“I imagine it may be hard to call one on your own with…” he cocks his head, looking intently at the ends of my sleeves where my hands should be, “paws?”
“Yeah…” I sigh, shoulders slumping, and hold them up in front of me. The mustard yellow sleeves of my cropped sweater slip down my furry forearms, exposing the wolfy appendages to the crisp, Portland air. “Embarrassing, right?”
He shrugs and starts typing. “Address?”
Although confounded by his lack of response to my very unusual partial-shifts, I suppose I have no better options, so I give him an intersection near my apartment.
“Three minutes,” he says, and I offer a nod of thanks.
I can’t help glancing at him from the corner of my eye, my head bobbing in an awkward nod while darting my gaze along everything around us except him. The quiet becomes unbearable after only a few seconds.
“You don’t have to wait with me," I say.
He looks down, pinning me with vibrant blue eyes. “It’s fine. I’d rather not leave you standing out here alone after that spectacle.”
I pull back, weirdly thankful, but also affronted. I’m not expecting the rough tone or the backhanded nature of that statement, but he doesn’t seem to notice, and a black sedan pulls up not long after.
He opens the back door, sticking his head in to converse with the driver before stepping back and gesturing me inside. I sit down and attempt to grab the seatbelt, forgetting for a moment that I don’t currently have thumbs. My eyes turn up to the sky as my lips pinch, resigned to hoping I don’t die in a car wreck today, when the box is settled onto my knees and the stranger grabs the seatbelt, pulling it out and leaning across my body to buckle me in. My eyes flare and I suck in a breath, pushing back into the seat as far as I can and trying to ignore how incredible he smells as he invades my space. Something woodsy and warm, a stark contrast to his abrupt demeanor.
“All set," he says as he pulls away, though I’m unsure if he’s talking to me or the driver. He steps back from the car, nodsonce, and then closes the door. No warning or goodbye, not even a wish for good luck.
My attention snaps to the driver when he asks me to confirm the destination. By the time I look back out the window, we’re already moving and my confusingly gruff rescuer is nowhere in sight.
I trudgeup the steps to my apartment, thankful my shift back to all human features happened after only a few minutes of awkwardness during the ride share. I let the box thud to the hallway floor outside my apartment so I can search for my keys, when Reverie shrieks from the other side of the door.
“Zuri, it’s Raya. She’s home early!” The little creature bellows at the top of her lungs, which comes out like a tinny, high pitched screech as she’s only about seven inches tall and weighs less than the light scarf around my neck. She’s a cute little sprite, regardless of how piercing her excitement can be.
I give up on finding my keys, knowing Zuri will let me in, and sure enough, the door flies open only a few seconds later. I nudge the box inside with my foot and push my way past my roommate, then flop onto the couch in the living room. Reverie is flitting around in front of my face, sparkling pink wings flickering behind her and muttering under her breath about how my forehead wrinkles are on full display this afternoon, which is just fantastic considering sprites aren’t able to lie.
Moon above, I’m only twenty-two. I shouldn’t even have forehead wrinkles yet.
I rub my fingers across my forehead before waving my hand at Reverie to back off. She flits to the back of the couch, choosing to pace back and forth across the top of the cushion, which is at least better than flying around my face. My fingersmove from my forehead to my temples, rubbing little circles for a moment before I cover my eyes with both hands, wishing I could hide from reality for a little while.
A finger taps on the back of one hand a moment later, and I remove them slowly, cracking one eye open to see Zuri hovering over me. Her box braids create a curtain around us as her eyes dart between mine, eyebrows pinched together.
“Careful, Reverie will come after your wrinkles next if you keep that up," I mutter.
“Why are you home? With all your work stuff? Did you quit?” Z fires questions at me, her warm brown eyes wide with concern and I groan, but there’s no avoiding it.
I sit up and address my two best friends, the ones who know everything about me. I tell them about the meeting, how I was fired, and the confusing signals from the helpful stranger that allowed me to get home safely. I’m thankful for their gasps of shock and outrage on my behalf, and soon I’m smiling at Reverie’s threats to “show them who they’re messing with” and Zuri’s assertions that it’s their loss and I will come out on top and find something better suited where I’m appreciated anyway.
I unfold my legs and lean back, finally feeling like I’m able to relax after getting it all out. This is a disaster, but it’s not irredeemable.
“So…” Zuri’s voice is tentative, and I cautiously fix my gaze on her, eyebrows raised. “Well, I mean, I know it’s not your favorite subject, but…”
“Just spit it out!” Reverie has little patience when it comes to speaking your mind. It’s both a blessing and a curse, often at the same time.
Zuri shoots a glare at our tiny sprite friend, but secretly I agree with the sentiment.
“I only wanted to check in on the whole shifting thing,”she says in a quick rush, and I figure I should have known that’s what the stammering was about.
“It’s fine," I reply.
“It’s not fine. You were fired today because of it, it’s been getting worse, so clearly it’s not fine.” We exchange equally heated glares, but I soon deflate, because Z is right.
“Okay, it’s not fine, but I’m working on it.”
“Are you? How?” Zuri’s shoulders relax, and I feel a little bad at the white lie, but not bad enough to tell the truth—that I’m employing the timeless strategy of avoidance by distraction.
