“It’s smooth! Like Daddy’s bowling ball!”
Laughter bubbled up from my chest, and even Rion chuckled.
“They are rather similar,” he agreed seriously. “Though I try not to use mine for bowling.”
Jeremy giggled, then asked with the directness only a child could manage, “Are you a monster?”
A hush fell over our little section of the line. I held my breath.
Rion’s expression remained calm. “No, Jeremy. I’m a minotaur. That’s a kind of being from very old stories. Some people might call us monsters, but we’re just different, not scary.”
“Like how Tommy at school has a wheelchair? He’s different but not scary.”
Rion’s eyes softened. “Exactly like that.”
Jeremy seemed satisfied with this answer and turned back to his mother, tugging at her sleeve again. “Can I have a hot dog AND chips?”
The tension broke, and Jeremy’s mother gave Rion a grateful smile before turning to negotiate lunch options with her son.
“That was beautiful,” I whispered to Rion as he straightened up.
He shrugged, looking slightly embarrassed. “Children are easier. They haven’t learned prejudice yet.”
We ordered our food—a double portion of pulled pork for Rion, who metabolized food at a remarkable rate—and found a relatively quiet hay bale to sit on. My parents joined us a few minutes later with their own selections.
“I saw what happened with that little boy,” my mother said, dabbing sauce from the corner of her mouth with a napkin. “You handled that wonderfully, Rion.”
“Thank you,” he replied, still seeming somewhat uncomfortable with praise. “Though I suspect adults won’t be quite as easily won over.”
As if on cue, a commotion erupted at one of the nearby craft vendors. A man’s voice rose above the general festival noise.
“—don’t care what you say, it’s unnatural! We can’t have creatures walking around among decent folks!”
I tensed, scanning the crowd until I spotted the source of the disturbance. A red-faced man in his thirties was gesturing wildly towards us, addressing another vendor who looked distinctly uncomfortable.
“That’s Danny Pruitt,” my mother said, her expression hardening. “He was one of my students about fifteen years ago. Wasn’t particularly bright then, and it appears he hasn’t improved with age.”
Before any of us could respond, she was on her feet, straightening her cardigan with the precise movements I recognized from my childhood as her “someone is about to get schooled” preparation.
“Mom—” I began, but she was already marching towards Danny with purpose.
“Stay here,” my father advised, rising to follow her at a slight distance. “Your mother’s got this.”
Rion and I exchanged a glance, then moved to a position where we could observe without directly interfering.
“Daniel Pruitt,” my mother’s voice carried clearly in the suddenly hushed area. “I see your volume control is still as lacking as your critical thinking skills.”
Danny turned, his belligerent expression faltering as he recognized his former teacher. “Mrs. Bellweather?”
“The very same. And I’m disappointed to find you making a spectacle of yourself at a community event.”
“But—but did you see?” He gestured vaguely in our direction. “There’s a—a thing over there! With horns!”
My mother’s expression could have withered a cactus. “That ‘thing,’ as you so eloquently put it, is my daughter’s boyfriend. His name is Asterion, he’s a highly respected architect, and he has better manners than you’re currently displaying.”
Danny’s mouth opened and closed several times. “Your daughter is dating a?—”
“A what, Daniel?” My mother took a step closer, and despite being a foot shorter, somehow seemed to loom over him. “Choose your next words very carefully. I still remember your abysmal performance on your final paper about prejudice in ‘To Kill a Mockingbird.’”
