it rippling out and painting the inside of the car. His dad’s bad pop bouncing around and revealing the way he taps his hand on the steering wheel in tune to the song. Beatles, by the tempo.
They make it home in exactly ten minutes. Mason likes to count it to ground himself. Each one Mississippi, two Mississippi, three, and so on to 60 reminds him it is alright. Things may be frustrating now, but you can figure it out. His dad always said that, but he was biased. He had been able to figure it all out. Ryland Grace, the space hero that left Earth a martyr and came back immortal, plus his prodigal son. They expected Mason to be this wild, untrained dog that bit in classic Eridian fashion. Instead he found himself homesick for a home he’d barely seen. The inside walls of the Hail Mary were more a home than Erid ever was for those long long long years.
The home of a space hero was surprisingly small. Nothing that would stand out in the neighborhood they’d parked it in. Another white picket fence one story house that was painted a happy yellow. The inside was a mess of 90’s architecture and his dad’s gaudy color scheme. There were objects littered around that were a mottled red and gray diagrams of stars and tiny puppet show figures. The only proof that his other dad really was a living being, and not some distant lie.
Mason sat himself at the table, defeated as always. The centerpiece was one of the xenonite sculptures of his dad, Rocky. Grace always told Mason that it was funny in a way to keep him there. The Eridians hated watching people eat, and humans preferred to gather their loved ones around the table with them. In some ways it meant Rocky was here with them, the specter of love that had not boarded the Hail Mary with them.
“Same as always?” Grace asks. Mason nods.
“Same as always,” he repeats. He wondered how long it would be before this routine let up, before his dad would stop comforting him. Today was not that day, so Grace throws an arm around Mason’s shoulders and leans his head against his. He taps his shoulder, once, twice, three times in a familiar gesture. Comfort, one he was conditioned into through years of exposure to Eridians.
“You are still growing into your body. I know it is frustrating, but control like that takes practice. Like your electronics, you weren’t born with that. You put work into learning it.”
“One is not as fun to learn.”
Grace ruffles his hair, “I know. That’s what practice is for. You have been getting a lot better. Should’ve seen the havoc you caused as a toddler.”
Mason notices the twinge of sadness behind his words. It’s always there, when he talks about Rocky, or Erid, or Mason’s childhood. That doesn’t negate his want to learn about his culture, or learn about what happened to his dad. He wants the real truth, not the lie he had to make up to protect the both of them. The one they plaster on newspapers next to photos of their faces.
Mason cannot be upset forever he decides, so he finally lets himself lean back into his dad’s hug. The second half of the routine, where he feels his frustration fully and allows himself to cry. Grace holds him as if he’ll break, running a thumb back and forth to calm him.
“It’s ok Mace,” he hums, “I know it hurts. One day it’ll be better. I’ll be here for you the whole time.”
One day. His one day is back on Erid, backdropped by the stars and hugged by lightyears worth of distance. Sometimes Mason feels that distance creeping into the spaces where Grace falters. It’s a lonely reminder that his dad is still human despite how badly he wants to be otherwise.
“How about this,” he says, “Because today is not the best you get to pick where we order from tonight.”
Grace was not the best cook, nor did he have any interest in learning. So, he used the money they got to take Mason somewhere new every night. Never in person, too much attention the both of them had grown to hate. No, rather delivery from every corner of the world that had decided to settle in San Francisco. Tonight they were going back to Greece, and Grace tells Mason of towering statues and gods that had lost their favor. He does it with loud flourish, arms thrown wide and mouth full of food. His teaching days had morphed into these dinners, quiet except for his ravings. When the attention died down he would go back to teaching he told Mason. It was his passion. More than science and the stars was that simple wish to share the beauty of the world with eyes that had yet to see it.
“Artemis sounds cool,” Mason says.
“Goddess of the moon, good choice,” he gives Mason a grin with thinly applied sadness to it, “Do you remember what it looked like?”
Little Mason was in Grace’s arms. He held the squealing thing up to the window, hoping that space would calm him. When the moon floated into their view, Mason stopped crying to stare. A huge white marble lying gently against the wave of stars. He was so young then.
“Sort of. I can’t remember much from that trip.”
“That’s for the best, I guess.”
Mason pushes his food around. “Dad?” He asks, putting his fork down all together.
“Yeah Mace?”
“Can you tell me more about Rocky?”
Fear, horror, and despair take their turns melding his face. He settles on the pretend happiness he usually uses when talking about Mason’s other dad.
“He was um…smart. Really smart. Could do math in his head like a calculator by just remembering when he’d done it in the past. He couldn’t forget anything really, even if he wanted to.”
“Do you think he remembers me?”
“Yes,” Grace says like he’s been punched in the gut, “He probably thinks about you everyday.”
Mason hesitates before his next question. It was one he’d always wanted to know, but never was able to ask. He’d picture the sad look Grace would give, or worse the quick excuse to leave the room. He hadn’t stopped Mason yet, so he decides now is as good a time as any.
“Why did we have to leave?”
The question hangs in the air, thick like glue. Grace twists his hands together, but under the table so Mason couldn’t see. Or, rather, he thought as much.
“Astrophage might come back, and Eridians just aren’t able to do the same science we are. We are sort of acting like diplomats. We’re convincing Earth that Eridians are ok, so they don’t flip out about it.”
“Why couldn’t dad come with us?”
“He has to wait until we know if it is safe. But…He should have been right behind us. Something must have delayed him.”
“I just wish he was here.”
“Me too Mason.”
In Grace’s eyes is the knowing feeling of helplessness. He couldn’t have stayed on Erid, knowing he could be helping. It would have killed him. Now Mason has to suffer through a choice that was inevitable.
Mason regrets asking, and excuses himself from the table. Mason finds himself on the floor of his bedroom, messing around with his latest project. The complexity of the mechanics drowned out the urge to cry.
In his hands is a small bird. The body needs work, both in look and weight. The wings are weighed down too much to fly, which was the original goal. The mechanics inside are not nearly strong enough to hold it up. He idly wonders if xenonite would help, but then the whole thing would be thrown off balance. No, he needed to focus on the material of the wings, not the strength of the moving parts. The bird was a conglomerate of parts from gifted toys and scavenged parts. Him and Grace often went to the thrift store to look for broken computers Mason could use in his projects.
He’d tried to think of a name for the bird, but all he came up with was Blue, since it was modeled off of a blue jay. It wasn’t blue quite yet, once he finalized the design he’d need to figure out how to make it blue. He was better at tinkering than he was with painting.
By the time that Mason realizes the time, the sun has gone down. His dad knocks a knuckle against the door, voice still quiet.
“Mace? Are you feeling ok?”
He asks it without opening the door. Grace gave Mason his space as much as he was able to, which included making his bedroom an unintentional forcefield.
“You can come in dad,” Mason says back. He opens the door, walking over and sitting on the floor with Mason.
“Working on Blue?”
Mason nods, “Trying to figure out the wings still.”
“I might be able to dredge up the 3D printer from the basement, if you want. We could find some light filament.”
The basement was where all the leftover things from the ship got stored. Anything that Grace requested was happily relinquished to his possession. He’d managed to convince them to give him at least half of the high tech equipment, including the aforementioned printer.
“Do you think there is a model for these specific wings?”
“We can look. I’ll do research for you while you sleep, ok?”
Mason puts Blue back on the floor, “I’m not mad at you.”
“I know. You’re mad at the situation though, that’s still frustrating.”
He scoots closer to Mason, opening the option of a hug should Mason want it. “I can’t understand all of it. I don’t remember Erid, or the ship, or anything but being here. It’s really hard to remember this is something real. My feelings are all jumbled up because of it.”
“Our brains are really good at pretending when we are hurt. Do you…” he hesitates, “Do you wish it was fake?”
“No!” Mason says hurriedly, “I just wish I got to remember it like you do. I like Erid, I love learning about it. I like dad, when you talk about him. I’m just really upset I’ll never meet him. I’ve never even seen him outside of the statue on the table.”
“I can find some for you. He’ll be here soon, I promise. Rocky isn’t the type to be late for no good reason.”
“Thank you,” Mason mumbles, “I didn’t mean to make you sad.”
Grace realizes he’s been crying and shakes it off, “You didn’t do anything Mason, this is a dad thing. I’m worried about you, that’s all. I want you to feel welcome here.”
“I do, I promise,” he lies.
“Good.” Grace wraps his arms around Mason, giving him a tight hug. Then he rustles his hand into Mason’s hair until Mason looks like a mad scientist, “Get some sleep, ok? Blue can wait until tomorrow.”
“But-”
“IF I catch you up working on it, I will postpone our thrift trip tomorrow.”
“Fine,” Mason grumbles. Grace would take him either way, he knew that, but also he knew he should sleep. When he is tired he is stupid, and he almost broke Blue last time like that.
He packs his things up once his dad leaves, putting Blue back onto his desk. He gets ready for bed, then crawls under the covers. He stares at the posters on his wall, hoping tracing the maps of stars and diagrams of machines might put him to bed. But it doesn't.
He stares for ten minutes, then twenty, then what feels like an hour. He tosses around angrily, hoping that maybe he was just lying uncomfortably. Sleep still doesn’t come for him.
Mason throws the blanket off in anger and paces his room. This happens every night, this insomnia that he probably got from his up-at-all-hours-of-the-night dad. He can hear Grace in the other room typing on his computer, trying to keep as quiet as he can manage.
The worst part about it is that they have tried everything they could to make it work. Night lights, ocean asmr, those projectors that put stars on your ceiling. They even covered the walls in glow in the dark stickers, but none of it helps. Mason still finds himself nervously shaking once the lights are off.
Part of him wants to find his dad and curl up on the chair in his study. He’s only ever been able to fall asleep properly when he didn’t mean to, like at dinner, or movie night. He lingers with his hand over the doorknob, thinking over how to ask his dad about it. Like his post-practice frustration, this is another thing Mason worries he burden’s Grace with.
He turns the knob anyway, knowing his dad would scold him for thinking like that. He knocks on the door to his dad’s office, with no response. He opens the door quietly in case he fell asleep at his desk again, but he didn’t. He is crying to himself, with a video of an Eridian on his screen. It’s Rocky. Mason can recognize the inside of the Hail Mary and the robotic nature of the voice he speaks in.
“Grace not know how to do math,” Rocky whispers to the screen, though the computer doesn’t change volumes.
“I can hear you!” Grace yells from somewhere in the ship.
“Grace ears wrong!” Rocky laughs. The laugh is alien to Mason, yet brings a burning pain to his chest. Tears well in his eyes too, and he finds himself crying the same way Grace is. Once Mason starts crying that’s when his dad realizes he is there, jumping out of his chair in surprise.
“Mason?” He asks weepily, “Why are you up?”
“I-I couldn’t sleep,” he sobs.
Grace forgets his own sadness and rushes over to Mason. “Mace, kiddo what’s wrong?”
He shakes his head, not able to verbalize it. He just wraps his arms around Grace and lets himself cry. Maybe he’ll assume he is just frustrated by not being able to sleep. Maybe he won’t realize how lonely it feels to be half alien and not even be able to speak the language he was born into. Or worse, to not remember his home planet at all. Mason is, by all technicalities, and Eridian. Yet he hears Rocky’s voice over the recording and it sounds alien.
“It’s ok,” Grace comforts, rocking on his feet slightly. He taps Mason to try and make him feel better, but the gesture just makes Mason more upset.
He cries like that for a while, until his eyes hurt too much to continue. He releases the hug soon after, trying to collect himself but not doing very well.
“We can fix it,” Grace reassures, “We can talk to that sleep doctor again if you want.”
“It won’t help,” Mason laments.
“I’m sorry. Do you want me to stay in the room with you? That used to put you to bed as a kid.”
“No, you have to do work. It’s ok.”
“Are you sure? I can bring my laptop, I’ll be fine. You are more important to me; you have school tomorrow.”
“I’m ok. Thank you dad.”
“Always kiddo. Sleep well, ok?”
“I will.”
Mason still can’t fall asleep. He expected as much, but he’d still hoped the crying might have helped. He spends another hour tossing in bed, trying to tell himself stories to tire himself out, but it never helps. Once it hits 2am, he gets a small, ‘tap tap tap’ on his door.
“Dad?” he asks groggily. His door opens to reveal Grace holding his laptop, now in his pajamas.
“Do you think I can sit in here with you? I can’t focus really, it helps if there is someone in the room.”
“Yeah, I still can’t sleep either.”
Grace nods, making his way to Mason’s desk by the door. He’s positioned his laptop so that the light is a night light rather than a bother. Mason turns to his side, hugging the blanket to himself. He watches Grace flipping through his screens until he finds his 3D software and starts modeling a bird wing. He occasionally flips to a picture of a blue jay, then frowns and goes back to his program.
Click, swipe, click click. The sound repeats like a song, and Mason finds his eyes heavy.
…
School is, as always, a nightmare. His inability to fall asleep last night has made him exhausted, which makes it hard to do his work. Still, he finishes early, using the free time to doodle upgraded part ideas for Blue. Mid-drawing he hears an all too familiar walk making its way to him, and he shuffles his paper under his notebook.
“Hey,” says Callum. His bully that never seemed to get the message that Mason didn’t care what he thought. Mason already knew he was an alien, so the insistent reminders didn’t mean anything.
“Hello Callum,” he says, pretending to be doing more math.
“Does your dad have extra arms?” he asks, “Oh I bet he has three mouths, and you’ve heard none of them talk to you. That’s so sad ain’t it? Two dads and only one of them loves you.”
Mason feels the anger building up inside of him, but attempts to keep his hands still. He doesn’t want to start anything and worry his dad even more. So he lets Callum continue spinning tales about how little Rocky loves him and how little he fits into school and how no one would miss him if he suddenly stopped showing up.
Mason knew he was exaggerating, but it did remind him he didn’t have any friends. Even the other kids on his baseball team didn’t like him. He wasn’t able to throw well, but throwing was the only position he was able to do at all. He always found while running that his legs would give out before getting to base.
“That birthmark on your face is probably alien gunk too,” Callum adds right as Mason tunes back into what he is saying. Mason touches his face absentmindedly, running it over the brown splotch on his cheek. If only Callum knew it was Mason’s favorite part about himself. It was the same color as Rocky’s skin. He felt like he could see a little part of his dad when he looked in the mirror, he could touch it and pretend it was him.
If only his dad was around for him. Grace is so sure he will be there soon, and Mason wants to believe it. He holds it with his whole chest that he will come back. But he is not stupid, and it’s been too long. Grace even admitted it. He probably didn’t want to come back, he just made up a lie to get rid of them. He saw Mason’s face and regretted everything he’d done.
Callum gets bored of Mason’s non-reaction and runs off to the next unsuspecting target. Mason gives it five more minutes to ensure he is fully moved on, then pulls the drawing of Blue from beneath his notebook. He goes back to his work, ignoring the tear drops making his pen bleed.
Practice later is just as frustrating and useless as it was last time. Mason jumps into the car with Grace and screams for a solid ten seconds, then holds a hand out for his headphones. Grace furrows his brow, but doesn’t fight Mason on it. He knows the routine, and will stick by it.
Grace puts his music on, letting Mason cool off as he drives to the thrift store. Mason lets himself focus on the possible treasure in order to slow his breathing. When the car finally comes to a stop, Mason is ready to talk again.
“I hope they have another discman. I need the spinny part.” He calls it a spinny part not because he doesn’t know the name, but because he imagines Grace won’t. His dad is learning, however agonizingly slow it is.
Mason makes a beeline to the back where the wall of electronics is. It’s two overfull bins and three shelves of dusty, sticky keyboards. He rolls his sleeves up and sticks an arm into the bin, blindly searching for the smooth oval shape of what he is looking for. He spends a minute or two like that without finding anything. In desperation he closes his eyes and starts humming to himself. The sound shakes down his arm into the bin, and swims between each item. In the back left. The feeling overwhelms him with certainty, and he moves his arm to right where he thinks it should be.
“Found it!” Mason says happily, unearthing the scratched plastic circle. He excitedly raises it to show his dad, who takes it from him and pops it open.
“Hey look, Beatles!”
…
It’s 10:00pm. Mason curls onto his floor again, this time with his dad’s laptop. Grace taught him enough about the program to be able to make edits on his own, as he is doing now. Grace had attempted to make an outline of wings for him, but they were clunky and not well done. His dad is also a better scientist than he is an artist, just like Mason.
His dad had to go to another meeting tonight, one of many millions it seemed he had to do. He was trying to make sure that when Rocky came, he would be able to complete what they’d come here for. But it meant spending hours shipped off to some random building with Stratt.
Tomorrow was Saturday, so Mason was allowed to stay up as late as he wanted. With the insomnia it might as well be every night, but usually Grace forces him to attempt to sleep.
From the hallway Mason hears clunking noises. It sounds like something heavy, so he assumes it’s Grace.
“Hey dad!” he calls. I’m sure his dad won’t be happy he is still awake, yet he’ll still have some treat with him. As much as he hated being alone for so long, it was nice to get ice-cream out of it.
Grace doesn’t respond, but the clunking gets closer. Mason listens for the familiar sound of Grace’s keys, or maybe the plastic gas station bag that would have his treat in it. But he doesn’t hear it, and something feels really wrong about the clunking noise suddenly. Mason stands, reaching for one of his screwdrivers. It was the closest thing to a weapon he had in his room.
He creeps to his door, then closes his eyes. He lets the noise illuminate the hallway, and he gasps without understanding why. In his brain something bothers him, an image he saw but couldn’t comprehend. It’s getting closer now, the thing, it’s about to be at his door. Hide. Hide? Where to hide?
His bed would be the solution if his bed didn’t have drawers and boxes under it. His closet could have been one, but it is so full of broken parts and extra storage there is no way to fit in it. The only thing he can do is hope that he can trick whoever is outside.
The way his desk is set up prevents the door from swinging all the way open. Because of that, Mason stands directly next to his desk, behind the door. When the door opens, he hopes they won't look behind it and will just see the room is empty and move on.
Grace warned him about this. It was an undeniable risk of being so well known that eventually someone would break in. He gave Mason a necklace just for this that calls the police, which is…currently buried somewhere in his bin of Blue’s stuff. Mason curses his stupidity and goes to his second plan, his phone. He pulls the phone out and fumbles with his password, stress getting to his hands and stopping him from typing right. He puts it in wrong three times, then pauses before the fourth. If he messes up again it’ll lock the phone.
The door rattles, and swings open with surprising force. It dents the door on the desk, which punches right through the thin wood. It keeps the door in place, preventing whoever that is and Mason from seeing each other.
The noises, which he figures out are steps, let themselves into his room. The shadow creeps through too, stretching across Mason’s bed.
Then it steps into the light, and Mason screams. A spider rock thing stands in the middle of his room, humming to itself while tapping on the floor. Mason doesn’t stop screaming until the Eridian makes a noise that sounds too much like talking.
“♫♪♫♪♫♪♫♪???” the Eridian screams back, then stops. “♫♪? ♫♪! ♫♪♫♪♫♪♫♪♫♪♫♪♫♪?!”
He sounds excited…
He sounds familiar.
“ROCKY? Rocky, why are you-What in the world? Where is dad? Why are you here? Does dad know? Oh my god are you going to kill me?”
“♫♪.” Rocky lowers his body trying to look less intimidating. “♫♪♫♪.”
Mason now regrets how little he bothered his dad about learning Eridian. Grace always said it would be easier to learn once he actually heard it from Rocky. All the instruments he tried to make never came close to the sounds and it frustrated him greatly.
“Hold on,” Mason says, holding a finger up in the ‘wait a minute’ motion. He hoped Rocky understood that. He pushes the door off of where it was stuck to the desk. He tries not to pay too much attention to the hole since Grace will probably not be happy. He runs over to the basement excitedly, rooting around boxes for what he was looking for. In one he finds the duct-taped laptops that no one bothered to unstick from each other. Seeing as they were technically four separate laptops still, they all needed to be charged. Mason hauled them back up to his room, along with the chargers for them. He uses up every outlet in his room by plugging them in, watching nervously for it to turn on. Would it turn on after so long of not being used?
Nothing. They need a minute. Mason turns to Rocky, smiling ear to ear. Rocky doesn’t make any reactions, just sits there patiently.
“♫♪?” he asks. Mason knew he was asking, that’s something!
“I’m sorry, they need to charge.” Mason gestures with his hands to the computers, then the outlet. He isn’t sure how much of English Rocky knows, or remembers.
“♫♪♫♪♫♪,” Rocky replies. He walks towards Mason slowly, not wanting to scare him. He is wearing some sort of space suit, a big tank connected to the back of it pumping in something breathable. The suit looks like glass, and Mason marvels at it for a moment.
“Um…” he starts, ever verbose, “So. You’re my dad, right?”
“♫♫♪♫♪♫♪♫♪♫♪♫♪♫♪♫♪♫♪♫♪♫♪♫♪, ♫♪♫♪♫♪♫♪♫♪♫♪♫♪♫♪.”
“Ok maybe we need to start somewhere else. Um…clocks? I think I can find a clock somewhere. Numbers are probably the easiest.”
“♫♪! ♫♪♫♪♫♪♫♪.”
“I just can’t believe you are real,” Mason gushes, “I mean I knew you were. Dad has all your little xenonite things around the house but- I don’t know. I really worried he’d been lying. Or that you died on the way here. I hoped all the time you would come. The kids at school call me an alien and say that I don’t fit in.”
“♫♪♫♪♫♪!!! ♫♪♫♪♫♪!!!” Rocky seems upset.
“Sorry. You probably can’t understand me. I’m just rambling, I know. When the laptops charge I can talk to you and tell you how much you mean to me. I’m just so happy to have my dad back.”
Rocky lifts an arm to point towards the computers. “♪.”
Mason turns to see the laptops are finally booting up. He sighs with relief. There is no login, rather just the homescreen with the Hail Mary mission patch. Mason feels something he doesn’t understand, a connection to a life he hadn’t lived. The computer has no obvious program labeled ‘Eridian translator’ so Mason is reduced to clicking on every executable he can find on the laptop. By the time he has found it, it’s almost midnight. He should wonder where his Grace is, but he is much too focused on the dad currently in the room with him.
“♫♪♫♪♫♪♫♪?” Rocky asks once he gets the computer open. The screen pops up with the words, ‘Is it working?’
Mason pumps his fist, then frowns, then turns the volume on the computer up. “Sorry,” he laughs nervously, “Forgot to make it loud.”
“Is ok. You understand me now?”
“Yes! Yes I do! Oh my god I have so many questions for you. But first you’re here! You came back!” Mason throws his arms around Rocky, who should have expected it but didn’t. Rocky hugs him back once the shock wears off, singing something happily.
“I’m glad you are safe,” is what the computers translate, “Where is Grace?”
“He had another meeting tonight,” Mason says sadly. His eyes shoot open wide and he reaches for his phone, “I have to call Dad!!!”
“He leaves you alone?” Rocky grumbles.
“Sometimes. He has to. Stratt won’t let him bring me.”
“STRATT?” The computer doesn’t scream it, but the noises Rocky is making are so loud Mason assumes he meant it that way.
“I know. Dad doesn’t like it. But she never left power, she had to solve the whole astrophage problem then dad told her he was coming home so she had to deal with that too. Basically as long as she is still in charge dad has to deal with her. He already yelled at her really bad when he got back.”
“Good good good. I would like to yell too.”
“I’m sure we can figure that out.”
They sit in awkward silence for a moment, not really knowing what to say. Mason was shocked, to say the least. Here was this mysterious figure that loomed over his life for so long. That ghost that haunted both of them in different ways. And he was now in the same room as him and TALKING to him.
“I sorry I took long time.”
“Why did you?” Mason asks.
“Ship not working, needed to fix. Delayed too long, launch not work. Many many many things go wrong. I promise Grace and you I come back, I keep promise.”
“Thank you, I was so worried,” Mason cries, cutting off his own sentence. Rocky initiates the hug this time, comforting Mason as best he can through the suit.
“I so so so sorry ♫♪♫♪♫♪.”
“One of your words isn’t translating.”
“Mean your name. Stone worker.”
“Mason,” he fills in.
“Grace pick you name. He say is funny.”
“What does my name mean in your language?”
“I tell Grace means stone worker. I lie. It mean special present.”
That doesn’t help the tears. Back they come, shaking Mason until he can’t cry anymore.
“When Grace come back?” Rocky asks softly.
Mason wipes his snot on his sleeve, then shrugs, “I don’t know. Usually he is back by now.”
“Call him.”
…
RING RING RI-
“-Hello?” His dad picks up before the last ring.
Mason can’t control his excitement, “Dad dad dad! Rocky he- The house- I don’t- Where are you???”
“Stratt is keeping me really late, what’s wrong kiddo? You sound shaky.”
“♫♪♫♪♫♪♫♪♫♪♫♪♫♪♫♪, ♫♪♫♪♫♪♫♪! ♫♪♫♪♫♪♫♪♫♪!!!” Rocky says. The computer doesn’t translate most of it, only, ‘Why talking to Stratt?’ and ‘Come home’.
The sound of a phone hitting the ground rings throughout the speakers. Somewhere in the background Mason hears Stratt’s voice go, “Ryland? Where are you going?”
…
Grace has never driven as fast as he is now. He has always followed the speed limit, careful to the point he once got a speeding ticket for driving too slowly. But now he blows red lights and stop signs and his heart pounds in his chest doing it.
Images flash through his head. Waking up on a space station. Not remembering who he is. Meeting an alien, saving his life. Living with him. All the science it took to make Mason. Beautiful Mason, who was so young when they got the news. The way Rocky’s voice got so low it was almost out of his range of hearing.
Crying, curled in a ball around an infant. Stroking his little head, singing to him whatever Eridian songs he could remember. The ship he’d been so scared inside of was now the home to his tiny, tiny son. He cried all the time and Grace had no idea how to fix it. The view of the moon he saw, the way it reflected off of little Mason’s eyes. The static of the radio calling to a ship that shouldn’t have been able to have survived.
Grace blinks away tears, trying hard not to sob. The journey to his house has never felt so long, and by the time he pulls into the driveway all self control he had flown out of the window. He leaves the car running and the door open because he is too focused on sprinting inside.
…
Mason hears keys turning in the door, and stands up excitedly.
“Mason?” Grace calls, “Where are you?”
He peeks his head out of his room, “Over here!”
Grace runs to his room, pushing past Mason and seeing Rocky. He stares, dumbfounded at him for a breath. Between them something strange takes shape, like two halves of a whole finally putting themselves back together. And once the shock stops sticking his feet in place Grace drops to his knees, holding Rocky in a desperate hug. He cries like a wounded animal, loud and so violent it scares Mason.
“You’re back,” he repeats over and over. It’s barely audible over Rocky’s own joyful exclamations, which go so high the computer can’t pick them up anymore. Grace strokes the top of Rocky’s carapace, and Rocky grabs onto Grace’s arms wherever he can reach.
“Miss miss miss you,” Rocky informs through the computer, “Ship was broken, took long time fix.”
“I don’t care,” Grace replies, “I knew you’d come back.”
They embrace for five whole minutes until it sounds like the both of them are going to lose their voices.
“He is so big,” Rocky says, inspecting Mason.
“It’s been a long time,” Grace says sadly.
Rocky scuttles over to Mason, tapping his claw on the floor by his feet to see him better. “You are like Grace.”
Mason laughs through a sniffle, “We do look the same.”
“No, not look. Both silly. You think I not understand you. Grace told you we live together, you not remember?”
He wants to slap himself on the forehead and hide in shame at the same time. He thinks back to everything he blurted out. “Sorry,” he mumbles, “I was a little scared.”
“I sorry kid at school is mean. But you are smart smart smart, they are stupid.”
“It doesn’t matter, I don’t care.”
“Human love lie,” Rocky says with frustration, “It ok to not be happy.”
“They don’t have a cool alien to be their dad,” Mason beams.
“Yes! Is true. You make machine on desk?”
“His name is Blue! I’m trying to make a bird that flies like a real one does.”
“Name is blue. Is color blue?”
“Not yet. I want to make it blue though, it’s based on a blue jay. A type of bird,” Mason clarifies. Rocky clicks in a way Grace giggles at.
“Bird type is blue, color is blue. Name is Blue. Just like Grace,” Rocky says disapprovingly with his own musical giggle.
Mason takes the bird from the desk and flips a switch. The half finished frame vibrates and attempts to flap, but stutters and dies.
“I forgot to change the battery,” Mason says sadly.
“We charge. It work very well, happy happy happy Mason is so smart.”
Mason smiles again, and Grace rubs his arms from where he sits on the ground. Grace then yanks Mason’s arm, forcing him to join their hug. Mason happily does, leaning against Rocky’s surprisingly warm suit. The heat radiates from him and feels like lying out in the sun. Mason suddenly realizes how tired he is, and almost falls asleep right there.
“Mace? You tired kiddo?”
“No! No, I can stay up,” Mason says, but sleepiness creeps into his voice.
“I will be here in the morning for you. I will watch sleep.”
“M’kay,” Mason mumbles, crawling into his bed. His heavy eyes are more than happy to rest, and he falls asleep faster than he ever has.
“Grace sleep too. You cry a lot, you are tired.”
Grace nods, pulling himself to his feet.
“No, sleep here,” Rocky protests, “Must watch both.”
“I’ll grab a blanket then.”
Grace’s smile reaches his eyes for the first time since Mason was born.