It’s freezing running from the hotel room to the hot tub. We’re laughing as we run, barefoot on the concrete that is wet with dew. He opens a beer and jumps in, splashing me. I slide in next to him, self-conscious in my swimsuit. I’ve seen his wife. She’s not big like me.
“Do you believe in aliens?”, he asks me, looking at the vast, starry sky. “How could there not be life out there? We can’t be alone.”
We talk for hours, until three, or four in the morning. Even though we have to be to work in a little bit. This is what we always do. Talk and talk. I gaze up at the night sky too. Huddle next to him. He puts his arm around me lazily, sips from his beer.
I am tipsy, and hot and cold at the same time. The cold air around me feels nice compared to the super hot water.
After a moment I answer, about the aliens. I don’t know what I believe. At this time in my life, I’m struggling with everything-my faith, my self-esteem, my marriage. How could I answer something as complex as believing in other life forms?
But this is something I find comfort in. He makes me forget all that. He talks about love, sex, aliens, the meaning of life, music, books, feelings. He asks me questions no one ever has, and he looks me directly in the eyes when he does. It’s unnerving and overtly sexual at the same time. And for the moment, it’s what I need.