“I say we have dinner out tonight to celebrate your new fits,” Fiona says as we hop into the car carrying our belongings. Again, I take the rear seat. “Are you all right back there, Khesan?”
“Just fine,” I say. Shathar squints at me over his seat, but I remain with the smile on my face.
On our way home, Fiona turns into a parking lot outside a building that reminds me of one of our own back home, made of clay with blocky edges and covered in colorful decorations.
“Mexican food!” she crows as we all get out of the vehicle.
“At last,” Shathar says, tilting his head back to gaze up at the brightly-colored sign. “The little Frahma who came to Arshur couldn’t stop talking about it.”
I snap my fingers. “Yes! It was one of his selling points. Spicy and delicious.”
Inside, the smell is marvelous, and the place is packed with people. Enthusiastic murals cover the walls, and both Shathar and I stare at them as we pass.
“Very vivid,” he murmurs. “Reminds me of Western Arshurian art.” We also create art from tiles arranged in patterns to create beautiful images.
“Indeed. Such lush colors.” I feel a pang of homesickness.
Shathar lets out a hmph of agreement as a human woman leads us through the restaurant to a table. Fiona gets into the booth first, then me on her left and Shathar on her right. For good measure, I take her hand in mine, relishing the warmth of her soft skin against my scales.
“This is a menu,” she says, handing one to each of us. “It has all the food options on it.”
I browse the menu, my translator attempting to supply comparable words.
“There are so many,” Shathar says with a twinge of anxiety. “How do we choose?”
I have to agree with him. It is overwhelming, the pages and pages of options, when I am not sure what most of them mean.
“I guess it’s a pretty big menu. Want me to pick a few things and we can share?”
I bristle immediately at the idea of sharing with Shathar, but it makes the most logical sense.
“All right,” I say, folding up the menu and setting it down. “I will share.”
Shathar looks skeptical, but finally acquiesces as well.
“So, do you feel more like Earthlings?” Fiona asks brightly. “Now that you have pants?”
“I think my tail will always give me away,” jokes Shathar. Then said tail winds around Fiona’s waist, and I have to do my very best to keep my fans from rising on my head at this intimate contact. I wish to do the same now, but the last thing I want is to coil my tail with Shathar’s.
That is an act for lovers, which makes me envious.
Fiona’s phone buzzes as we wait to be attended, and she frowns as she reads the message she’s received.
“The Christmas party?” she mutters, annoyed. “Really?”
“What is it?” I ask.
“Marguerite. She’s my friend. She loves to play host, and she was going to put on a Christmas party this year. But she says one of her pipes just burst and she can’t do it anymore.”
“What is this party?” asks Shathar.
“Big, big deal,” Fiona says with a resigned sigh, like she doesn’t look forward to it. “She always goes ham with it.”
My translator supplies me with an image of cooked meat.
“Why are you not excited for the large meat chunk?” I ask.
Fiona blinks at me, then laughs. “No, no. I just mean, she likes to… do the most. No, it’s Mom. Christmas was always Mom’s favorite holiday. She always went wild. Covered the house in lights, put up a big tree in the living room, piled up presents, even after I grew up.”
