MyAlienHusband

Thefirst sign that something was different was the way he ate an orange. Instead of cutting it into semicircle slices and eating them one by one, he cut the whole thing in half and then, with a spoon, carved out the pulpy insides as if carving out a miniature pumpkin. The spoon kept slipping in his fingers, the situation quickly became a sticky mess.

I don’t know why I assumed that my first love would eat oranges normally; I guess I never thought there was any other way to eat them. But, one thing soon led to another and here we are.

We went to the farmers market last Thursday. There was barely anyone there since it was a Thursday afternoon but still, the people who were there all stared. I thought I had gotten used to the looks: wide eyes, mouths agape, little kids in strollers with glares that mirrored their mothers’, but I found myself shrinking away. I pretended that I was interested in buying kumquats for $4.95 just to keep some distance between him and myself, to keep their eyes off of me too.

I have always hated myself for doing it. It’s their fault anyways, they’re the ones being rude. But I guess that’s what I get for marrying an alien.

We met in college. The typical meet-cute: me on the dance floor, him by the bar. I recall him looking a twinge green when we first talked but thought it was just the lights. We were all green, then purple, then pink, then green again. Shakira mumbled in the background, he asked for my phone number. I gave it to him and forgot about it until a few days later when I found myself across from him, sipping a cappuccino on a Wednesday afternoon.

From then on out it was a whirlwind. I freaked the first time I saw him in daylight, of course. Who wouldn’t when your date shows up: green, a head double in size, eyes just two gaping black voids the shape of footballs? I would have run away if he hadn’t already ordered. His impeccable style was also hard to deny. Oxfords and Ralph Lauren. Preppy has always been my weak spot.

He asked me to marry him six months later. It was the easiest yes of my life. Our wedding was small, with just a few of my friends from school and his old roommate officiating. My parents refused to come, something about needing to drive down to Georgia last minute, but I know it’s because they didn’t approve. I can’t exactly blame them.

It hasn’t all been la vie en rose. There was that huge fight a few months after getting married. It was my idea to watch E.T., a terrible idea looking back but I thought it would be fun. I forgot about that scene when E.T. gets sick. It’s always scared me, seeing him all shriveled and powdery-white.

“Ew, so weird.” I barely said it loud enough for him to hear, but he did.

He scoffed.

I tried to defend myself. He slammed the door.

I threw the DVD in the trash.

We never watched E.T. again, never talked about that night. Life picked back up and it was easy to pretend that everything was normal. But how normal can it really be when your lover is extraterrestrial?

I babysat our neighbor once and she screamed when he came into the living room. I tried to laugh it off, but she was so scared I had to ask him to leave.

He never told me where he came from or why he lived on Earth, so I never asked. It was a touchy subject, to say the least.

Sometimes, I catch him looking at himself in the mirror. I see sadness in those big black eyes. He self-consciously touches his forehead, feeling how it balloons.

“Baby, you are out of this world.”

That was the first thing he said to me after we made it official. He made me feel so special. I was out of this world, and that was the best thing I could be.

He lit up the room. Best dancer I’ve ever seen. Heart of gold. Unlike anyone I’d ever dated, but not just in the obvious way. He was tender and thoughtful. Our love shined bright.

He left three weeks ago, Sunday morning. His car’s still here. Closet full. His side of the bed perfectly made. Maybe he’ll come back tomorrow, but I doubt it.

I found a miniature pumpkin on the coffee table. The juice from the orange had made a little puddle around it. It looked almost like a small little planet.

The living room window had let in a breeze, the wind whistling like a song.

I imagined my alien husband, dancing and happy, somewhere out of this world.

MODELS: Claire Patrick & Jacob Delos Santos

PHOTOGRAPHY: Viosa Koliqi

STYLING: Priscilla Martinez & Sophie Trew

MAKEUP & HAIR: Priscilla Martinez & Isabella Broccolo