Who's Telling Mom about the Aliens?

I sat down at the dinner table, dreading what was about to happen. I had agreed to Dad's demand that we tell Mom everything before we put her life in danger from drug cartel assassins. I mean, I knew we had to tell her, I just didn't want to be there when she found out. To me, telling Mom was the most dangerous part of the whole operation.

As I sat there, stewing in my fear, Mom placed a big pot of beef stew on the table and Dad began ladling it into my bowl. Then, he doled out Mom's, and finally, his own. We each reached for a piece of garlic bread in turn. I dipped mine in my stew and started nibbling.

"All right, spill the beans. What's going on between you two?" Mom had never even picked up her spoon. "I can tell when you're up to something. Spill it."

Dad and I looked at each other, both hoping the other would start. Dad volunteered for the sacrifice. "So," he started, "it turns out there are space aliens." I slapped my forehead.

"Subtle, Dad." I mumbled under my breath.

"Oh?" Mom asked with one eyebrow raised.

"Yeah, Tim met one a little while back. You know how, in the movies, they always say 'Take me to your leader.' Well, it was just like that. Tim was out in the backyard, working on his treehouse, when he looked over and there was this green space alien with four arms. 'Take me to your leader,' he says."

"Oh, really?" I think Mom thought Dad was leading up to one of his long and complicated jokes.

"So. what do you think Tim tells him?"

Mom glanced at me out of the side of her eye without turning her head away from Dad. "Clearly, he would have told the alien that he was in charge here." Mom replied.

"Nope, Tim says…" Dad stopped, not expecting that answer. "Um, yes… That's exactly what he says, 'I'm in charge here.' Guess what? The alien, being new to Earth, believes him. They sign some kind of alien papers acknowledging our boy, Tim, here, as King of the Earth."

"Supreme Ruler of the Entire Earth Solar System and Nearby Space," I corrected.

"Right," Dad continued, "You know how Tim is with words." He chuckled. "Anyway, as far as the entire galaxy is concerned, our little Tim is in charge of Earth and the whole solar system."

Mom's face was blank. "…and Nearby Space," She added.

"Thanks, Mom. Geez, Dad, get it right," I intoned.

He turned his head to look at me, then back at Mom, then me again for a long few seconds, "Do you want to do this?"

"Nope. You're doing great… except for the title thing, but go ahead," I said, bringing a spoonful of stew up to my mouth, so I couldn't possibly be expected to speak.

He glared at me for a second more before turning back to Mom and continuing, "So, the alien says he wants to build a base on Jupiter to use as a refueling stop for their spaceships. Tim, being a shrewd little businessman, refuses to even discuss Jupiter until the alien helps him build a Super-Secret… help me out here, Tim…"

"A Super-Secret Planetary Leadership Headquarters Treehouse Fortress. It's so cool, Mom! Even Dad thinks it's great! Do you want to see it? I mean, it's invisible, so you can't see it exactly… until you get inside, then, wow, you're going to be amazed."

Mom was giving us The Look. The Look meant 'I don't know what you're up to, but I'm not having any more of it, so you'd better stop talking right now if you want to live to see tomorrow.'

Man, I thought to myself, that look would be super useful in alien negotiations, but I did NOT say that out loud. I didn't say anything, I noticed Dad was suddenly paying a great deal of attention to his stew. That seemed like a brilliant idea, no wonder I appointed him Royal Strategic Advisor. A good King knows when to follow wise advice, so, I returned my spoon to my bowl of stew and began fishing out a piece of meat. "Boy, this stew sure is good, Mom." I dared to glance up and smile, just for a second, before stuffing a piece of beef into my mouth and reaching for the garlic bread.

We finished eating with the breathless anticipation of a man waiting to feel the cold steel blade of the guillotine on the back of his neck… but the blade never fell. I saw Mom put her spoon down and push her bowl slightly away from her. I jumped up immediately, almost knocking my chair over. "Can I get that for you, Mom?" I rushed over to grab her bowl and bring it to the kitchen sink, but it turns out that she's faster than she looks. She snatched the bowl away from me before I had a firm grip.

"Sit… Down… I hardly think the… Supreme Ruler of the Entire Earth Solar System and Nearby Space should be doing such menial chores as cleaning the table. Your father will take of the dishes," she said imperiously.

Dad jumped up, almost knocking his chair over, and took the bowl from her hand. "Yes, absolutely," he said. For a minute, I thought he was going to salute, but he probably had a vision of the same guillotine I had imagined earlier and thought twice. Smart man.

Dad dutifully cleared the table, put away the leftovers, and began washing the dishes. I knew I did not have permission to leave, I wasn't sure I had permission to breathe just now, but after a few seconds, I had to take a breath. We sat there, in silence, me staring intently at the pattern of the wood grain on the tabletop, Mom staring just as intently at me. Dad was lucky. He was way over by the sink washing the dishes, then carefully, very carefully, drying each one and putting it away.

I tried to scream Help! to his mind telepathically, but since I wasn't a powerful quantum AI with the ability to reach into people's heads, I failed. He finally finished putting the last of the silverware away in the drawer and very slowly, very casually started sauntering toward the living room. I thought he was going to make a clean getaway.

"Sit… Down." Mom ordered. It turns out Dad is faster than he looks, too. He was in that chair so fast I almost wondered if he used jump-space to cover the distance. Her face was like a giant glacier: cold, unmoving, really scary from this close… Then, suddenly, it wasn't.

Her brows relaxed. She smiled as sweetly as any mom ever smiled at her beloved family. For just a second, I thought she was going to surprise us with freshly baked cookies. I could sure use a cookie right now, I thought to myself.

"So, Tim," she said pleasantly, "Your father tells me you boys have been working on the treehouse? Want to take a walk and show me?" She said it with such a calm, motherly tone, a happy tone. I looked at Dad anxiously wondering if it had all been too much for her, and she had snapped or had a stroke or something. His look said, Be careful, son. We're treading on dangerous ground. He couldn't use telepathy either, but I could see those words in his eyes just as clearly as if he had spoken them out loud.