Page 34 of A Merry Christmas for Art… and His Tentacles

Damn Dean Miller and his aesthetically pleasing everything.

“We should leave, otherwise we will be late,” I say.

He glances at the clock by the kitchen cabinets. “We still have time. Would you like to switch sweaters? I don’t mind.”

“The party starts in fifteen minutes.”

He shrugs. “It would be fine if we were fashionably late.”

“Tardiness is not fashionable, even if you’re wearing a nice sweater.”

Lisa walks toward the door. “That isn’t true, actually. Tardiness is fashionable in regards to parties. But I should go. I need to rinse off my face and pack for my flight tomorrow. I have a tournament in Prague this week.”

Dean Miller waves at her. “Good luck!”

“I won’t need any luck,” she tells him, matter-of-factly. “I’m the best player who registered for the tournament.”

With that, she walks off.

“What I wouldn’t give to have that kind of confidence,” Dean says.

“You do have confidence. It’s one of my favorite things about you.”

Dean turns to me, a soft smile on his face. “Thanks, Art. That’s sweet. Are you ready to go? We don’t have to be fashionably late, if that isn’t your thing. I just thought you’d rather wear a sweater you liked.” He holds out his hand to me. He’s wonderfully dashing with his nice sweater and the thick scarf around his neck. I still can’t believe he’s my temporary mate.

“I think I’d rather look at you wearing that sweater than wear it myself,” I say, taking his hand and letting him guide me out of my apartment. We get to the elevator before I remember that it’s 5:45 on a Friday night. That’s my parents’ date night. Every week they go out to dinner together at 6:00, which means that the elevator slides open to reveal my mother in her latest “little black dress.” She has a whole closet-full of them because my father once said she looked good in black. He’s standing next to her in his best suit and cufflinks. They dress up every week for each other. When I was younger, I loved watching the way they stared at each other before they left for dinner.

I’ve always wanted someone to look at me like that.

Mom’s face lights up when she sees us. “Good evening, Art. There’s plenty of space for more in the elevator.”

I step inside, tugging Dean behind me. “Mom, Dad, this is Dean Miller.”

Dean releases my hand and holds it out to my mother. “It’s wonderful to meet you.”

Instead of shaking his hand, she wraps her arms around him for a hug, extending her tentacles out to hug him with those too. Dad also extends his tentacles, ready and waiting the moment she finishes with Dean. He gives Dean a hug before Dean has a chance to greet him. And it isn’t a mild, polite hug either. He almost squeezes the life out of Dean.

A lot of people think of cephalopods as cold, but we aren’t. At least not with the people we love.

Dean Miller makes an alarming strangled noise.

“Dad, Dean can’t breathe,” I say.

He releases Dean and steps back. “I apologize. Art has never introduced us to a boy before.”

“A man,” Mom corrects him. “You must come to dinner, Dean. We would like to get to know you better. Also, we would like to meet your parents.”

My stomach twists in a knot. In cephalopod culture, all of that would be normal and welcome when someone introduces a mate to their parents. But Dean Miller and I are temporary mates, and we haven’t been together long. I’m not sure what the social protocol is in our current arrangement.

The elevator door slides open. We’ve made it to the lobby.

“I would love to come to dinner. What day would work for you?” Dean asks.

“Next week.” Mom hands him her phone. “Please add yourself as a contact.”

“Mom, Dean might not want?—”

Dean gives me a quick kiss on the lips. “Don’t worry.” He takes Mom’s phone and inputs his number. He has no idea what a frequent and aggressive texter she is, especially during the winter months. She’ll be asking him about his health way more often than is probably appropriate.

---