First there were my grandparents, who – in addition to the contrast in complexion (with him being dark and her being fair) – also appeared to have a distinct age gap between them. Because Caelesians live much longer than Terrans, Indigo still looked as youthful as she had when they had first married. Gramps, on the other hand, had aged well but had still grown noticeably older during their decades apart. (Oddly enough, however, my grandmother was the older of the two.)
Next, seeing my mother and grandmother next to each other could cause the average person to do a double-take. My mother had inherited Caelesian genes in spades, which manifested themselves in an exotically beautiful appearance that included pointed, elfin ears and eyes that changed color with her emotions. In fact, she and Indigo were so similar in appearance that they were far more likely to be mistaken for sisters than mother and daughter.
Finally, there was Myshtal – the fiancée that had been forced upon me. With exquisite features framed by flame-red curls and a figure that swimsuit models dream of, calling her physically attractive would have been a severe understatement. She had an allure that went well beyond mere appearance and which exceeded the ability to be accurately described. Looking at her now, I couldn’t help but think that under other circumstances…
“How was your day, Sxibbo?” my grandmother asked, interrupting my thoughts before biting into a slice of pepperoni pizza. She addressed me by a Caelesian appellation that loosely translated as “beloved and adored male progeny.”
“It went well, Sxahnin,” I replied, using a Caelesian term of affection for an older female relative. “But I don’t want to bore you guys by talking shop.”
Indigo gave me a subtle nod, indicating that she understood: I’d been involved in something that I wasn’t exactly free to talk about. Mentally, however, she pinged me with a query asking if I was all right (as did Mom and Gramps). I telepathically assured them all that I was fine, and – thankfully – no one pressed me for details.
There was silence for a moment (at least audibly) as we continued to eat, but on a psychic level I was picking up lots of mental chatter. This wasn’t unusual, as there would typically be at least five conversations going on when we ate, with at least four of them being telepathic.
For starters, Gramps and Indigo were always connected; they were in constant mental communion (which was understandable since they had spent so many years apart). In addition, my mother and grandmother tended to keep an open line of communication as well. I knew that Indigo felt as though she’d never had a chance to truly nurture my mother, but it had taken them almost no time to develop a fierce and loving bond. Also, the three of them – my mother and her parents – spent a lot of time mentally yammering, clearly making up for lost time. Occasionally, I would get sucked into a conversation with the three of them, making it a full family affair.
In addition to the conversations noted, there was usually some oral discussion going on as well, to make sure Myshtal didn’t feel left out or isolated. In fact, when I was growing up, Mom and Gramps generally made it a point to keep the bulk of our communications verbal (unless there was an emergency or a need to share information quickly). That might sound odd for a family of telepaths, but the truth of the matter was that, historically, Mom had rarely used her powers. (There was also the fact that I had seemingly been born without any special abilities, which had made verbal communication mandatory at one point in time.)
“This is delicious!” Myshtal exclaimed, obviously relishing her first taste of pizza. “This is one of Earth’s delicacies, I presume?”
“Hardly,” I chuckled, along with the rest of my family. “It’s just pizza.”
In response, Myshtal wrinkled her brow, and I felt confusion coming from her.
“I’m sorry,” she said, eyes slightly downcast. “Did I misspeak?”
“Not at all,” my grandmother assured her. “It’s just that this isn’t really a delicacy. It’s something on par with yraszin.”
“Oh,” Myshtal muttered softly. Then she began snickering as well, realizing the term Indigo had used was the Caelesian version of “junk food.”
I felt relief flooding through her, and I realized that she was more concerned about her language skills than anything else. Apparently, she didn’t mind being confused on the concept (that is, confusing junk food with a delicacy); she was more bothered by the notion that she had picked the wrong word altogether – for instance, if she had said “shoe” instead of “delicacy.” In short, she was fretting over the thought that she might not have mastered the English language.
She needn’t have worried. She spoke with an adorable accent, but her English was perfect. She had practiced with me and my grandmother on the trip back from Caeles, but it had become immediately obvious that she had been tutored quite extensively on the subject. My guess was that plans had been made for her to visit Earth long before I came into the picture.
“Anyway,” my mom said, taking charge of the conversation, “if you want to sample delicacies, there should be plenty of them tomorrow night.”
Myshtal beamed upon hearing this. “Excellent. It will be my first formal Earth event, so I’m very excited.”
“We all are,” my grandmother added.
Not all of us, I thought. All of a sudden everyone turned to look at me, and for a moment I wondered if I’d telepathically broadcast my thoughts or expressed them vocally. I realized a moment later that I hadn’t done either, but had still done something that made my feelings on the matter known: I had audibly
