Chapter 7 Orion
ORION
Albert is such a good friend. He packed me a loaf of rye bread today, some treats for Jake, and another pink box, larger this time. My tentacles simply can’t wait to explore those pastries again. The one I had was sheer pleasure.
I hope it’s not the last time.
Did he see my tentacles? I lost control there, just for a minute, when Doctor Genji walked in. They don’t do well with surprises, and that was a big one. I knew Albert was married to a doctor, but never guessed he was my doctor. I can easily see it, though. They’re both so kind and confident.
I don’t think he saw them. My back was turned when they started being bad, and then I covered everything.
As I’ve discovered many times, thick fingers come in handy in emergencies.
I’m probably safe, as long as Doctor Genji doesn’t tell Albert about them.
I’m sure he won’t—he’s been completely professional.
What am I going to do? Albert is my best and only friend…apart from Jake, of course. Maybe I should ask Enzo for advice. He has tons of friends, so what would he do? But maybe, with the way he looks, he’s never been faced with problems like this.
“Jake!” I yell, throwing the ball. “Just a few more, then it’s time for treats!” I need to pay attention—it went in the bushes again—but Jake is an expert at this game and soon ferrets it out.
I replay the bakery scene again and again as we walk home.
I’m sure he didn’t see anything. He didn’t give me any funny looks when he handed me the bag, and he didn’t seem in a panic when he went back and talked to Doctor Genji.
I’m sure it will be fine. I’ll just go back in a few days and everything will be fine, just like usual. Unless it isn’t.
I push the door open and hear a loud conversation inside, almost an argument.
Enzo must be home early, and it sounds like his friend Antonio is with him.
That’s just what I need to round out this crappy day…
attitude from Antonio. He always has an opinion about me and my physical oddities, and he’s never afraid to share them.
Best to keep the mask on. Maybe that will blunt the impact before it starts.
“He’s been a great meal ticket, but it’s time for you to move on,” Antonio drawls.
“You know that’s not how we…” Enzo says, and jumps when he sees me in the doorway. “Rye. You’re home. I thought you were off at the park with Jake.”
“All finished,” I say. “Antonio, nice to see you.” I don’t lie often, but I make an exception for him.
“Orion,” he says with that perpetual frown he wears around me.
“What do you have there?” Enzo asks, pointing to the bakery bag, but Antonio immediately interrupts.
“Tell him,” he says. “You’ve put this off too long.”
Enzo has the grace to look guilty, and says, “Rye, it’s like this. We need to talk.”
“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Antonio says, waving his bejeweled hand at me. “Orion, Enzo needs to start his own life, away from here. You should be proud of him. He’s getting some fantastic roles.”
“Is that true, Enzo?” I ask. “Is your acting going well?” This is the first I’ve heard of it, and strangely, I am proud. Proud, but not surprised. He’s a handsome, talented man, full of charisma.
“Yes, Rye. I’m doing the lead in a new experimental production. I didn’t mention it because you’re not comfortable being in public, and I didn’t want to make you feel like you needed to attend.”
“And that’s the point exactly,” Antonio snaps, throwing up his hands. “You need someone fabulous on your arm to show you off at your openings.”
“Someone like you?” I ask, looking straight at Antonio.
“Well, yes. Naturally. I can help Enzo take the next step, and the next, all the way up the ladder to fame. This is my world. There will be reviewers, and fans, and temperamental directors, and they’ll all need attention, the kind of attention only I can provide.
You’re just not, how shall I say this, not equipped to fulfill his needs. ”
“You’re probably right,” I say, knowing there’s no probably about it. I’m not equipped, not in the least, not the way he is with his handsome face, quick wit, and perfect fashion sense.
I ask, expecting the worst, “Enzo, is this what you want?”
He looks at me and gives me the courtesy of saying it straight out. “Yes, I think it would be best.”
“Fine,” I say, feeling strangely cool and collected. “Antonio, please excuse us.”
“Orion,” he says with that prissy tone he adopts when he doesn’t get his way. “I’ll be staying. I don’t trust you to…”
“Antonio,” I say, taking off my mask, unleashing my tentacles, and filling my voice with as much menace as I can muster. “You’ll be leaving. Now.”
I walk to the door, open it, and stare him down. I need to talk with Enzo, see if there’s anything salvageable in our relationship, without a hater in the room.
“Call me if you need help,” Antonio squeaks as he slinks out the door. “I can have the cops here in a flash.”
I shut the door in his face and turn to Enzo.
There’s real fear in his eyes, but I don’t want that with him.
Antonio will have a horror story to tell his theater cronies, but Enzo has always been civil with me in our relationship, what’s left of it.
There’s no reason to make him suffer—I’m well versed in the mechanics of breakups.
“Do you mind if I keep the mask off?” I ask, tucking away my tentacles and letting myself wilt down to my normal quiet. “It’s easier to talk that way.”
“Not a problem,” he says, relaxing.
“Are you serious about this?”
“Yes. Sorry about Tonio—you know how he gets—but I’ve been thinking about it for a while. It’s the best thing for my career.”
“I understand,” I say, and I do. I’m a millstone holding him back, and I’ve had a good run with him. Almost a whole year since our first online hook-up. That’s far longer than I’ve ever had with anyone before.
“My god, Rye, you’re a saint. Don’t you want to yell at me or something?”
“Would it do any good?” There’s anger there, percolating under the disappointment, but mostly, I just feel tired.
“No, I don’t think so,” he says, and that’s when I really know it’s true. It’s ending.
“You must know by now…that’s not really my style. Let’s talk over some logistics. Do you have a place to go?”
“Antonio’s place.” No surprise there.
“Fine. That makes things easy. Could you plan to move out in a week or two? I’ll camp out on the couch while you’re putting everything in order.”
Enzo scurries out the door soon after, saying, “I have a rehearsal.”
I stand in the empty room, staring at my artificial tree, twinkling quietly and waiting for decorations, wondering what’s next.
Do I want to break something, something of his?
Of course not…like I said to him, that’s not my style.
How about dumping his stuff on the doorstep?
No…that would just set the neighbors gossiping, and I certainly don’t need more gossip.
It will be best to keep it simple and focus on what’s right in front of me.
Some pillows and blankets for the couch, so I don’t have to worry about that later, then some dinner.
I don’t want to cry, at least not yet, so I turn to my best friend.
“Jake, buddy, we’re going to make a night of it.”
I rummage through the fridge, looking for inspiration. I have some lamb waiting for another Indian dish, and some broccoli. My tentacles always love the textures of broccoli, and I’ll tailor the lamb spices for them this time, with just enough heat to keep them dancing.
I leave the cookbooks in the cupboard and improvise.
Onions to start, naturally, and some garlic.
My eyes water and my tentacles tuck themselves away, but the acrid discomfort is yet another one of the unique pleasures of cooking, and it will soon pass.
As they’re browning, it’s time to decide on spices.
Whole cinnamon, clove, and cardamom, then some garam masala, turmeric, maybe some chile powder.
I add pinches of a dozen others, challenging myself for later.
Will I be able to taste a few anise seeds in this heady mixture of pure flavor?
When the tomatoes are rendering up their oils and the lamb is browned, I put the whole thing on simmer and get to work on the rice and vegetables.
I let Jake channel his wolf roots and reserve his half of the lamb raw, flipping him pieces to keep him interested.
The broccoli goes in the steamer, and I’m ready to sit with a beer and wait.
“What do you think?” I ask. “Janeway or Picard?”
“Woof!”
“Totally agree. It’s a Next Generation kind of night.”
I pull out my good china and dust it off, plating my dinner carefully with a dollop of soothing plain yogurt on the side.
I pour another beer and arrange three of Bertie’s kouign-amann on a smaller plate.
The whole thing is worthy of social media, not that I have any accounts, so I snap a picture with my phone.
Is it my last meal on death row, I chuckle darkly, or the first meal of the rest of my life? Time will tell.
My patient pup gobbles his dinner in a frenzy of canine joy and soon curls up next to me in front of the TV.
Truly, with all the disappointments in the world, Jake is the one friend I can always count on.