Sidequest for Love by L.H. Cosway

“I might actually get the sashimi. It sounds delicious,” Michaela went on, her shoulders tense. She was clearly worried about us getting into a full-blown argument, and we’d only just met. I couldn’t help it, though. This woman irritated me, and that was saying something because I barely knew anything about her.



“Yes, and I’m sure all those respected individuals are getting lucrative book deals and television interviews to talk about what they saw,” I shot back.



“Just because a person is getting paid doesn’t mean they’re lying,” she countered.



“Do you know what? I might even get a glass of plum wine,” Michaela commented, but I barely paid her any attention. This woman, Afric, aggravated me, and I was suddenly determined to win our little debate.



“Okay, let’s say they’re telling the truth,” I said. “Why haven’t the aliens come out and shown themselves to everyone? Why only a select few?”



She threw her hands up in the air, her tone sarcastic, “Oh, I don’t know. Because humanity has always been so kind and accepting to those who are different. Besides, have you ever considered that beings from another planet might be so far advanced that there would be no point trying to talk to us? It’d be like a human going into a field and trying to have a conversation with a cow. It just wouldn’t work. Cows can’t speak. Maybe the difference between humans and aliens is that vast. Maybe they’re here to observe us, the same way we observe animals in the wild, but they aren’t going to get involved in our daily lives because that’s not what they’re about.”



Michaela’s phone buzzed, and she busied herself responding to a text while I continued eyeing Afric. She wore a triumphant smile, and I couldn’t believe I’d allowed her to get under my skin discussing a subject I had little-to-no interest in. What was wrong with me today? Perhaps running Callum’s social media was stressing me more than it normally did.



I glanced at Afric one last time, realising that arguing with her wasn’t going to get me anywhere. And that was why I didn’t respond to her counterpoint. Instead, I glanced down and frowned intently at my menu.



A moment later, the waiter arrived, and we made our orders. Afric must’ve sensed my disinterest in talking to her further because she focused on chatting with Michaela about how things were going for her at work.



“Well, this was great,” Michaela said with a forced smile as we finished up lunch. My co-worker was clearly too polite to mention the awkwardness that had ensued after my and Afric’s argument.



Afric pulled Michaela into a hug. “Yeah, see you later,” she said, casting me a small, curious glance before she turned to wave down an approaching taxi. The taxi stopped by the kerb, and Afric climbed in.



“Well,” Michaela said, folding her arms. “I guess you won’t be coming to lunch with Afric and me again any time soon.”



I shot her an arch look. “You’ve guessed correctly.”



Michaela chuckled. “I warned you she wasn’t everybody’s cup of tea.”



“Seems appropriate that I’ve always preferred coffee,” I replied, and we made our way back to the gym.



Hours later, I was still irritable when I arrived at my grandma’s house for dinner. My younger sister, Rosie, still lived with her since she’d raised us after our parents passed away. I had my own place in the city, but I preferred to eat here rather than prepare a meal for one and eat alone in my sad little flat. Besides, nothing could beat Grandma’s cooking.



I smelled the shepherd’s pie as soon as I stepped in the door, and my mood improved substantially. As expected, my lunch hadn’t gone down very well. I liked sushi, but it’d probably be a while before I could stomach it again. What a horribly rude, argumentative woman. And what kind of name was “Afric” anyway?



I rarely said this about people, but I’d be happy if our paths never crossed again.



“You look like a brewing storm,” Grandma commented when I entered the kitchen. She stood by the cooker, removing a dish from the oven.



I sighed and took a seat by the table, rubbing the tension lines on my forehead.



“Is everything all right?” Rosie asked. She was already at the table, a worn paperback in front of her. My sister was never without a book. She’d graduated from university last year and managed to snag her dream job as a trainee librarian.



“Everything’s fine. I just met a particularly unpleasant person today, but with a bit of luck, I’ll never see her again, so every cloud and all that.”



“Oh?” Rosie said curiously as she pushed her glasses up her nose. Neither of us had managed to escape the short-sighted gene that seemed to run in our family. “Who was she?”



“Just a friend of Michaela’s,” I answered, hoping to change the subject. “Anyway, how was your day?”



Rosie smiled. “I convinced someone to give Neverwhere a try, so that’s another literary good deed completed.”



“She never gets tired of recommending books to people,” Grandma said fondly, her perceptive gaze coming to me. “Are you sure you’re okay? How are things with Leanne?”