Page 4 of Partnering with the Artist

But this definitely feels like…

Is hecoming ontome?

“I—I—”

His head tilts, questioning,curious.

I blurt, “I’ve just been through a horrible, horrible breakup. After one year of crushing so, so, sohardand then six years together—the last three of which we were engaged for! I’m not… I’m flattered…but…I’m not—”

“No guy truly interested in marrying a girl is engaged to her for three years,” he says, seemingly missing my point. Unless, of course, I missed his, and he wasn’t coming onto me, so I had no reason to try and turn him down.

Haha.

Oops…

“We were saving up,” I croak, feeble. “For our wedding.”

“You do that before you get engaged. Engagement is a promise that you’re serious. You get engaged when you’re ready to get married and only have to plan the wedding, not save for it. You should only get engaged when you already have the budget.”

“I pressured him. I was the one who wanted to get married before…” I still can’t look away. I am stuck, frozen, staring into icy gray eyes as clear and chilled as window frost. I don’t know why I’m telling him this. I don’t owe him these explanations. And, yet, I echo a fragile, “Before we…”

Something violent cracks the ice. “Sounds like he pressured you, princess. I’m very sorry.”

My head shakes. “No…it’s… I’m a lot to handle. I know that. I blame him for some things, especiallythis.” I toss my paws out over the rest of my costume. “But…I did… I really did…love him.”

Zakery’s hand drops from my chin, falls along the thick fur of my suit, and stops at my chest, pointing. “This?” Interest ignites, covering the violence from before. “What, pray tell, doesthishave to do with the story of your ex?”

I swallow. Hard. And the terrible need for validation from someone other than my—previously stated—moronic sisterpossesses me. “My ex…is the guy who was chasing me.”

A laugh bursts from Zakery’s lips. He claps his hand to his mouth, quelling it, but the residue lingers in his voice when he speaks. “My goodness. So…” He fights himself. “…mission accomplished? You won him back? Was that…” He squeezes his eyes shut. He is shaking. “Was that the goal?”

“Absolutely not!” I snap. “After six years together, he told me he was awolfkin.”

Zakery…begins choking on his subdued laughter.

“I had no idea what to make ofthat. He said he was leaving me because I didn’t understand him, and he needed apack.”

Zakery is crying.

“I was likewhat?I didn’t know what was happening, but you know—obviously—since I’m a perfectlynormalgirl, and he’s anidiotwho never blocked me on anything, I stalked his Leopard page. Saw that he was involved with some—some influencer? I guess? She wears ears online and posts videos that, quite bluntly, make me uncomfortable. They are the love child of ASMR and some kinda fetish. I donotknow.”

Steadily, Zakery loses it.

I cannot stop myself. Everything is just pouring out. “I saw that they were planning to come here months ago when it was announced, so I did what any normal girl would do and made a fursuit, intending to hunt down something like closure, because—you know—what?What do youmeanyou’rewolfkinnow? This whole entire thing feels like ajoke!” I might be yelling. “A wolfkin and a furry walk into a bar. One of them saysow!” My lungs fill, nostrils flaring.

Zakery has keeled over, doing very much in the way of cackling. Whipping upright after a few more moments, eyes damp, he says, “Wow. That was…” His lips press together, doing very little in the way of tamping down his smile. “…something. You made this, huh?” His fingers flutter through the puffs of my skirt, tossing the flouncy material. “It’s gorgeous.”

“Oh. Um. Thank you. Yeah, I’m actually supremely pissed that it’s some of my best work.”

“Supremely pissed,” he murmurs, gently, “that you are capable of creating something that costs a baseline of six thousand dollars… The mindset of the middle class baffles me.”

My brain takes a moment to ponder that line. “I…don’t think I’m going to be taking up making fursuits for a living?”

“Why not? Furries are great. Better than laundering, to be sure.”

“I can’t argue. I’ve gotten so many hugs today. I think my emotional health is thriving, but…still. The stigma. The part where I’d have to call my mother and answer theso what are you up to, still live in that compound?question withyeah, no, yeah, I’m still doing great here, just making fursuits.”

Muting yet another laugh, Zakery asks, “Compound?”

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