“Ginger, count me in.”
Ginger smiled, and even though Diana knew that smile was partly due to her own cosmic powers, she still found it reassuring.
She managed to finish her shift, even if her strength never quite returned. She stopped trembling, but she couldn’t shake the hollow sensation. By the end of the day the mall was already restored. Everyone was cheerful, but they stopped going out of their way to compliment each other. Maybe in an hour or two they’d be back to normal. Kind of a shame that it couldn’t last, but it wasn’t right. When world peace happened, she mused on the drive to the bar to meet her coworkers, if it ever happened, it shouldn’t be as absurd as someone making a wish that did it.
“That’s ridiculous,” said Vom.
She glanced over at the passenger seat. He was in her mind again.
“Sorry,” he said.
She turned the radio up in an attempt to drown out the unreliable and unrequested telepathic communication. It came and went, and while she occasionally picked up a thought from Vom, he was more often the receiver in the relationship. She preferred that, because those foreign thoughts that came to her were strange, inhuman desires. Usually involving eating something. Or everything.
She also caught one or two thoughts from Unending Smorgaz, but these were less bizarre. His most pressing need was to be fruitful and multiply, but this seemed easier to repress. Just like it was easier to be celibate than to be hungry, she guessed.
“If humanity has to wait for everyone to get on board with world peace,” said Vom, “then it’ll never happen.”
“Maybe, but just making it happen is cheating.”
He smirked. “Why?”
“Because I can’t just force my desires on the world.”
“Why not? Everyone else does.”
“I don’t believe that.”
“No, and just believing something is enough to make it a fact,” said Vom. “Oh, wait. I’m talking to a human where this is literally true. So never mind.”
She was content to let it drop, but Vom wasn’t.
“Every interaction you have with this universe is exerting unwanted influence on it. Even before you joined up with me and Smorgaz.”
“Mmmm.” She hoped the vagueness of her reply would convince him that his point was made.
“When you eat something, you’re deciding that your continued survival is more important than something else that would probably rather exist if given the choice.”
“What about vegetarians?” Smorgaz countered.
“Potatoes and carrots are still alive. They might not posses will, but they exist. And they only cease to exist when something else decides they shouldn’t. Even if that something is just bacteria.”
“It’s always about eating with you,” said Diana.
“That’s because consuming is the purest form of existence, the most primal of all desires throughout all realities.”
“Actually the most primal force throughout the universe is spawning,” said Smorgaz.
Vom chuckled. “Don’t be ridiculous. Spawning is only a tool to ensure that you will produce more mouths to consume more than the other guy.”
“No,” said Smorgaz. “Consuming is only a tool to ensure that you will spawn more effectively than the other guy.”
“Most things die if they don’t consume. They don’t die if they fail to spawn.”
“No, even with consuming, most things die. Eventually. Spawning is the only reliable method of ensuring the continuation of existence. In fact, not spawning is the only way to die.”
“What about adoption?” asked Vom. “Or cultural contribution?”
Smorgaz chuckled. “Those are all just derivatives of spawning.”
“Oh, I see. Anything important is spawning-related by default.”
“Makes more sense than everything important being consumption-related.”
Diana zoned out while the monsters continued their debate. They were still going ong when she parked the car.
“Let’s go over the ground rules, guys,” she said.
“Again?” asked Vom. “How many times do we have to do this?”
“As many times as it takes for me to convince myself that this isn’t a terrible mistake that is going to go horribly awry. So give it to me.”
“When in doubt, don’t eat it,” said Vom with mechanical indifference.
“If you absolutely have to spawn,” said Smorgaz, “excuse yourself to go to the bathroom.”
Diana nodded. “Good. And…”
“Try not to talk but be polite,” intoned Vom and Smorgaz in unison. “If anyone asks, we’re old college friends in town for the week, and we have to go back to Stockholm to complete a research paper on soil samples.”
“No, not Stockholm,” she said.
Vom sighed. “But you said—”
“I know what I said, but Stockholm is too exotic. It invites questions. We need someplace less interesting. Sacramento. Or maybe Denver.”
“I’ve been to Denver,” said Smorgaz. “It’s a surprisingly interesting place.”
“Okay. We’ll go with Kansas. Kansas is boring.”
“Really?” asked Smorgaz. “So I take it you’ve been there.”
“No, I haven’t, but it’s not important if Kansas really is boring. It’s just important that it seems boring.”
“So you’re willing to impugn a whole state for an elaborate charade?”
“Yes, I am. I’m sure the state of Kansas will forgive me just this once.”
“Can I say we used to date?” asked Smorgaz.
“No.”
“Can I say I used to be worshipped as a god?” asked Vom.
“What?” She shook her head. “No.”
“Not even if someone asks? Like maybe it just comes up randomly in the table conversation?”
“When is something like that going to come up?”
“You never know. A lively conversation can be unpredictable.”
“You’re a guy who studies dirt,” she said. “That’s it.”
“Can I be gay?” asked Smorgaz.
She covered her face and ground her teeth.
“Okay. You can be gay.”
“That’s no fair. Why does he get to be gay?” said Vom.
“You can be gay too,” she replied.
“Wait,” said Smorgaz. “We can’t both be gay. Then it won’t be special.”
She said, “Maybe we should just forget the whole thing.”
“No. It’s fine. We can both be gay. But since I thought of it, I’ll be flamboyantly gay and you will just have to be ordinary gay.”
“I can live with that,” said Vom.
“Just don’t be a stereotype,” added Diana.
Smorgaz snapped his fingers. “You got it, girlfriend.”
They climbed out of the car and walked toward the bar. Diana was already getting a bad feeling about this. She thought about turning around, forgetting the whole thing. But she’d come this far.
Her sanity hung in the balance. If she was going to avoid death and madness, she needed to find a way to ground herself. This might not be the solution, but it was worth a shot.
“How are they going to see you?” she asked. “What do you look like to normal people?”
They shrugged.
“You don’t wear any clothes,” she said. “Even if you appear like human beings, wouldn’t you be naked? I mean, why do they even perceive you as male or female to begin with? You aren’t really either, right?”
They shrugged again.
“Sometimes I wish you two were more helpful.”
“If you want everything to make sense,” said Vom, “you’re only going to be continually disappointed.”
They entered the bar, and she spotted her coworkers occupying a group of tables. They waved her over.
“So glad you could make it,” said Ginger. “And these must be your friends.”
“Yes, this is…” Only then did she realize that she’d overlooked coming up with normal human names for her monsters.