“That’s okay. I’d go anywhere you wanted to take me.” I cleared my dry throat. “While I’m here.”
“I have some other things to do this month, stuff I couldn’t finish before your arrival. Sorry, I’m used to living alone, so I’ll need a moment to adjust.”
“Aww. You can’t bullshit me.” I poked his shin with my foot. “You missed me, Marin.”
“Yeah. I missed spending time with you in person.” He shoved my chest with his tentacle.
I snapped my teeth at it and he snagged it back. “A gallery opening as my first night out in the Big Apple sounds awesome. What time is it at?”
“Eight. So we have a few hours left, since you slept till noon.”
“Shit.” I looked around for my phone and found it on the nightstand, fully charged. Of course Marin would plug it in. “I should have set an alarm.”
“Let’s hope you slept through the jet lag.” He smirked. “And you looked so peaceful that I didn’t want to disturb you. I planned to take you to a few touristy places, but we won’t have time today. So, is there anything you’d like to do before the opening tonight?”
“Something you’d do if I wasn’t here.”Take care of your morning wood?“Take me around the neighborhood or show me the corner store and the local spot you’d eat brunch at.”
He pushed himself off the bed with his tentacles and stood up. “I know just the place. Let’s go.”
Dressed in a thick sweater and a parka, I followed Marin to a German bakery a short walk from his apartment.
Despite my red skin tone and Marin’s two tentacles out and proud, only several people turned to look at us.
The wordCryptidstuck as if people still couldn’t believe we existed, but we were reclaimingMonsteras an alternative. The older generations who’d survived the oppression were not using the expression, though. Our parents and grandparents had fought for our rights so we could be out in society in broad daylight, not hiding under the beds like my dad had to.
It warmed my heart to see several human-presenting people wearing the Cryptid Alliance badge on their lapels or backpacks. This included the bakery owner—though he blinked with tripleeyelids and didn’t hide the scales on his neck which placed him somewhere in the alligator-adjacent cryptid category.
We sat by one of four tables in the cramped space that smelled like my grandma’s kitchen when she baked on Saturdays, munching on freshly-baked goodies.
“I come here when I miss the good bread. You can’t buy stuff like that in an American supermarket, unlike in Germany. Or Greece. A Greek couple has a small restaurant nearby too. Their food reminds me of my parents' place so I visit once a month or so.”
I poked his foot under the table. “It’s not so bad being an immigrant if you can find food you love here.”
“Yeah. It’s neat. The Ukrainian couple next door said the same thing about the Eastern European supermarket a few blocks over.” He took a healthy bite of his twisted bagel. “But the bread here reminds me of the one we used to have for breakfast in the dorm.”
“But then you’ll take me to try all the American stuff, like you promised.” I munched on my cottage cheese sandwich.
“Yup. I guarantee a bellyache, and I’ll get a syrup for that too.”
Smug bastard. “Will it be that bad?”
“Depends on the portions.” He grimaced. “Remember when I told you I had six tacos from Taco Bell the first day I came here?”
“Oh, shit. Yeah, I remember.”
“Exactly.”
We burst into laughter. “So let’s start easy.”
We sat reminiscing on the days we shared the meals my dads prepared for us in the tiny fridge in our dorm room and the snacks his parents sent in a parcel every month.
It had been easy to grow close, to become best friends and rely on each other. I’d been the weird queer kid, and Marin was the Greek guy who struggled with pronouncing German words. We’d shared a passion for art and studied what we wanted, notwhat our parents had told us to. It had been five years of chaos, late hours studying and helping each other. It warmed my heart that Marin came to a bakery that reminded him of those times.
With bellies full, we ventured to a corner store to compensate and left with bags of American snacks.
Chapter Three
Kert
