Page 41 of A Merry Christmas for Art… and His Tentacles

When he puts it that way, I feel a lot less worried. I take a deep breath and knock on the door.

“Can I ask why you haven’t gone through the matchmaking service?” Dean says.

I could bore him with the pros and cons list I make myself every year during spawning season, but those lists are never the true reason I’ve put it off.

“My grandma said a cephalopod shifter should not seek out a matchmaker until the ocean feels empty without their mate. The ocean has never felt empty to me.”

Dean smiles. “I love that. The ocean has never felt lonely to me either. I mean, I wasn’t looking for something serious before I found you. But now that I have…”

The door opens. Dad is wearing a traditional translucent robe that will allow his body to fully fade into the background for the ceremony. If Dean was a cephalopod shifter, I’d be wearing one too. Performing metachrosis is an important part of the rituals.

Thankfully, Dad is also wearing a pair of polka-dot boxers. “Welcome! Sorry for the unusual clothing. Anne insisted we wear all the traditional ceremonial garb. The boxers are there just in case you’re uncomfortable with nudity.” Dad smiles and shakes his head, as if he thinks it’s unlikely that Dean Miller would be uncomfortable with him being naked.

The problem with most cephalopod shifters going into finance is that it’s easy for them to work exclusively with other cephalopod shifters. Mom and Dad rarely interact with humans. Their behavior reflects this.

“Um, ok, great,” Dean Miller says.

Mom approaches the door. Luckily, she also has added a sports bra and cotton underwear underneath her translucent robe. “Please come in! The lasagna is getting cold.”

Dad beams. “I got it from a place called Don Angie. Rumor has it that the lasagna melts in your mouth.”

They both walk into the kitchen, a large portion of their bodies now visible under their robes. But Dean is unfazed. He follows them inside without any hesitation.

My parents’ apartment is tastefully decorated in various shades of sage and light blue. According to research, those are the colors people find the most calming. A sleek glass table stretches out next to the kitchen where my parents have laid out a feast. In addition to Dean’s lasagna, there’s shrimp, crab, and steamed seaweed. My mouth waters.

“It’s customary for us to use our metachrosis as we sit down to symbolize how little we know of each other at this stage,” Mom says. She holds up a folded Japanese fan. “We were thinking you could use this to cover your face. You know, symbolically.”

I don’t know why I get teary-eyed over that. Mom has always gone the extra mile to support me. Whether it was redecorating her house to reduce my stress or buying ridiculous costumes to make me laugh, she’s the kind of parent who shows her love in the most practical ways possible.

“Thank you, Mom.”

She reaches for me with her tentacles first, enveloping me in a warm hug. “We love you, Garth.”

“Garth?” Dean Miller asks.

“Yes, that’s Art’s full name,” Mom explains, handing him the fan.

“Cephalopod shifters choose the name of their children from the front page of the newspaper on the day of their birth. It helps us blend in with the humans. Garth Brooks was in the paper that day.”

Dean holds back a smile. “Art is named after Garth Brooks?”

“In a fashion. We think Art suits him better than Garth, don’t you?” she asks.

Dean nods.

My parents both disappear, except for their underclothing. Dad’s disembodied boxers and Mom’s sports bra move over to the table and settle on two of the chairs.

Dean opens the fan and holds out his hand to me. “Shall we?”

I take his hand and let my body fade into the background. As always, there’s a tightness and a relief that comes with being invisible. It’s nice to not be seen sometimes. But the relief isn’t as intense with Dean. I want him to see me.

We sit across from my parents. They become visible first. Dean and I follow suit. He folds his fan back up and sets it on the table with reverence.

“First, we begin with the family tree. We can’t share a meal together as a family without checking our bloodlines.” Mom picks up a folder that was waiting next to her plate and passes it across the table to Dean. He pulls an envelope out of his jacket pocket and hands it to her. It’s all so formal. That makes our relationship seem far more official than it was before.

I like that. Maybe I really get to keep him.

Mom opens the envelope and scans the paper within. “Unsurprisingly, we don’t have any common bloodlines that would be of concern. I don’t see any genetic sequencing documents?—”

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