The shrew wrinkled her nose. “Okay, confession time. I’m afraid to travel alone. I mean, I’ll take the train to Philly or New York, or fly down to Florida, but the idea of getting on aplane and spending a week in Hanoi or Rome all by myself is terrifying.”
“I came here alone not knowing the language, or any humans, or their customs.” I told her. “It was not easy because I do not like to be in situations where I might be embarrassed, but I still did it.”
“Because you had to,” she pointed out. “Duty and responsibility and all that. This wasn’t a vacation, it was a mission. And even though the other orcs on your team aren’t old friends, they’re still orcs. There’s safety in numbers.”
I nodded, because she did have a valid point. And I would imagine a vacation would be more enjoyable in the company of a friend or loved one, than alone.
“How about you?” She took a sip of her coffee. “What are you afraid of?”
Being embarrassed? Looking like a fool? Failing? All that and one more.
“Telling my father that my decisions are my own to make and not subject to his approval or disapproval has always been my greatest fear.”
I expected the shrew to scoff at this revelation, to mock me for such a stupid thing, but she reached over and took my hand, and the dark eyes that met mine were full of sympathy.
“Family can be tough. I should know, I’ve got more family than most. Even though we rib each other about our life-decisions, in the end we’re supportive. I didn’t follow the path my parents hoped I would, and though I know they worry, they don’t scold me or shame me for who I am. Same with my brothers and sisters. And I know it probably wasn’t easy for my father marrying an African-American woman back in ’70s when they were barely out of high school. That probably influenced their decision to let us make our own choices though.”
“It was a problem? Your father marrying outside of his clan…or race?” I asked, not sure how to refer to the difference that didn’t seem such a big deal in orc culture.
The shrew nodded. “It would have been more scandalous in my grandparents’ generation—even illegal in some states. But even in the ’70s, interracial marriage wasn’t always considered a good thing.”
I wondered what her parents would think if she brought home an orc? Probably the same my parents would if I brought home a shrew of a human. Although it was ridiculous to think these things. Our sex-only encounters had grown into more, but no matter how much I enjoyed her company, her body, and her quick wit, we were not suited for more than a brief fling.
Even if my heart wanted otherwise.
“Let’s make a pact,” she suddenly said, removing her hand from mine and nibbling on a piece of bacon. “I’ll start planning a trip to somewhere I’ve never been before, and you do something or tell your father something he won’t approve of.”
Like bringing home a sassy, strong-willed bride?
“You pick where my future vacation will be,” she continued. “And I’ll decide what incredibly defiant act you’ll attempt.”
I sensed danger down this road, but perhaps that was the point of this challenge. Where should I suggest the shrew go? I wanted to tell her to visit my homeland, but I’d want to accompany her and show her all the beauty my world offered—and that didn’t fit the goal of this pact.
“Antarctica,” I finally suggested, not knowing many places in this world, but having read about Antarctica in a newsletter or magazine or something.
The shrew sputtered out a laugh. “Antarctica? First, there’s no way I can afford that. Second, what the hell am I supposed to do in Antarctica besides look at penguins and freeze to death?Okay, let’s give each other three choices, and we’ll pick among those instead.”
I searched my mind for other suggestions, ones less cold. “Egypt, Brazil, or Spain.”
She thought for a few seconds.. “Spain. I’ve got a three-month streak on Duolingo for Spanish, so hopefully by the time I go I can ask where the bathroom is and for directions back to my hotel. Your turn. You can tell your father that you are not going to have children until you’re ready, that you want to choose which meetings or ceremonies you attend, or…or…that you absolutely hate yams and refuse to eat them ever again, even if it’s a family favorite dish.”
I blinked. “What are yams?”
“Orange tubers that are cooked and mashed and usually sweetened with brown sugar, maple syrup, and marshmallows. I don’t care how much you mash them, they’re always stringy and that’s totally gross. And they’re sticky and sweet and I hate them.”
“Then you should never eat them. In support I vow to abstain as well.”
She laughed. “Perfect. We’re founding member of the Yam Hate Club. But you still need to pick. Instead of yams, you can substitute whatever food from your kingdom that gets served regularly and that you hate if you pick that choice.”
I considered the choices. “All three. I will do all three of those things you proposed. And I’m not going to eatFikmakpie ever again.”
“You have to tell me whatFikmakpie is.” She grinned and leaned in, conspiratorially.
“A meat pie with root vegetables. In my kingdom the root vegetables are alwaysourem.It is a red root vegetable that stains everything pink and tastes like dirt.”
She recoiled. “Beets! Oh, God, I hate beets too! We clearly have issues with tubers. Are mashed potatoes okay? How do you feel about carrots? Parsnips? Oooo, how about horseradish?”
“We should try all of those things together and I will decide,” I told her.
