Chapter 24 #2
I hesitated, glancing at Rion, who gave a small nod of permission.
“Not everyone is accepting of non-human beings,” I explained carefully. “Rion has faced discrimination. Hostility, even.”
“That’s ridiculous,” my father said immediately, his indignation clear. “You can’t judge a person by their appearance.”
“I wish everyone felt that way,” Rion said quietly. “But the reality is more complicated.”
I took a deep breath and told them about Mrs. Wilson’s request that Rion stay “behind the scenes,” about the pressure to keep our relationship private, about Rion’s past experiences with public prejudice.
My mother’s expression darkened as I spoke. “That’s not right,” she said when I finished. “Not right at all.”
“It’s the way things are,” Rion replied, his tone resigned. “I’ve learned to adapt.”
“By hiding?” My father’s voice was sharp with disapproval, but I could tell it wasn’t directed at Rion. “That’s no way to live, son.”
Son. The casual term of endearment caught us both by surprise. Rion straightened, something vulnerable flickering across his face before he composed himself.
“I agree,” I said, seizing the opening. “That’s what I’ve been telling him. But he’s worried about me—about how I’ll be treated if we’re seen together in public.”
My mother reached across the table to place her hand over Rion’s massive one. “Clara has always been strong-willed,” she said, her eyes kind. “If she’s chosen you, then she’s already considered the consequences. We raised her to stand by her convictions.”
“And we stand by her too,” my father added firmly. “By both of you.”
Emotion welled in my throat. “Thanks, Dad.”
Rion’s hand tightened around mine under the table. “I appreciate that more than I can express, sir. But I don’t want to make Clara’s life difficult.”
“Love is always a little difficult,” my mother said wisely. “But that doesn’t make it any less worthwhile.”
“Besides,” my father added, “hiding just reinforces the idea that there’s something to hide. Something wrong.”
“Exactly!” I exclaimed, sitting forward eagerly. “That’s what I’ve been saying. If people don’t see non-humans living normal lives, having relationships, being part of the community, how will they ever get past their prejudices?”
My mother nodded thoughtfully. “It’s like when Mrs. Peterson down the street threw a fit about the Joneses moving in—the first Black family in the neighborhood. Remember, Richard?”
My father grunted in acknowledgment. “Woman was convinced they’d lower property values or some such nonsense.”
“And now?” my mother continued. “She and Darlene Jones are in the same book club. Their grandchildren play together. Exposure matters.”
“This is a bit different, Mom,” I said gently. “Rion isn’t just from a different ethnic background. He’s literally another species.”
“The principle is the same,” she insisted. “Fear of the unknown. Once people get to know Rion, they’ll see what we’re beginning to see—that he’s thoughtful and intelligent and clearly adores you.”
Rion looked slightly embarrassed at this assessment, but didn’t deny it.
“The Spring Festival is coming up,” my father said suddenly. “Why don’t we all go together? As a family.”
My heart leapt at the suggestion. “Really?”
“Absolutely,” my mother agreed, warming to the idea. “It would be a statement, certainly, but a positive one. And having us there might make it easier for both of you.”
I turned to Rion, barely containing my excitement. “What do you think? Would you be willing to try?”
He looked uncertain, his gaze moving from my hopeful face to my parents’ determined expressions. “It would be… challenging.”
“We’ll be right there with you,” my father assured him. “Anyone gives you trouble, they’ll have to deal with me.”
The mental image of my mild-mannered, bespectacled father confronting someone on behalf of a seven-foot minotaur was both touching and slightly absurd.
“And me,” my mother added firmly. “I may be retired, but I can still use my teacher voice when necessary.”
A reluctant smile tugged at Rion’s lips. “I can see where Clara gets her determination.”
“Is that a yes?” I pressed, squeezing his hand.
He sighed, but there was affection in his eyes when he looked at me. “I’m still not convinced it’s a good idea. But… yes. If it means that much to you, we can try.”
I resisted the urge to throw my arms around him, settling instead for a beaming smile. “Thank you.”
“Don’t thank me yet,” he warned. “It could be a disaster.”
“Or it could be wonderful,” my mother countered optimistically. “Either way, you won’t be facing it alone.”
The conversation shifted to practical matters—where to meet, what time, contingency plans if things went poorly. Throughout it all, I watched Rion gradually relax, his initial stiffness melting away as my parents treated him more and more naturally.
After dessert, my father invited Rion to see his workshop, an invitation I knew was tantamount to formal acceptance into the family. The two men disappeared into the basement, leaving me to help my mother clear the table.
“He’s not what I expected,” my mother said as we loaded the dishwasher. “When you said you were bringing someone special, I thought maybe that nice librarian you mentioned. Ryan, was it?”
“Ramon,” I corrected, hiding a smile. “And no, he’s just a colleague.”
“Well, Rion is certainly… impressive.” She handed me a plate to rinse. “And it’s clear he cares deeply for you.”
“You’re not upset?” I asked, the question that had been gnawing at me all evening finally escaping. “That he’s not… human?”
My mother paused, considering. “Surprised, certainly. It’s not every day your daughter brings home a figure from Greek mythology.” She smiled to soften her words. “But upset? No. What matters is how he treats you, and from what I can see, he treats you with respect and tenderness.”
Relief flooded through me. “He does. He’s incredible, Mom. Brilliant and kind and so careful with me, like I’m something precious.”
“As you should be.” She touched my cheek gently. “Your father and I just want you to be happy, Clara. If Rion makes you happy, then we’re happy for you both.”
“Even if it complicates things? If people talk?”
“Let them talk,” she said firmly. “True character shows in how we treat those who are different from us. If someone judges you for loving Rion, that reflects poorly on them, not on you.”
I hugged her impulsively, breathing in the familiar scent of her lavender perfume. “Thank you for understanding.”
“I’m trying to,” she said honestly, hugging me back. “It’s a lot to take in. But I can see what he means to you.”
When my father and Rion eventually emerged from the workshop, there was a comfortable camaraderie between them that hadn’t existed before. My father was explaining some fine point about joinery, his hands gesturing enthusiastically, while Rion listened with genuine interest.
“Your father has invited me to come back and see his new lathe in action,” Rion told me, a note of wonder in his voice. “Apparently it can handle pieces up to four feet in diameter.”
“That thing was a small fortune,” my mother commented dryly. “But it makes him happy, so what can you do?”
“It’s an investment,” my father protested, the familiar argument clearly good-natured. “Besides, now I can make a proper dining chair for Rion. That bench is just a temporary solution.”
The casual implication that Rion would be back, that he was someone worth making furniture for, made warmth bloom in my chest.
As the evening wound down, we gathered on the porch to say our goodbyes. My mother hugged me tightly, then, after only a moment’s hesitation, offered Rion a hug as well. He bent down awkwardly to accept it, careful of his horns, his expression one of touched surprise.
“You take care of our girl,” my father said, shaking Rion’s hand firmly. “And we’ll see you both at the festival on Saturday.”
“Thank you for dinner,” Rion replied. “And for… everything.”
The simple statement carried the weight of his gratitude for their acceptance, their willingness to see beyond his unusual appearance to the person beneath.
“Anytime,” my mother said warmly. “You’re welcome here, Rion. Always.”
As we drove away, I couldn’t stop smiling. Despite the rocky start, the evening had ended better than I could have hoped.
“See? I told you they’d love you,” I said, nudging Rion playfully.
“They’re good people,” he acknowledged, his voice thoughtful. “I can see why you turned out the way you did.”
“And how’s that?”
His lips curved into a fond smile. “Stubborn. Optimistic. Kind to a fault.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment,” I laughed.
“It was meant as one.” He reached over to take my hand, his large fingers engulfing mine. “Your parents are remarkable, Clara. Not everyone would have been so accepting.”
“They just needed to get to know you,” I said, squeezing his hand. “That’s all anyone needs. Which is why the festival is important.”
He sighed, but it was more resigned than reluctant. “I’m still not convinced it’s going to go well. But… I’m willing to try. For you.”
“Not just for me,” I corrected gently. “For us. For the future we want to build.”
Rion was quiet for a moment, his eyes fixed on the road ahead. “A future where we don’t have to hide,” he said finally. “Where we can just… be.”
“Exactly.” I leaned over to rest my head against his shoulder, careful of his horns. “It has to start somewhere. Why not with us?”
“Why not indeed,” he murmured, and though I could still hear the apprehension in his voice, there was something else there too—a cautious hope that hadn’t been there before.
As we drove through the darkening countryside towards his home, I felt a sense of peace settle over me.
Tonight had been a victory—small, perhaps, in the grand scheme of things, but significant for us.
My parents’ acceptance was just the beginning, a foundation upon which we could build something lasting.
The road ahead wouldn’t be easy. There would be stares and whispers, prejudice to face and minds to change. But for the first time since Mrs. Wilson’s return, I truly believed we could do it—together, as a family.
The thought warmed me all the way home.