“Well, I guess you can’t help that. Too bad though. Been ages since we’ve just sat around, catching up.”
Diana nodded. It had been a while since she’d just hung out with friends. Most of her coworkers weren’t much more than acquaintances, but it was a nice, normal thing to do. She would’ve gladly taken Ginger up on the offer except for the two monsters in her care. She didn’t see a way around that.
“Did you know that Vicki’s son is almost two?” asked Ginger.
“Already? Damn, where does the time go?”
“I know, right. Sorry you can’t make it. I’m sure everyone will be super disappointed.”
Diana thanked Ginger for the new blouse, walked a few steps, and stopped. If she was going to maintain her sanity, she needed a normal life. Or at least as many bits and pieces of a normal life as she could scrape together. Spending time with ordinary people who had ordinary-people concerns might just keep her grounded. Even if it didn’t have any long-term effect, it would be good for a distraction for the evening.
“Ginger, count me in.”
Ginger smiled, and even though Diana knew that smile was partly due to her own cosmic powers, she still found it reassuring.
She managed to finish her shift, even if her strength never quite returned. She stopped trembling, but she couldn’t shake the hollow sensation. By the end of the day the mall was already restored. Everyone was cheerful, but they stopped going out of their way to compliment each other. Maybe in an hour or two they’d be back to normal. Kind of a shame that it couldn’t last, but it wasn’t right. When world peace happened, she mused on the drive to the bar to meet her coworkers,
“That’s ridiculous,” said Vom.
She glanced over at the passenger seat. He was in her mind again.
“Sorry,” he said.
She turned the radio up in an attempt to drown out the unreliable and unrequested telepathic communication. It came and went, and while she occasionally picked up a thought from Vom, he was more often the receiver in the relationship. She preferred that, because those foreign thoughts that came to her were strange, inhuman desires. Usually involving eating something. Or everything.
She also caught one or two thoughts from Unending Smorgaz, but these were less bizarre. His most pressing need was to be fruitful and multiply, but this seemed easier to repress. Just like it was easier to be celibate than to be hungry, she guessed.
“If humanity has to wait for everyone to get on board with world peace,” said Vom, “then it’ll never happen.”
“Maybe, but just making it happen is cheating.”
He smirked. “Why?”
“Because I can’t just force my desires on the world.”
“Why not? Everyone else does.”
“I don’t believe that.”
“No, and just believing something is enough to make it a fact,” said Vom. “Oh, wait. I’m talking to a human where this is literally true. So never mind.”
She was content to let it drop, but Vom wasn’t.
“Every interaction you have with this universe is exerting unwanted influence on it. Even before you joined up with me and Smorgaz.”
“Mmmm.” She hoped the vagueness of her reply would convince him that his point was made.
“When you eat something, you’re deciding that your continued survival is more important than something else that would probably rather exist if given the choice.”
“What about vegetarians?” Smorgaz countered.
“Potatoes and carrots are still alive. They might not posses will, but they exist. And they only cease to exist when something else decides they shouldn’t. Even if that something is just bacteria.”
“It’s always about eating with you,” said Diana.
“That’s because consuming is the purest form of existence, the most primal of all desires throughout all realities.”
“Actually the most primal force throughout the universe is spawning,” said Smorgaz.
Vom chuckled. “Don’t be ridiculous. Spawning is only a tool to ensure that you will produce more mouths to consume more than the other guy.”
“No,” said Smorgaz. “Consuming is only a tool to ensure that you will spawn more effectively than the other guy.”
“Most things die if they don’t consume. They don’t die if they fail to spawn.”
“No, even with consuming, most things die. Eventually. Spawning is the only reliable method of ensuring the continuation of existence. In fact, not spawning is the only way to die.”
“What about adoption?” asked Vom. “Or cultural contribution?”
Smorgaz chuckled. “Those are all just derivatives of spawning.”
“Oh, I see. Anything important is spawning-related by default.”
“Makes more sense than everything important being consumption-related.”
Diana zoned out while the monsters continued their debate. They were still going ong when she parked the car.
“Let’s go over the ground rules, guys,” she said.
“Again?” asked Vom. “How many times do we have to do this?”
“As many times as it takes for me to convince myself that this isn’t a terrible mistake that is going to go horribly awry. So give it to me.”
“When in doubt, don’t eat it,” said Vom with mechanical indifference.
“If you absolutely have to spawn,” said Smorgaz, “excuse yourself to go to the bathroom.”
Diana nodded. “Good. And…”
“Try not to talk but be polite,” intoned Vom and Smorgaz in unison. “If anyone asks, we’re old college friends in town for the week, and we have to go back to Stockholm to complete a research paper on soil samples.”
“No, not Stockholm,” she said.
Vom sighed. “But you said—”
“I know what I said, but Stockholm is too exotic. It invites questions. We need someplace less interesting. Sacramento. Or maybe Denver.”
“I’ve been to Denver,” said Smorgaz. “It’s a surprisingly interesting place.”
“Okay. We’ll go with Kansas. Kansas is boring.”
“Really?” asked Smorgaz. “So I take it you’ve been there.”
“No, I haven’t, but it’s not important if Kansas really is boring. It’s just important that it seems boring.”
“So you’re willing to impugn a whole state for an elaborate charade?”
“Yes, I am. I’m sure the state of Kansas will forgive me just this once.”
“Can I say we used to date?” asked Smorgaz.
“No.”
“Can I say I used to be worshipped as a god?” asked Vom.
“What?” She shook her head. “No.”
“Not even if someone asks? Like maybe it just comes up randomly in the table conversation?”
“When is something like that going to come up?”
“You never know. A lively conversation can be unpredictable.”
“You’re a guy who studies dirt,” she said. “That’s it.”
“Can I be gay?” asked Smorgaz.
She covered her face and ground her teeth.
“Okay. You can be gay.”
“That’s no fair. Why does he get to be gay?” said Vom.
“You can be gay too,” she replied.
“Wait,” said Smorgaz. “We can’t both be gay. Then it won’t be special.”
