ALIENS FROM OUTER SPACE

A knock at the door made Amanda open her eyes, and she lay still, listening to the murmur of voices below her. Lee, talking to someone. The rumble, a few moments later, of a truck engine.

She turned her head to look at the clock, stretching. It was just after ten. Late for her, even for Sunday.

It was Mother's Day, and on Mother's Day there were rules about waking her up before nine. Of course, now her kids didn't stir on weekends until well after that, so a ten o'clock wake-up time was more a symptom of her own exhaustion than anything else. She'd been traveling all week for work and always found it took a day or two to get back into a good groove.

She got out of bed, pinned up her hair, and took a quick shower. Even though she wanted to stay put under the covers, she was anxious to see her family. Phillip and Jamie had been out when she'd come home from the airport on Friday and busy with sports and other things the day before, and she'd barely had a chance to catch up with them. Lee had to work that afternoon, overseeing a security detail for an event downtown, and she'd been looking forward to spending the day with the boys. She felt as if she'd lost track of them lately — everyone was so busy, and outside of dinner together a few times a week (extracurriculars, work, and their hectic social lives meant they often ate in shifts) they didn't spend time together the way they used to.

She sniffed the air as she made her way downstairs. She'd expected to smell bacon cooking by now. Phillip had been in charge of Mother's Day breakfast since he'd learned how to cook in home economics, and every year his skills had improved considerably. She'd been looking forward to seeing what he had planned for that day.

Instead she found her husband in a quiet kitchen, drinking a glass of water, his shirt damp with sweat. He'd been for a run, probably a long one, and he was sitting at the island reading the paper, a bright bouquet of flowers on the counter beside him. The vase was crammed full of lilies, chrysanthemums, roses, and daisies in every color of the rainbow.

"When did those arrive?" Amanda asked, stifling a yawn.

"Right before you got into the shower," Lee said, draining his glass. "And before you ask, they are not from me. But happy Mother's Day anyway."

Amanda reached for the little white card nestled in among the blooms. "Aw. Mother sent them. She must have done it before she left for her trip."

"That's sweet," Lee agreed, dipping his head to inhale the fragrance, and almost immediately sneezing. Amanda laughed as he plucked a tissue from the ever-present box on the counter and blew his nose.

"What time do you have to leave?" she asked, her gaze drifting to the clock. "It's past ten."

"It starts at noon, so I guess I should hit the road at eleven just to be safe." He frowned. "I hate these things."

"I know. And it looks like a gorgeous day."

"Too nice to be stuck inside a ballroom listening to speeches, that's for sure. I don't care how oil-rich your country is." He folded the newspaper. "Oh well. Maybe we can eat outside tonight, if it's warm enough."

"Hmm, that would be nice."

"And don't forget, you are not cooking."

"I won't forget."

"Speaking of cooking…." He looked around the empty kitchen, then up at the ceiling. "I thought someone would have made you breakfast by now."

She shrugged. "Maybe they have something else planned. We all slept late, except you. It doesn't matter."

He looked at her with an expression that said he thought it probably did matter, but he didn't say anything. He kissed her cheek and turned for the stairs. "I've gotta hit the shower," he said. "I put on fresh coffee."

Amanda poured herself a glass of orange juice and stood at the island, admiring the bouquet her mother had sent. She had a gift for Dotty waiting for her return in two weeks — they were going away overnight together, to a spa in the mountains. They'd never done anything like that before — certainly never anything that luxurious — but Lee had convinced her she deserved it and so did Dotty.

He and Amanda had agreed he wouldn't buy her gifts for Mother's Day. She'd been touched to find out he'd bought a gift for Dotty that first year, when she was his mother-in-law but didn't yet know it — a Danish dough whisk, which Dotty loved and used constantly. But he liked to make Amanda dinner on special days, coax her to put her feet up and sit sipping a glass of wine while he seasoned and sauteed and told her (and the boys, if they were present) some kind of outlandish story, carefully edited for audiences outside the intelligence community.

She heard familiar footsteps thumping down the stairs, and her oldest son's voice as he approached the kitchen. "Mom! Can I borrow the car today?" Phillip came through the doorway clearly dressed to leave the house, his hair moussed and blow-dried the way he wore it to school, smelling of cologne so potent Amanda could almost taste it.

Phillip's gaze slid away from Amanda's to the bunch of flowers. His brow wrinkled. "Mother's Day is this week? Like, today?"

Amanda sipped her orange juice.

"I'm sorry, Mom," he said, instantly contrite. "I totally thought it was next week."

"That's okay," she said.

"I was going to make you breakfast in bed," he said. "You know, waffles, bacon, the works."

She nodded. "That would've been nice."

"So next week? I mean I'd do it now, but I'm — I've kinda got —" He gestured vaguely in the direction of the front door, across town, somewhere she obviously wasn't going to be.

"Sure," she said. "I'd like that."

"So can I, uh…"

"Take the car — that's fine. I don't have any plans." She bit her lip. She hadn't meant to sound so passive-aggressive. She saw guilt flicker across Phillip's face. "The keys are on the hook."

"Thanks," he said, planting a quick, heavily perfumed kiss on her cheek but dashing away before she could return the gesture. He ran back up the stairs, then a moment later breezed through the kitchen again, jacket in hand, and disappeared out the door.

Jamie appeared in the kitchen as the back door closed, a folded piece of paper in one hand. Amanda looked up from where she was reading the newspaper and waiting for her toast to pop.

"Hey Mom," he said, leaning on the opposite side of the island. "Happy Mother's Day."

"Oh. Thanks, sweetheart." She took the folded piece of paper, realizing with surprise it was a card. 'Handmade,' she'd have called it, if she were being generous. 'Half-assed,' Lee would probably say when he saw it. It had a flower on the front, drawn in pen and ink. Jamie was a good artist but even she knew he'd done this one on the fly. Happy Mother's Day, he'd written inside, in barely legible chicken scratch. Our gift to you today is a day of peace and quiet without us. Love, Phillip & Jamie.

Amanda read it twice before looking up at him. "Peace and quiet?""

"Yeah, you know." He shrugged, clearly oblivious to the way his gift had landed. "We know Lee has to work this afternoon and you've been away and we figured maybe you'd want a day to yourself to do… I dunno… whatever you like to do. So we're both going out and staying out of your hair."

Amanda drew on every minute of her Agency training to keep her expression from showing what she was feeling inside. Why would they ever think she'd want to spend Mother's Day, of all days, without them? Was that the kind of relationship they had now? 'Whatever you like to do,' he'd just said. As if he had no idea.

"Thank you, Jamie," she said, wondering if she was, in fact, talking to Jamie, historically the more thoughtful of her two children. "That's, um…" Her toast popped up, and she reached for it. "I'll start with toast and the paper."

Lee found her sitting at the kitchen table half an hour later, his hair wet from the shower. He was wearing a dress shirt and tie, dressed for his luncheon downtown. He bent to kiss the top of her head. "What's that?" he asked.

"My Mother's Day gift," she said, holding up the card to him. He took it and she saw his brows draw together as he read the inside, then his head came up and he looked around the room.

"Where are they?"

"Phillip took the car and went to meet his friends, and Jamie's upstairs with his headphones on. I think he's going out with Dustin in a few minutes."

"So they ditched you?"

"Well, I don't know if they see it that way," she said.

Lee let out a long breath. "I'm sorry," he said. "I thought they were old enough to figure it out for themselves. I guess they assumed you'd want to spend the day relaxing, and here we are."

"I don't think they assumed anything," she said, annoyed at how upset she suddenly sounded. "I think they plain forgot."

"Look, I can call and tell them I can't make it today," he said. "Peterson can take the lead."

"No you can't. When heads of state have luncheons you can't tell them you've gotta stay home because your wife's feelings are hurt. The world doesn't stop for Mother's Day, Lee, it's just some holiday the greeting-card people invented."

He gave a wry grin. "You sound like the old Scarecrow."

"Well, maybe he was onto something," she muttered. Amanda stood up from the table and picked up her empty plate and coffee cup. She stood at the sink, finishing the last of her coffee and thinking about how she was going to fill the hours stretching out ahead of her.

Lee poured himself a half-cup of coffee and came to stand beside her, his hand resting on the small of her back. "Are you okay?"

"Oh, I'm fine," she said, but she didn't look at him as she spoke and she knew he didn't believe her. "Maybe I'll weed the flowerbeds."

"Don't you dare." He nuzzled her cheek. "Don't do a lick of work around here. Have another cup of coffee and read that book that's been sitting half-finished on the nightstand for a month."

"It's too nice out for that." She dumped out the dregs of her drink. "I'll figure something out."

"Amanda." He drew her closer against him. "Want me to talk to them?"

"No. I really don't. I just want to leave it right now."

He sighed. He sipped his coffee and they stood in silence, looking out at the backyard. She leaned against him and his hand strayed to the nape of her neck, where his thumb rubbed in slow circles. She didn't want to tell him that part of her hurt feelings came from the knowledge that him talking to them would have more impact right then than anything she could say. Just about everyone in the world had more impact than she did these days. Her mother. Joe. Even Jack's opinion held a weight hers no longer did.

"I've gotta get going," Lee said eventually, setting his cup down in the sink. He kissed her cheek and turned for the stairs.

Amanda made a decision. She rooted through her purse for some money and her drivers' license, then tucked those and her house key into her pockets and stepped outside. Maybe she'd see how far she could walk. Or maybe… sudden inspiration struck, and before she knew it she was tugging open the overhead door to the garage. Her old bicycle was tucked away, off to one side.

Lee came out as she was clearing a path to the bike, moving boxes and camping gear — something the boys were supposed to have put away months ago — out of the way. "You aren't cleaning the garage," he said, sounding irritated.

"No. I'm going for a bike ride," she said, yanking the bicycle from its spot behind the lawn mower. The basket had some kind of debris in the bottom and the bike was covered in dust, but she was sure it still worked. She grabbed a rag from the workbench and gave it a wipe.

Lee opened his mouth to say something, then shut it. He rocked on his feet. "Is that thing roadworthy?"

"It's fine. It just needs a little air in the tires." She propped the bicycle up on its stand and stepped back into the garage for the bicycle pump, which stood in its spot just inside the door.

"I'll be back by three. How long do you think you'll be?"

"I don't know. Anywhere between thirty minutes and all day." His eyes widened in surprise. "Oh, look, I know what you're gonna say. It isn't like me to get so angry, right? Only I'm not angry, I'm hurt. And it isn't just about today. It's been like this for weeks and I just need —" She shook her head. "I'm gonna ride around and make a list of all the things I like about them until I feel better."

She worked the bike pump with more vigor than it needed, filling both tires. He waited while she put it away then leaned in to kiss her cheek.

"Okay," he said. "See if you can make enough of a list before five o'clock, okay? I'm opening that nice bottle of red and making you a steak."

She reached to touch his cheek. "You don't have to do that. I'm not your mother."

He grinned and turned his head to kiss her hand. "No, but you're the best one I know."

She rolled her eyes. "Jury's out on that one, Stetson. They're not fully cooked yet."

"Give 'em time, then," he said, chuckling. "And be careful." And then he loped down the driveway and got into his car, blowing her a final kiss as he backed out. She waited until he disappeared down the street before she pulled the garage door shut and got onto the bike, feeling a little awkward after not riding for so long.

Amanda pedaled hard at first, her expression dark and her shoulders hunched and tense. She felt a mixture of irritation, guilt and despair. Her boys had grown up and away from her, and she hadn't been paying enough attention. That was the only reason she could think of for the way things had been lately. And now they were closer to Joe and Lee than they were to her, and she couldn't deny it stung.

She'd expected there to be bumps when Lee had moved in. Their entire family dynamic had changed. But she hadn't anticipated the boys would gravitate to him the way they did now. She knew he was relieved and happy about their relationship, how well things were going compared to what he'd expected. He'd put in a lot of effort to get there and though things weren't perfect, they were on solid ground. Amanda wasn't worried about them at all.

But as they'd grown closer to Lee, they'd withdrawn from her.

He'd tried to reassure her. "Isn't that normal?" he'd asked. "They're asserting their independence."

She knew he'd read that in one of those parenting books he'd bought when they were first married. Books she wondered now if she should have read, too. She'd been so confident everything would go fine on her end, that she could get through it with her usual good cheer and determination.

Her good cheer was certainly failing her now.

Amanda pedaled and thought about her first Mother's Day. They had gone to brunch at Joe's parents, and eight-week-old Phillip had cried almost the entire time. She'd been so anxious and uncertain — not to mention sleep deprived and hormonal and uncomfortable — and she'd ended the day in tears. Miserable and convinced Joe's parents were judging her. By the time Jamie had arrived she'd become more self-assured and knew that tiny babies cried for a thousand reasons unrelated to the competency of their mothers or fathers.

Like any special day where kids were involved, the subsequent years had their ups and downs. They'd made her hand-drawn cards and "taken her out" for brunch when Joe was in town. When her Mother moved in, she'd been content with their crafts from school and a heartfelt hug. Even now that was all she really wanted. Dotty and Amanda had exchanged little trinkets — paperback novels or a bunch of pretty flowers. Bulbs in a pot. The four of them had done things together.

And now Dotty was in England with Jack and her boys had forgotten. She knew Jamie had made that card in two minutes. She could picture him tearing a piece of paper from his notebook and hastily folding it, sketching a flower on the front and scribbling that note. He'd been caught out just as plainly as Phillip. In fact, Phillip had likely tipped him off.

She thought about the hand-drawn cards they'd made when they were little, crayon on construction paper, and their chubby little arms reaching to give her effusive hugs. She'd known them so well back then — they'd told her all their fears and anxieties, shared their secrets and looked to her for guidance.

A memory floated up in her minds' eye, of something Francine had said about babies once, when she was awkwardly holding an infant at an office baby shower. "They're like aliens from outer space," she'd said, desperate to unload the baby but knowing if she did it too fast she'd offend the new mother, a member of the Steno pool. Amanda had laughed at Francine then but looking back on that first Mother's Day, with a wailing baby on her shoulder and no clue what he needed, she realized she'd felt the same way.

Amanda felt that way now, just as confused by both her sons. They weren't the little people they'd once been, and she hadn't expected them to stay that way. But she hadn't expected to feel like she barely knew them. Aliens from outer space, living in her house. Eating her food. Leaving their socks on the couch. Reserving hugs for special occasions and keeping their secrets to themselves. Turning to other people for advice.

Amanda thought about all this as she wheeled around Arlington. She stopped at a park for a while, settling on a bench to watch a group of kids play baseball in the warm May sunshine, but all that did was make her think of all the things they'd used to do together. Trailblazers, soccer, games of catch in the backyard. She'd coached the Bombers three years in a row and taught both boys how to throw a baseball. And then she'd joined the Agency and Phillip had decided he liked basketball better and Jamie had stopped playing because Phillip had. So much for that. She heaved a sigh and got back on her bicycle.

She pedaled through the streets, past houses and shops and schools, past gardens and planters and baskets overflowing with bright blooms, the showy display DC springs were famous for. She thought about the bouquet her mother had sent her and wished she could cycle over to Jack's house and ask her mother what to do. Dotty would know, or if she didn't, she'd offer a hug and her sympathy.

She was coming up on a hill when she shifted gears and heard a giant clunk. The bike came to an abrupt, startling stop, and Amanda slid off the seat. She put her foot down in surprise, barely stopping herself from going over sideways, wondering what had happened. She looked down and swore, softly. The chain had come loose.

She stood for a minute, the bike balanced between her legs, and thought about her options. Lee was at the luncheon for another hour, at least, so she couldn't call for a ride. She could walk back. She could find a bus. She could find a payphone and call a taxi.

She chewed her lip, studying her surroundings. The Pie Plate was close by. She could push the bike for five minutes and go have a milkshake and maybe a plate of fries.

A fat droplet of rain hit the back of her hand, and she made up her mind. She swung her leg over the bike frame, squared her shoulders, and started to push.


The rain didn't last, but the end of the shower didn't make Amanda change course, and she wheeled the bike across a packed parking lot a few minutes later. She propped it up against the side of the building, out of the way of the front doors, and went inside. The diner was jammed full of patrons, the way it probably was every Mother's Day. Families huddled around the tables and every woman had a carnation beside her plate.

Brenda saw her and held out a pretty pink flower. "Hi," she said, tilting her head to look over Amanda's shoulder. "For four?"

"No, just one."

"Are you here by yourself?" Brenda asked, her bright blue eyes wide with surprise. "Where are the boys?"

"Not here," Amanda said.

Brenda laughed. "Really? No big Mother's Day plans?"

"Not this year." Amanda shifted on her feet. "I thought I'd treat myself but it looks like you've got a full house."

"We can find something," Brenda said.

"I'm not in a hurry," Amanda said. "My bike broke down."

"Really? Ivor can probably look at it for you."

"Ivor?"

"He's the line cook. One of my, uh, clients. You know?" Brenda punctuated the question with a slight raise of one brow and a little bob of her head, a silent reference to her real reason for serving plates of eggs and sandwiches all day.

Amanda chuckled.

"Look, why don't you come on back with me and you can sit in the break room, and I'll get him to take a look in a little bit. I think his shift is over in twenty or so."

"That's, uh…" Amanda hesitated. "Okay. I mean if it's no trouble." She didn't really want to sit in the break room, but she wasn't that excited about squeezing into a table alone in the middle of a dining room full of happy families. The high pitched wail of a baby cut through the din, and she corrected herself. Mostly happy families.

Still, her options were limited. Maybe Ivor could put her chain back on and she could ride home.

"Ralph won't care. And if he does, well, too bad." Brenda beckoned for her to follow. "Come on. I'll get you set up."

A few minutes later Ivor, line cook and bike mechanic, found her sipping a vanilla milkshake and picking at a plate of fries. He looked vaguely familiar, she thought, and wondered if she'd seen him in a briefing before he defected. She decided probably, and not to say anything.

"Where's your bike?" he asked. He was tall, even taller than Lee, and his shoulders filled the doorway. A wall of a man, she thought. His expression was kind, and he rubbed a hand over his balding head, balling his apron up in his other big hand and tossing it in the hamper by the door. The fluorescent light overhead flickered.

"I'll show you," she said, following him back through the dining room and out the front doors, to where she'd left it propped up against the side of the building.

"No lock?" he asked, his blue eyes twinkling.

Amanda shrugged. "No one's gonna steal a broken bike, are they?"

"You're probably right." Ivor crouched low, muttering softly to himself as he examined the chain, then checked the brake lines and spun the pedals as best he could. He lifted the wheels off the concrete and spun those, too, then set the bike down again. "I can fix the chain right now but this bike is what Cherry would call a disaster."

"What do you mean?"

"Needs a tune-up. How did you ride it here?"

Amanda hesitated. "I guess it was a little clunky. I just figured it'd been sitting too long and I was out of practice." She felt the muscles in her legs twitching now and realized she'd been pushing harder than she'd thought.

"Hah, well. I can tune it up for you, top to bottom, as they say. Easy, just takes time." He squeezed the brake handle and tutted, fiddled with the cable and squeezed again. "You want to leave it here? I can fix it for you this week."

Amanda had never thought about fixing the bike or riding it again, but she found herself nodding at him. "Sure. There's no rush. I mean it's been sitting in the garage for five years or so."

"How come you don't ride it?"

She shrugged. "I used to take my kids, and they started riding by themselves instead of with me. I guess I parked it and just…." She shrugged.

"Ah. And they didn't ride with you today? Mother's Day?"

"Uh, no. They had other plans." She felt her cheeks flush. How embarrassing, she thought, to have this perfect stranger zero in on her family dynamic so quickly. She wondered what he'd done before he was a line cook but had a feeling she knew.

"Teenagers, yes?"

Amanda sighed. "Teenagers." She ducked her head and sipped her milkshake.

"Ah, well, you know how it is. They drift away, they come back. Over and over again."

"I guess," she said.

"Didn't you?"

Amanda sipped her shake again, thoughtful. She'd been like any other teenager, she supposed. Wrapped up in her own life with what seemed like, then, the most important things in the world. "Yeah."

"But you came back, yes?"

"Of course. My mother and I are close now." She thought about the past few years, suddenly — the years between meeting Lee and coming clean — and realized that to Dotty, she had probably drifted away again. And yet her mother had always been there when Amanda needed her most.

Ivor leaned the bike against the wall again. "My own son turned into a — I don't know what you'd even call it — when he turned thirteen."

"Space alien?" Amanda supplied, and Ivor laughed.

"Space alien," he repeated, nodding. "And then one day he was a human again, just like that." He snapped his fingers.

"How old was he?"

"Twenty."

Amanda groaned. She couldn't help it. But as exhausting as the thought was, she felt a tiny kernel of comfort. She wasn't the first to go through it and she wouldn't be the last. "Where's your son now?" she asked.

Ivor sighed. "Back home. I am hoping he can come when things open up a little more, you know? He'd like it here."

He started back toward the front door of the restaurant. Amanda paused, puzzled. "Are you leaving the bike here?"

"Sure," Ivor said, turning to grin at her. "No one's going to take a broken bike, are they?"


Half an hour later, Amanda stood outside the restaurant, pink carnation in hand. Ivor had walked her back to the break room, shrugged on his worn denim jacket, and said her bike would be done on Thursday. She didn't ask how much he charged. She'd thanked him and then sat down at the rickety table to flip through an old copy of Cosmopolitan and finish her fries. When her plate was empty and her milkshake gone, she picked up the phone and called Lee.

"I'm done making that list," she said, "but I need a ride back."

He'd laughed and said he'd meet her outside in fifteen minutes. She hung up the phone and tried to pay Brenda for her snack, but Brenda waved her off and gave her a carnation instead. Amanda rolled her eyes and resolved to leave a huge tip next time, then slipped out the door to wait in the sunshine, leaning against the warm brick of the building and thinking about what Ivor had said about his son.

Amanda drew up in surprise when she saw her own car pull up in front of the restaurant. She wondered why Lee would be driving her Jeep, but as she moved toward the car she saw that Lee wasn't driving. Phillip was behind the wheel.

"Hi Mom," he said, almost sheepishly, when she tugged open the door and slid into the passenger seat. "Where's the bike?"

"I'm leaving it here and someone's gonna fix it. I thought you were out for the day," she said.

"Well, I felt bad about everything, so I came back early but you'd already left," he said. "And then when you called I offered to come."

"Oh," Amanda said, relaxing into her seat as her son navigated out of the parking lot. She wondered if Lee had given him an earful after all.

They were almost at the turnoff to their street when Phillip turned to her. "I'm sorry I forgot about today," he said. "I really did think it was next week."

"That's okay." Amanda paused, choosing her words carefully. "I guess I took it more personally than I should have."

"Well, it was pretty rude," Phillip admitted. "I mean, Lee remembered."

"Oh, sweetheart, that's only because of years of careful training. And because Francine doesn't let him forget things like that." And because he's missed out on all this, she thought, but she didn't say that aloud.

Phillip snorted out a laugh. They fell silent again, as he concentrated on driving. He was still new at it and already getting so much more confident behind the wheel, but he still needed to concentrate. She didn't mind. It gave her time to think about what she was going to say next.

He pulled the car neatly into the driveway and put it into park. "Hey, Mom," he said, "when are you getting the bike back?"

"Next week sometime, why?"

He shifted in the seat, unclipping his seatbelt and fiddling with the keys. "Well, I was wondering if you wanted to, I don't know, maybe go for a ride sometime? I mean, we used to, and I remember it being kind of fun."

"Oh." She blinked, surprised. "I'd love to, sweetheart. Anytime."

"Maybe Jamie could come along, too."

"That'd be great." She looked up and saw Jamie hovering just outside the back door. He was watching them from behind his glasses, fidgeting. She knew he felt as guilty as his brother.

Amanda pushed open the car door and climbed out, her purse and carnation in one hand. Jamie came toward her.

"I"m sorry, Mom," he said. "That card was pretty lame. I thought you'd want what Dustin's mom wants, which is for everyone to get out of the house so she can be by herself."

"I liked the card." She slung an arm around his shoulders and gave him a squeeze, and instead of pulling away like he usually did, he leaned in for a moment, his arm hovering around her waist. She felt Phillip come up beside them and reached with her other arm to draw him in, and he leaned in, too. "I like this more, though."

"Ugh, Mom. Mushy," Jamie protested, trying to draw away. Amanda held fast, laughing.

"There's nothing wrong with mushy," she told him. "If there's one day a year I can be mushy, it's today."

"I guess," Jamie said, rolling his eyes. The three of them stood for a minute, listening as Lee puttered about in the kitchen, humming softly as he made dinner. "You are a pretty great mom, though."

"Yeah," Phillip agreed. "We're really lucky. We're just idiots about letting you know."

"Aw, fellas." Both boys moved in to kiss her cheeks at once, and she laughed and gave them a final squeeze. She wasn't going to start crying and ruin the moment. They'd run at warp speed. But she thought about what Ivor had said, how they drift away and come back. And she thought about Dotty, who'd always been there, waiting, after she'd gone out exploring new worlds — like aliens from outer space were supposed to.

Phillip and Jamie were out exploring — that was all. They'd come back, too.

They might be aliens, but she was their mothership.