My Crazy Hot Interstellar Affair

13. World Pauses in Shock as Hippie Mom Bakes Zucchini Bread

"You're here," said her mom, Rachel, before Andie even put the key in the lock. Being blind, Rachel's other senses were highly enhanced. Andie jiggled the key trying to find the one angle and amount of force that would unlock Rachel's persnickety door. During this drama, which involved some choice curse words, Andie's phone buzzed in her purse. She peeked to see who had texted her. Oliver! Her heart sped.

He probably only texted about the investments report.

He's not texting about business, said Bad Andie. At least not the boring kind.

"Are you coming in, Andromeda?" Andie winced. God, she disliked that name.

"Yes, Mama," she said.

The Venice Beach apartment smelled like burnt zucchini bread, marijuana, and sandalwood incense burning in Rachel's many alters. Anderson Cooper blared from the living room. Pilot, Rachel's seeing-eye dog lumbered into the entry and allowed Andie to pet him before returning to the well-worn spot on the living room rug. It was weird how much that dog loved Anderson Cooper. His affection for the cable news host wasn't even the strangest thing about Pilot. His most bizarre feature was his almost human eyes.

A strange man, shiny bald on top of his head, ponytailed at the bottom, rather snowman-shaped body, sat in the kitchen table next to Rachel, hunched over the table eating burnt zucchini bread. Must be a client.

Rachel had quite a big following. Rachel knew she wasn't psychic. She did however believe her seeing-eye dog, Pilot, was. According to Rachel, the golden retriever read the client's future and communicated his findings to Rachel telepathically. Because the predictions generally turned out to be true, her business kept growing, which caused Andie a lot of mortification. Bad enough she had a father in prison for embezzlement. Why couldn't she at least have a mother who wore mom jeans, cut her hair in a sensible bob, and listened to Mozart? Nope. Andie's mom was a professional psychic, with long wiry grey braids who lived over a medical marijuana dispensary and listened to grunge. At least for now, Rachel's fame was confined to the local Venice Beach community.

"Hi, Mama," Andie said, setting down her things and kissing her mom's head.

"Say hello to Wolfhart Wingsong. Wolfhart, this is my daughter, Andromeda."

"Call me Andie. Nice to meet you."

"Pleasure."

He pressed his stubby fingers into the burnt crumbs and licked them.

"Nice flowers," said Andie.

"Wolf brought them for me," said Rachel, smiling.

"They're from one of my earth-conscious, sustainable farms, where we grow our produce cruelty-free."

"I see," said Andie, who didn't see at all how one would cultivate cruelty-free produce.

"Wolf is the owner of Chi Pets—a chain of new-age pet stores featuring an all-vegetarian line of canine cuisine." Pilot growled so loud Andie could hear it over Anderson Cooper's warning about the first hurricane to hit the west coast in decades.

"Global warming." Mr. Wingsong tsked.

"Al Gore blames global warming," said Anderson. "Televangelist Pat Robertson blames West Hollywood. Unnamed others blame ..." Anderson dropped his voice, " ... aliens."

Pain sliced through Andie's skull. She pushed against her temple, where it felt like a geyser of pressurized acid tried to escape. Not fair, thought Andie. I didn't bring up the subject. Why she expected the aliens to be anything other than unfair, she had no idea. Andie ran into the living room, grabbed the remote, and clicked off the TV. Pilot whined, but Andie's cranial pain subsided so she didn't much care.