The ceremony happened two weeks ago. Small and ridiculous, exactly as promised. Maris wore a flower crown. So did I. The kitten sat on a cushion and meowed at appropriate intervals, which someone decided counted as officiating.
We exchanged vows. Hers made me cry. Mine made her laugh. We kissed while the town cheered and someone's uncle played a jaunty tune on a fiddle.
It wasn't legal. Not in any official sense. But it was ours.
Now we're here. At the town's first human-orc pride parade. A small affair, barely a dozen floats, but meaningful. A year ago, this wouldn't have happened. Now it feels inevitable.
Maris walks beside me, waving at the crowd. The kitten rides on my shoulder, wearing a tiny rainbow bandana that it absolutely hates but tolerates for the attention.
"Smile," Maris says. "You look like you're being tortured."
"I'm smiling."
"You're grimacing."
I try harder. Someone takes a photo. The flash makes the kitten hiss.
"Almost done," she promises.
The parade ends at the café, naturally. Someone set up a small stage. There are speeches. Recognition for businesses that supported integration. A moment of silence for those still fighting for acceptance elsewhere.
When it's over, people filter inside for free coffee and pastries. Maris donated everything, despite my protests about profit margins.
"It's one day," she'd said. "And it matters."
She was right. It does matter.
I'm helping carry equipment back inside when the kitten starts acting strange. Pawing at my pocket. Meowing insistently.
"What's wrong with you?" I mutter.
It bites my finger. Lightly, but with clear intent.
Maris notices. "Everything okay?"
"The kitten's losing it."
"That's not new."
But the kitten won't stop. It digs its claws into my shirt and reaches into my pocket with one paw, emerging with something shiny.
A ring.
I look at it. Tiny. Silver. Definitely not mine.
"Where did you get that?" Maris asks.
The kitten drops it into my palm and sits back, looking extraordinarily pleased with itself.
I examine the ring. It's simple. Handmade, maybe. The band is slightly crooked, like someone hammered it into shape without quite knowing what they were doing.
"Is that," Maris says slowly, "for me?"
I look at the kitten. The kitten looks at me. Its expression clearly says, You're welcome.
"I didn't buy this," I tell Maris.
"The kitten bought you a ring."
