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The original was posted on /r/hfy by /u/MarlynnOfMany on 2025-08-11 16:23:06+00:00.
{Mild content warning for frank discussion of alien reproductive strategies. Safe For Work, but TMI.}
I was eating a lunch of peanut butter and jelly (shipped straight from Earth) and green apples (grown on a colony world), when Kavlae joined me at the table.
“So,” she said, setting down her tray and plopping into a seat. “What is the big deal with birthdays?”
“Well,” I said around a mouthful of sandwich, “They’re what they sound like: a party celebrating the day you’re born.”
Kavlae flared her frills, looking like a curious blue fish. “But is this party only on the actual day, or is it celebrated every year?”
“Every year,” I told her. “It’s a big deal for kids, though not as much when you grow up. At least where I’m from.”
Kavlae shook her head and opened one of the food packs on her tray. “And everyone gives you presents every single time?”
“Sure, it’s just once a year.”
“Must be an expensive time of year.”
I was moving to take another bite, but paused to clarify, “It’s a different time of year for everyone. Humans don’t have a breeding season or anything like that.”
Kavlae looked up from opening another pack. “Sure, but every clutch of siblings comes together, right?”
“No, multiple births are super rare! Humans have only one kid at a time usually.”
“Whaaat? Just one? Your families must be so small!”
I put down my sandwich. “Why? How many siblings do you have?”
Kavlae shrugged. “I dunno, about twenty.”
“WHAT?” I blurted. “Twenty??”
“Yeah, we were a handful, too,” my coworker said as if this was the most normal thing in the world. “Closer to thirty at hatching, I’m told. Dad did a pretty good job. That’s got to be a lot of work to handle all by yourself.”
“And your dad was a single parent??” I asked, my voice spiraling upward even though I tried to be casual.
Kavlae looked surprised. “Sure, isn’t that normal for you guys? Or are two- and three-parent sets more common?”
“Two is standard!” I said, determined to hide my surprise better. “There are occasional exceptions, but two is what you’d expect to see.”
“Huh. That must make parenting much easier. Human parents must get a lot done.”
I shook my head slowly, thinking of the parents I’d known. “Pretty sure it’s still a lot of work. Everybody talks about newborns waking up every couple hours to eat, scream, and poop, then go back to sleep. Lots of diaper changes and not much sleep for the parents.”
Kavlae tilted a frill. “A lot of what changes?”
“Diapers,” I said. When she still looked blank, I went on: “The disposable clothes for catching poop, before babies are old enough to use a toilet? Yes, it’s gross.”
“Ew,” Kavlae said firmly, her expression revolted. “How long do you have to use those?”
“A year or two, I think?”
Kavlae’s eyes bugged out. “It takes YEARS? Never mind, I take back what I said about human parents having it easy!”
“Yeah, it’s a lot of work,” I said. “Sounds like your babies are more self-sufficient than ours, huh?”
Kavlae made a gesture with a hand and frill together. “I mean, they have to be kept from eating everything that’s not food.”
“Yeah, same.”
“And they’re famous for hurting themselves during the egg-free zoomies.”
I blinked. “I’m guessing that’s when they run around immediately after hatching? You probably don’t want to know how long it takes humans to walk.”
She looked at me intently. “How long?”
“About a year.”
“A year??” She threw her blue-skinned hands in the air. “I see why you only have one at a time; that is nuts!”
I pointed out, “Keeping track of a couple dozen little ones running around and biting things all at once sounds pretty nuts too.”
“You’re not wrong!” She picked up a forgotten food pack and held it up like a champagne glass. “Cheers to the child-rearers, who are clearly all insane.”
I chuckled as I raised my sandwich in an answering cheer. “From lack of sleep, if nothing else.”
Kavlae poured some of the grainy whatever into her mouth. It looked like caviar. She said around it, “Glad I won’t have to worry about any of that.”
I picked up my sandwich again. “Not going to have any kids?”
“Oh, no, I have a couple clutches out there. I’m just not an egg-keeper.” She chugged the rest of the bag.
I paused, feeling like I’d missed something. “Egg-keeper?”
“Yeah. The one who keeps the eggs.”
It was my turn to look blank.
Kavlae tried again. “Do you guys not — no, you said two parents is standard. So those two mate, then raise the offspring together?”
“Yeahhhh,” I said. “What do you do?”
Kavlae looked around awkwardly. “I did not expect to be explaining this. Blip and Blop aren’t near, are they?”
The other tables were empty, with the rest of the crew elsewhere on the ship. That included the other two Frillians. I said, “Pretty sure they’re helping Mimi with some heavy engine parts.”
“Great. Okay. How to summarize this.” Kavlae ran a hand over the little frills on the top of her head. “Sex needs somebody to lay the eggs and somebody to fertilize them — well, no, making babies needs them to be fertilized. Anyway, someone has to keep track of the eggs afterward, and raise them. Usually that’s the male, but there’s a lot of overlap.” She gestured like she was sketching out a diagram in midair. “Male and female; egg-keeper and egg-eater.”
“Egg EATER?” I asked.
She sighed, frustrated. “The trade languages never get the genders right. It’s an archaic term that doesn’t translate well.”
“So nobody’s actually eating their own eggs?”
She looked like she wanted to say no, but she just fiddled with the other food pack and said, “Not anymore. Like I said, it’s ancient. Things were different back in the old times, and food was scarce.”
“Okay,” I said, realizing I hadn’t blinked in a while. “I am learning a lot about your people.”
“It’s not that big of a deal!” Kavlae insisted. “Everything’s very civilized now, just with an outdated word. Eggs are laid and fertilized, and at least one person stays to keep an eye on them while the other scoots off to the rest of their life.”
I had several questions I wanted to ask, and was having trouble deciding which to start with. “‘At least one’?”
“Sure, sometimes keepers come in sibling sets.” She waved a hand at the doorway. “You know, like Blip and Blop.”
I may have left my mouth hanging open for a moment while I absorbed that bit of knowledge. “I am definitely learning a lot about your people.”
Kavlae leaned back in her chair. “You really didn’t know that? They go everywhere together, and they’re big and muscley.”
I shook my head. “That would mean something different among humans. Possibly a couple different things, actually. But definitely not that they’re in the market for a threesome.”
“I’m not saying that they are,” Kavlae said, glancing at the door in embarrassment. “Just that if they ever wanted to be parents, they’d be the ones doing all the parenting.”
I remembered something from a few sentences back. “But not you, because you’re an … egg-eater.”
“But not literally,” she confirmed. “Kindly don’t tell them I was talking to you about this. I don’t want them to get the wrong idea.” Her frills flared in a way that looked almost like she was shading her eyes in embarrassment.
I smiled quietly. “I won’t say a word. They’re not your type, huh?”
“Don’t get me wrong; Blip’s kinda hot and Blop has nice coloring, but yeah. Not my type.” She made a visible effort to get over the embarrassment, opening a third packet and squeezing some sort of Space Ketchup into the second. “I like a little more intellect, personally. Forethought, good with words, that sort of thing.”
“What, like Trrili?” I said with a grin, thinking of our largest and scariest exoskeleton-clad crewmate, who worked in language translation and enjoyed planning ahead enough to jump out and startle the rest of us.
I’d meant it as a joke.
“Well,” Kavlae said, stirring the food and staring into the distance. “I’ll just say it’s a pity she’s got so many limbs. I know some Frillians have been known to date outside the species, but I really don’t think we’d be compatible.” Then she spooned the food into her mouth, lost in thought.
My eyebrows seemed to have taken up new residence at my hairline. “I won’t tell her we talked about this either.”
“Yeah, best not.”
I ate more of my sandwich, trying to think of another direction to steer the conversation. “Why’d you ask about birthdays, anyway?”
“Wio was saying they’re just a human thing, but I’m pretty sure I’ve heard some Heatseekers talking about them.” Kavlae waved her spoon vaguely. “Their families are small enough that they could make that work.”
I thought about what I knew of the lizardy folk, who also laid eggs. But not as many at once. I was pretty sure. “We could ask Paint.”
Kavlae opened a tub of what looked like jello. “Paint loves parties. I’m pretty sure she’d immediately want to start celebrating a hatching day, if she doesn’t already.”
“She probably would.” I considered. “She’s never mentioned her hatching day.”
Kavlae pointed at me with the spoon. “You’ve never said when your special day is either,” she said, chewing on what was apparently crunchy jello.
“It’s honestly hard to keep track out in space,” I said, though it felt like a weak excuse. I had a digital calendar for Earth dates, and I made sure to send messages home when I could.
“Do yo…
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