My shriek is more of a guttural “hwaaaarg” noise, halfway between a choke and a scream.
The eyes blink slowly, unperturbed by my reaction.
Heart pounding, I peer more carefully at the window. Standing on the porch, face pressed against the glass, is a white, fluffy llama wearing a blue knitted scarf.
“Holy shit.”
The llama blinks again, giving me what I can only describe as a deeply judgmental look.
I weigh my options.
Option One: Pretend I never saw it, let the hot alpha solve his own llama drama.
Option Two: Chase the animal completely drunk, and try to corral it in the snow.
Option Three: Befriend it, keep it as a large stuffed animal, and never tell anyone about this night.
I cautiously pad toward the front door and slowly crack it open. Oxford takes a step back, but doesn’t run away. He regards me, tilting his head slightly.
“Would you like to come in?” I’m not sure what llama etiquette is, but if I were lost in the snow, I’d want cocoa and a place by the fire.
He doesn’t budge.
I grab my coat, scarf, and boots, stumbling slightly as I pull them on.
“Come on then,” I sigh, closing the door behind me. “I’ll walk you back home.”
3
Oxford
The human female clutching my fur reeks of fermented grapes. Her gait suggests moderate intoxication—unsteady, but functional—and her continuous monologue indicates classic displacement behavior.
I’ve seen this presentation countless times during Dr. Hersey’s evening sessions: Denial Stage Grief with a side order of Liquid Courage.
In my professional opinion, this particular specimen is what the good doctor would privately classify as a “hot mess.”
“I’m Melody, by the way,” she says, stumbling slightly in the snow.
I maintain my dignified silence.
“I spent five weeks planning this trip,” she continues, right on cue. “Five! I color-coded activities for twelve people. I labeled everyone’s stockings. I bought themed pajamas!”
Her voice pitches higher with each revelation.
Classic catastrophizing.
I diagnose her within our first three minutes together: Perfectionist, with people-pleaser tendencies and moderate-to-severe boundary issues.
“And now they’re all on a cruise ship, throwing up. Merry freaking Christmas to me!”
I sigh deeply, my breath forming a cloud in the cold air. I would never admit it, but I was slightly disoriented when this Melody person found me.
Not lost.
I don’t get lost.
Just temporarily bewildered.
