Chapter 21
Permanent Arrangements
June
I’ve seen a lot of weird things in my delivery career.
I once delivered a hand-carved birdbath to a wendigo who was “trying to attract more songbirds to improve the ambiance during feeding time.” But watching Dale Brennan slide into my booth at Merry’s Diner with an actual smile on his face?
That might take the cake for unexpectedness.
“June,” he nods, signaling Merry for coffee.
“Deputy,” I reply, narrowing my eyes suspiciously. “You’re looking… not completely miserable today. Should I be concerned?”
Dale actually chuckles as Merry pours his coffee. “Can’t a guy be in a good mood without raising suspicion?”
“Not when that guy is you. You once gave Mrs. Henderson a citation for ‘excessive wind chime noise.’”
“Her wind chimes are three feet long and can be heard from miles away,” he mutters, but there’s no heat behind it. He takes a sip of coffee and shifts in his seat. “I’ve been visiting Kestra.”
I set down my fork. “The same Kestra who tried to flatten you with an oak tree a couple weeks ago?”
“The rehabilitation center is about three hours away,” he continues, ignoring my question. “They’ve got specialists there who work with non-humans who’ve… had trouble adjusting.”
“By ‘trouble adjusting’ you mean ‘attempted to murder an entire town’?”
Dale sighs. “She lost everything, June. Her entire world was destroyed. Can you blame her for being angry?”
I study his face. The permanent furrow between his brows has softened, and he looks tired but somehow lighter.
“What do you two even talk about?” I ask, genuinely curious. “Tree fertilizer? The best season for mulching?”
“I bring her saplings,” he says, a hint of pride in his voice. “Native species. She’s caring for them in the facility’s greenhouse.”
“And she doesn’t try to impale you with these saplings?”
“Oh, she’s still prickly,” he admits with a small smile. “But she’s… healing. The program confirmed the land legally belongs to her under the post-Unveiling reparations law. When she’s cleared to return, no one can touch her property again.”
I lean forward. “So she’ll be able to regrow her grove?”
“That’s the plan. It’ll take decades, of course, but…” he trails off, staring into his coffee. “Time means something different to her. She talks about centuries like we talk about seasons.”
A slow grin spreads across my face. “Deputy Dale Brennan, are you hoping she’ll invite you to visit once she’s settled?”
His ears turn bright red. “Maybe.”
“Dale! Really?”
“What?” he huffs defensively. “She’s… different. She sees the world in ways I never considered. Talking to her has made me rethink a lot of things.”
“Like your stance on non-humans?”
He has the grace to look sheepish. “Among other things. I don’t know what’s growing between us, but I want to find out.”
“I’m glad,” I tell him, and I mean it. “Kestra deserves someone patient. Someone willing to see past the anger to the pain underneath.”
Dale nods thoughtfully, then clears his throat. “So, how are things going with the spider?”
“His name is Riven,” I correct automatically. “And things are great, actually. I’m moving in with him.”
Dale raises his eyebrows but doesn’t look particularly surprised. “Fast work for someone who used to scream at the sight of a daddy longlegs.”
“He’s not—” I start to object, then catch the teasing glint in his eye. “Very funny.”
Dale slides out of the booth. “I should get back to the station. Tell your boyfriend I said hello, and good luck with the move.”
As he walks away, I shake my head in wonder. It’s amazing how quickly people can change.
But then again, if someone had told me I’d be moving in with a twelve-foot-tall spider monster who makes me pancakes in bed and cuddles me in silk hammocks, I’d have had them committed.
Life gets weird sometimes. Especially when you start dating outside your species.
“Are you certain this is an appropriate offering?” Riven asks for the third time, examining the bottle of wine with all six eyes narrowed in concentration. “Your Internet sources provided conflicting information on dinner rituals.”
We’re in my truck, parked outside my dad’s house, and Riven has been second-guessing everything for the past fifteen minutes.
“It’s just dinner, not a ritual sacrifice,” I assure him, reaching over to squeeze one of his upper arms. The hard exoskeleton is warm beneath my palm. “And Dad’s not picky. He’d be happy with a six-pack of beer and a frozen pizza.”
“That would have been significantly easier to procure,” Riven mutters. “Your species’ social protocols are needlessly complex.”
“Well, come on,” I say, hopping out of the truck. “Time to wow my dad with your charming personality.”
As we make our way up the sidewalk, Dad opens the door before we even knock, his eyes crinkling at the corners when he sees me.
“There’s my Junebug!” He pulls me into a bear hug, then cranes his head to look up at Riven.
To his credit, he barely blinks at the sight of the massive arachnid on his porch.
“And there’s the hero of Pine Ridge! Come in, come in. ”
Riven has to duck considerably to enter the modest house, and once inside, he seems to take up half the living room. He presents the wine to my father with formal precision. “I’ve brought a traditional offering for our shared meal consumption.”
Dad accepts the bottle, eyebrows raising as he reads the label. “Fancy stuff! I usually drink whatever’s on sale at the Gas-N-Go.”
“I can acquire that beverage for our next gathering if you prefer,” Riven offers earnestly.
Dad laughs. “This is just fine. Thanks. Now let’s eat before June starts getting hangry. You wouldn’t like her when she’s hangry.”
“I am familiar with her food-deprivation aggression patterns,” Riven says solemnly. “They are most pronounced at approximately noon and 6PM.”
Dad bursts out laughing while I sputter in indignation.
“I do not have ‘food-deprivation aggression patterns’!”
“Your delivery efficiency decreases significantly when you skip lunch,” Riven counters. “And you once threatened to, and I quote, ‘commit war crimes’ if I didn’t hand over the last donut.”
“Traitor,” I mutter as Dad leads us to the dining room, still chuckling.
Our dining table was designed for humans, not twelve-foot spiders. Riven eyes the wooden chair dubiously.
“Perhaps I should stand—”
“Nonsense,” Dad interrupts. “We’ll make it work.”
After some awkward maneuvering, Riven ends up sitting on the floor with his legs folded beneath him in a way that can’t possibly be comfortable. His torso still rises high enough that he can easily reach the table, but he looks like an adult forced to sit at the kids’ table at Thanksgiving.
“I apologize for my incompatible dimensions,” he says stiffly.
“Don’t worry about it,” Dad says, serving the lasagna. “Next time we’ll eat at your place where the furniture fits you. Or we can eat outside at the picnic table.”
Riven blinks in surprise at the casual acceptance of future family meals. Something in my chest tightens at the small gesture of inclusion from my father.
Dinner is a study in endearing awkwardness as Riven attempts to use human silverware with his mandibles hovering anxiously near his plate. Dad, bless him, acts like it’s the most normal thing in the world, passing Riven seconds and asking him about his weaving business.
“June tells me you make those fancy textiles they sell in that gallery in Missoula?”
Riven straightens with pride. “Yes. My silk has unique properties that make it ideal for artistic applications.”
“She showed me that sweater you made her last week. Fine work.” Dad nods approvingly. “Always thought those spider web patterns were pretty, even when I was swatting them down from the warehouse corners.”
“Many humans share your contradictory appreciation and destruction pattern,” Riven observes.
Dad laughs. “Guess we’re complicated that way.”
As they talk, I feel a wave of affection watching the two most important men in my life finding common ground. Then Riven shifts, and one of his legs knocks over a glass of water. He freezes, mandibles clamping shut in mortification as water spreads across the table.
“I’ve damaged your dining surface,” he says stiffly. “I will provide compensation for—”
Dad waves him off with a laugh. “Hell, I do that all the time and I’ve only got two legs. You’re doing fine, son.”
Son. The casual word nearly breaks Riven’s carefully maintained composure. I can see his mandibles quivering slightly with emotion.
I grab a dish towel and mop up the spill, squeezing one of Riven’s legs reassuringly under the table as I do.
After dinner, as Dad serves coffee, I take a deep breath and reach for Riven’s hand.
“Dad, there’s something I wanted to tell you officially.” I glance at Riven, who gives me an encouraging nod. “I’m moving in with Riven permanently.”
Dad doesn’t look surprised; he’s clearly suspected as much. He sets down his coffee cup and studies me carefully.
“You sure about this, Junebug? It’s a big step.”
“Yes,” I say without hesitation. “Absolutely.”
Dad looks at Riven, his expression unreadable. “And you? What are your intentions toward my daughter?”
Before I can object to the old-fashioned question, Riven speaks up, his voice formal and sincere.
“I intend to treasure her for the remainder of our natural lives,” he says simply. “And further, I would like to invest in the family business of Hartwell Delivery.”
This catches both me and Dad off guard.
“Come again?” Dad says.
“Your business is essential to this community,” Riven explains. “I want to help it grow. Specifically, I would like to fund the hiring of an assistant driver so you aren’t overburdened and June has backup on difficult routes.”
Dad is quiet for a moment, clearly emotional. Then he grumbles, “Damn charity,” but his eyes are wet, and his voice rough when he adds, “Thank you.” He then mumbles something about having something in his eye, and excuses himself to the kitchen.
I lean into Riven’s side. “He likes you,” I whisper.
“How can you tell?” Riven asks, mandibles twitching nervously.
“He called you ‘son.’ And he didn’t even flinch when you mentioned investing in the business.” I stroke the smooth skin of his arm. “That’s practically a ringing endorsement.”
All eight of Riven’s legs twitch with barely contained relief. “Human family integration protocols are excessively stressful.”
“You did great,” I assure him.
Dad returns from the kitchen with suspicious redness around his eyes that we all politely ignore.
“So,” he says gruffly, “when’s moving day?”
And just like that, it’s settled. I’m officially moving in with my monster boyfriend, with my father’s blessing and a business partnership to boot.
The only thing left to do is start packing and prepare for a lifetime of life with my most amazingly complicated, eight-legged man.