Page 5 of A Merry Christmas for Art… and His Tentacles

I hold back a smile. I’d guessed as much. “It’s okay, Art.”

“I’m afraid that this is doomed to fail, Dean Miller. I’ve tried learning how to interact with other people before, but it doesn’t help. I’m hopeless.”

Ah, so Art’s not necessarily uncomfortable with me; he just thinks Frank’s plan won’t work.

“Well, you’ve never had me,” I wink. The tentacle around my wrist pulses and wraps around it a second time, and Art blushes. Oops. Maybe that sounded a little more suggestive than I meant it to.

“I think we need a plan. Me telling you what to say and what not to say won’t be enough. I think you need to get out there andpractice being around others, both humans and cryptids. I bet you don’t go out much, do you?” I ask.

Since Art is usually the last to leave the lab and the first one there, and since this is the first time I think he’s ever actually left for lunch, I’m betting I’m right on this.

“Why would I go out?” he asks. “Food and grocery delivery takes care of all my needs, and I can shop online. Those options save me a lot of time. I’d rather spend that time working at the lab on our important research.”

“What about for fun?” I ask.

“Fun?” Art repeats, and I can tell he’s utterly confused by the notion.

“Listen, I have an idea,” I tell him. “I think we should take a bunch of outings to do different things that require interaction with others, and you’ll learn from the experiences. You learn best by doing, anyway. Like with that latest piece of lab equipment. Everyone else watched the video, but you needed to tinker with it until you understood it. So we’ll get out and experience people, and you’ll learn how to interact.”

“Go out to interact with people?” Art asks, looking slightly panicked.

“Yeah, but I’ll be with you the entire time to make sure it goes smoothly. And we’ll do fun things. It’s the holiday season, so there’s tons of activities we can try,” I tell him. “And no saying no before you try it,” I add, because I can already see Art coming up with reasons why he can’t do certain stuff. “And no asking what the point of it is, either. The point will be to learn how to interact. Maybe you’ll even find something you enjoy doing for fun along the way.”

Art doesn’t look convinced, but he nods his head anyway.

Our waitress brings our food over, and Art’s tentacle slowly unwinds from around my wrist. As we eat, I start listingactivities to see Art’s responses to them. I do want him to try new things, but I don’t want him to be miserable.

If this whole scheme seems a lot like dating, well, I figure that’s another activity Art probably hasn’t tried before. I’d be very happy to show him what he’s been missing.

Art

I am at an ice skating rink. Objectively, I know how this happened. Dean Miller mentioned it at one of our lunches this week, and I went along with his suggestion because ice is water, and cephalopods like water. I also figured that ice skating was a physical activity and wouldn’t require me to talk much.

But ice skating involves sliding around on metal blades. That can’t be safe.

Dean Miller walks into the lobby of the ice skating rink. His cheeks are flushed from the cold, and he’s wearing a stylish black wool coat. He looks very dashing and handsome, even though we’re about to do a winter sport. It’s so unfair.

I look down at the bright yellow puffy coat and orange snow pants I purchased just for this occasion so that I would be very visible to the other skaters. The white pom-pom hat my Grandmother knitted me for my birthday last year isn’t very stylish either.

“Hey,” Dean Miller says, all calm and cool. “I love the outfit. You look like a human candy corn.”

Oh my God. I’m wearing orange, yellow, and white, in that order. My cheeks burn with embarrassment.

“I was just trying to… stay warm. I didn’t mean to mimic the color progression of a Halloween candy.”

Dean Miller bites his lip, like he’s trying to hold back a smile. “I love it. Are you ready to rent some skates for us? I figured that would give you some practice talking with someone. I wear a size ten. You just go up to the counter and ask to rent skates.” He reaches in his back pocket for his phone and slides a card out of a compartment in the back. “I’d prefer hockey skates if they have them.”

He holds out his card to me expectantly. I desperately wish I didn’t have to do this. I hate talking to cashiers. I always end up saying something stupid, or forgetting to say something when I’m supposed to.

I wish Frank would have let me isolate myself in a room.

“We don’t have to do this if you don’t want to,” Dean Miller says.

One of my tentacles jerks forward and grabs his card with its suction cups. His eyes widen.

“Sorry! I didn’t mean to?—”

“It’s okay, Art. I was just a little surprised.”

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