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Usually right after that, if the person was trying to make pleasant conversation, she’d get “what nationality is that anyway?” usually also with genuine curiosity.
Norwegian, a one-word reply. Simple enough. The names went: Norwegian, British, British, and supposedly either Welsh or Scottish. Her nationality was pedigree euro-uber white, though she supposed the world was a melting pot of mutts by now whichever way you looked at it. Her mother had been raised to breed with another of her species: blond hair, blue eyes, and pale white skin. Apparently photosensitive at that. 
Half Scot and half Norse on Mum’s side, half Scot and half Norse on Dad’s. Who knows how many generations back on either side a descendant actually lived in one of the mother countries, but they clung to their heritage with an intermittent and halfhearted pride that usually only showed at family reunions, Scottish fairs and- so it seemed- about four months after her conception.

She preferred to be called Soly.

She had considered telling Dev about her revelation on the long drive home, but decided he would- as he had been in the past when she divulged deja-vu’s and prophetic dreams- nod and “uh-huh” with badly-feigned interest, assure her it was fascinating, and continue complaining about server problems that were way over her head. 
He wasn’t being cruel, she knew this well. He’d just gotten used to her. Little ADHD Soly with the overactive-imagination. Little Soly who still had the occasional temper tantrum at twenty-two years of age. Little Soly who was still afraid of the dark and liked cartoons, and skipped like a six-year-old sometimes when she was happy.
She hated it but she was used to it. And for the most part, she didn’t blame him- or anyone else who really knew her, for that matter (there weren’t many). She knew she had her childish side, and she cherished it.

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What really bothered her was the fact she had no one to really talk to about her minor preoccupation with the paranormal. Sure she had long, intellectual conversations with Dev about cryptozoology, aliens, telepathy and the like; but when it came down to something outside the rhetoric… something real that had happened to her… 
(Silly little Soly get your head out of the clouds get back to work feet on the ground shoulder to the grindstone balls to the wall)

“I hope you don’t mind staying alone again tonight,” Dev said, breaking her little dome of thought. 
“I’m sorry, I didn’t hear you.”
“I said, I hope you don’t mind me staying at my place tonight. I need to get some things done, get my laundry… My roommates think I’m MIA.”
“Oh. Yeah, sure. Fine.” Another night alone in the dark was what that meant. Another night she’d end up drinking herself to sleep to keep the writhing dark at bay. 

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She woke the next morning sore and groggy. The damned cats kept tucking themselves where they’d be rolled onto by their sleeping master, and she kept waking up in the night to move one kitten or the other, and twisting her back in the process. The tempurpedic mattress didn’t help at all in these situations. 

She looked at the alarm clock and found to her dismay it was two and a half hours before her desired waking time. The damned birds were screaming their heads off in sharp, shrill and raucous squawks and squeaks.

The two cats and two birds that were her dependants were referred to in one word- the kids. She liked the thought of having little ones to take care of. The cats had been a mutual decision and purchase by herself and her decided lifemate, so the kittens were as much their kids as anything at this point in the relationship. Besides, he liked being referred to as “daddy.”