Page 257 of Destined For Her Alien Daddy
“You will hurt yourself.”
“I survived pre-reality. I can survive consonants.”
“You say that with confidence.”
“Misplaced confidence is part of my charm.”
I teach her the first line.
She repeats it.
Badly.
Very badly.
The sound that emerges from her mouth would alarm most Vakutan children and possibly several domestic animals. I manage not to laugh for two seconds. Then she attempts the second word, and control leaves me.
She points at me. “Do not laugh at my cultural engagement.”
“I am laughing with reverence.”
“You are laughing with teeth.”
“It is how my people laugh.”
“Liar.”
“Yes.”
She tries again. It improves from catastrophic to merely alarming. I correct her gently, shaping the sounds more slowly, and she listens with fierce concentration. When she gets one phrase almost right, her whole face lights with victory.
“There,” she says. “I am basically fluent.”
“You have successfully threatened a loaf of bread.”
“Progress.”
We spend twenty minutes on four lines.
No battle.
No revelation.
No audience except the indifferent stars beyond the viewport.
By the end, she can sing the chorus softly enough that the rhythm survives even if the pronunciation remains a crime. I join her on the final repetition, and our voices do not match in pitch, species, training, or elegance. They still fit together because we make them fit.
When the last note fades, Anita looks down at our joined hands. “Traditions can still matter.”
“Yes.”
“Even if their origins are messy.”
“Yes.”
“Even if people have used them badly.”
“Yes.” I pause. “But we must decide which ones to carry forward and how.”
