by Mary Frame
I pull the mouse head off and hold it in front of me. I blink at the sudden openness.
“Let me break it down for you a little. There are no rules here. Some furries don’t talk at all while in costume, they just mime. That’s the great part, you get to choose. You should do whatever makes you comfortable. Some people like the headpieces, some don’t.” She shrugs. “Depends on the fursona.”
“Fursona?”
Her brows lift. “Your boyfriend mentioned you wanted to write an article. I thought you would have more background info before you came.”
We both look over at him. He’s holding both arms out and saying, “Babies!”
“He’s not my boyfriend. We’re just friends.”
Her eyes skitter over Jude’s pink and white form. He is not hot in that costume. Well, maybe he is. It’s not really his looks, it’s his whole . . . aura. He’s over by the band, doing the running man while furries clap and cheer him on. They even start chanting his name.
How does he do it? We literally just got here.
“Is that right?” she asks. “He single?”
Something constricts in my stomach. “I mean, not yet. We’re friends, technically, but you know, it’s heading in that direction.” The words pop out without thought and I thank the lord Jude can’t hear me from across the room. I would die of embarrassment and he would never let me live it down if he knew I was . . . what, jealous? No, it’s not that. It can’t be that. I’m just protecting him from, uh, untoward advances.
Rachel tsks and shakes her head. “Well, too bad then. But good on you, girl! Anyway, let me tell you more about fursonas. You want a drink?”
I glance around, but I’m not entirely sure what Bryce looks like, let alone how to pick him out amid the furry crowd. I guess I’ll leave it up to Jude and do what he asked. Blend. Improvise. “Sure.” I follow her over to the snack table. “I did do some research. Enough to know that furries aren’t all about orgies, like some people might think.” I roll my eyes at those people. Those people I might have been one of five minutes ago.
Rachel smiles. “That’s true. Totally a misconception and a stereotype perpetuated by the media to sensationalize something they don’t understand. We have sex just as much as anyone else. Mostly we like to get together and dress up. A lot of us like to share our furry-themed artwork and crafts related to the fandom. Wanna see?”
Over at one of the tables, they’ve got a setup of artwork. There are actually some really good sketches and paintings and even comic books.
“So if it’s not about sex, then why all the secrecy for the meeting?”
“Because people don’t understand. They assume we’re all a bunch of weirdos, but it’s okay for them to geek out over Game of Thrones and the Super Bowl. It’s about meeting up with like-minded people and feeling . . . seen.”
A smidge of guilt flickers in my chest about my initial reaction. I put a hand on her arm. “I promise to keep names and everything confidential.”
Her responding smile is bright and sincere. “Thanks. I appreciate that.”
Rachel continues to fill me in on furry culture while others come over periodically and talk to her and hug her and some are introduced to me. I kinda see what Rachel means. Everyone is so happy and kind and accepting.
Eventually, I put the mask back on, mostly because I’m sick of holding it and also I have no idea where to put it. Besides, once I’m covered completely, I’m more relaxed. And I think there’s something in the juice because the room is a little tipsy.
After a spell, Jude walks over with a black and white tabby.
“Hey, Annabel, this is Bryce. I was informing him that it’s our first time and you were a little nervous.”
I nod and we shake hands.
Rachel immediately turns her attention to Jude, yapping his ear off and putting her furry hand on his furry arm, the tramp.
But that leaves me to talk to . . . Bryce. Of course Jude found him.
We stand by the food table and I have no idea what to say to get some guy to give me his phone.
May as well start with a compliment. “I like your”—I wave a hand—“cat. It’s very . . . nice.”
Jesus, has anyone ever sucked at espionage as much as I do?
“I like your mouse, too,” he says.
“Thanks. Hey, you’re a cat and I’m a mouse.” I force a laugh. “It’s like we’re . . . Tom and Jerry.”
I’m not funny. But he, kindly, laughs at my terrible joke, then almost as an aside mentions, “I could chase you, if you’re into it.”
Uhhhhh . . . “Ha, ha, ha.” Okay, so he’s also not funny, but then . . . I can’t tell because with the mask, all I can see is a cat with shiny eyes and a furry face tilted in my direction. Is he serious?
“So you want to? We could go outside?” he says into my silence.
“Um.” Holy shit, he really wants to chase me around in our costumes. Like we’re really doing this.
And can I say no? Should I say no? I can’t say no. I need his phone. I need him to ask for my number or do something so I can find out if his phone is on him without straight up asking.
“Sure, fine.” My big head nods and then yes, I’m following him outside.
I’m going outside with a strange man so we can chase each other around the front lawn of the library at ten o’clock at night.
Well, I guess this is more exciting than listening to Reese and Fitz get it on.
We go outside, walking the whole way in complete silence while I internally debate every life choice that has led me to this moment. Once we’re outside, in the dark, Bryce does a little leap and lifts his hands like they’re claws. He bounces toward me, making me jump and squeak like a, well, like a mouse.
He’s not lunging or anything, not moving fast, clearly giving me time to adjust, which is good because I freeze in what might be shock and what might be a swelling of hilarity. That lasts for a full two seconds and then I’m running. Running and laughing from a mixture of what the fuck am I doing and this is insanity and also a realization of just how ridiculous this entire situation is.
It’s like I’m ten all over again, playing tag with Chad and Taylor—except we never dressed up like this unless it was Halloween. And I barely know Bryce. So yeah, exactly like that.
The laughter and the headpiece make it hard to see in the dark, and the game has been going on for less than a minute before I trip over something, which may be my own feet. I land on the grass but the extra padding makes the crash tolerable.
And now I’m really laughing my tail off. Bryce is immediately at my side, pulling off his cat head, his eyes full of concern. He’s got dark hair cut close. I can’t see much else in the dark except the line of his jaw.
“Are you okay?”
“I’m good.” I pull off my mouse head and take a few breaths of cool night air. “I can’t believe we just did that.” I’m still breathless and laughing.
“It was fun, though, right?”
“I . . . It was. I have to be honest, I thought it was strange at first.”
He doesn’t seem offended at my admission. “Sometimes we forget about having fun purely for the sake of enjoyment. We get scared to be silly, because it’s not what’s expected. Like just because you’re older, you can’t do certain things or behave certain ways even though you want to. But who’s to say what’s fun except you?”
“I guess you’re right. I never thought about it. I . . . don’t know what I enjoy anymore.”
I can’t believe those words just popped out of my mouth. Is it true? I don’t even know where it came from. It must be true. I don’t enjoy journalism but I don’t have the courage to go after what I really want.
It’s all too scary.
But Bryce doesn’t say anything weird or act like I’m nuts, he just nods in understanding.
We sit in silence for a moment. The night air is sharp with the bite of winter but it feels good because the suit is pretty warm.
“I hav
e a whole bunch of furry costumes,” he says. “I collect them. I have a whole storage unit for it because I have to hide it from my dad, but we usually go and check them out once a month. All of us. And try different ones on. It’s a lot of fun, if you ever wanna come with us and try it out.”
“Sure. That would be great.”
And then he says, “I’ll give you my number.” And he pulls out his phone from some compartment in his suit.
Holy shit. It can’t be this easy.
“I left my cell inside,” I say. “Let me see yours and I’ll key my number in. I have removable hands.” I pull the detachable gloves off and wiggle my fingers at him.
Goddamn Jude and his brilliant ability to predict things. How does he do it? “That’s a great invention.”
“It really is.”
He hands it over. My heart is pounding. I’m really doing this.
The phone is open to the keypad to enter my number, but I exit out and hit the web browser, keying in the simple address Jude had me memorize. I take a deep breath, waiting for it to load. It probably only takes five seconds but it feels like an eternity.
He can’t see what I’m doing from this vantage, but will he notice the bright screen reflected on my furry face? Will this take so long he’ll be able to tell?
And then he asks, “So what’s up with you and Jude?”
The page loads. I click the download button and watch the spyware install. “Um. Nothing really. We’re friends.”
Halfway loaded.
His eyes brighten. “So, he’s single?”
Fully loaded. The browser closes itself, and I know it’s erasing its path, just like Jude said it would.
And it’s done. I pass him the phone back, suppressing a grumble. At least the plan worked, but why does everyone and their brother want a chance with Jude? And why am I irritated about it? If they want him, they can have him.
“Yeah. He’s single. He has a cat, too, you know. Loves them.”
Bryce’s grin in the dark is brilliant.
Chapter Nine
There is nothing I would not do for those who are really my friends. I have no notion of loving people by halves, it is not my nature.
—Jane Austen, Northanger Abbey
Jude
“I did it!” Annabel squeals as soon as we hit the parking lot.
She’s so incredibly excited, I hate to stifle her delight, but I place a hand over her arm and put a finger to my lips.
She immediately glances around. “Do you think someone is listening?”
“You can never be too careful. Come on.”
We walk in silence to her car and I open the passenger door for her to get in. She had a few drinks after going outside with Bryce and asked me to drive. She’s practically vibrating in the seat next to me.
“You did it,” I say.
“I totally did! Oh my gosh, it was so nerve racking.” She releases a bright laugh.
“I never had any doubts. I knew you could win him over with your sparkling personality.”
She snorts. “You’re so full of shit. Did you somehow plan all of that?”
“If you mean did I put us into his path, then yes, but you did the rest of the work. Sometimes it is as easy as having a goal and taking steps to ensure success. But if you hadn’t agreed to go outside with Bryce, it wouldn’t have happened. If he hadn’t felt comfortable with you, it wouldn’t have happened. How did it play out?”
She explains how Bryce wanted to play cat and mouse and it was so bizarre, but she laughs so freely, more animatedly than I’ve ever seen her.
She pulls the laughter right outta me, too.
Lightness fills my chest. She doesn’t laugh enough. It changes her entire being.
“So, you didn’t mind the whole furry thing?”
“It was weird at first, you know. Clearly. But everyone was so nice. It wasn’t like I thought it would be. Rachel explained a lot of things to me.”
I nod. “They seem like good people. I might go back, actually, for fun. You could come with me. Maybe write something on it for real, you know.”
Her brows lift. “I don’t know how you do these things.”
“Do what things?”
She turns toward me in her seat. “You’re so comfortable in any situation. You have so much confidence it’s leaking from your pores and infusing the air around you. Everyone wanted to be near you. Rachel. Bryce.”
“Really?” I grin. “Does that extend to you?”
She snorts at me and ignores my question. “They all wanted to know if we were together.”
“What did you tell them?”
She brushes her hands up and down her jeans. “Not, you know, much.”
“You didn’t tell Rachel that you and I were an item? Because she seemed to think so.”
“Hmm. That’s odd.” She won’t meet my eyes.
“So you weren’t threatened by her interest?”
She scoffs. “Of course not.”
I choose to let it slide, for now. “You could have confidence leaking from your pores, too. It’s not a condition exclusive to me.”
“Right, well, it isn’t that easy.”
“Maybe it is. Make the decision to have a good time, and you will. Understand that you are a fun person to be around, and others will, too.”
“But what if people think I’m crazy?”
I lean an elbow on the console between us, moving closer. “Those are their thoughts, not yours. You are the master of your life. You have control over yourself and your reactions to the chaos around you, even if the chaos itself is beyond your reach.”
Her eyes are hooded and her gaze flicks down to my mouth.
The action forces my own eyes to her lips, pink and lush, the bottom one slightly fuller than the top.
Slowly, I move my gaze back up to her eyes so there’s no confusion about what I want.
For a second, I think she might give in. She even sways toward me.
“Do you want to go back to your place?” she asks.
“Do you want to go to dinner sometime?”
The shutters fall over her eyes and she pulls back. “This again? Come on, Jude. You have to recognize there’s a certain tension here.” Her hand moves back and forth between us. “And if you want to, you know, relieve the tension, I’m okay with that. But that’s all it is. Nothing more.”
I sit back in the seat and start the car. “I’ll take you on home then.” I pull out of the parking lot and she makes it two blocks before she starts talking again.
“You know I don’t believe in all that romantic bullshit. Sometimes there’s just an itch you need to scratch and nothing more. You know? And together, we would be great . . . scratchers.”
“I’ll wait until you aren’t scared.”
“Scared?” She scoffs. “I’m not scared.”
“You are. Terrified.”
“Of what?”
“Of being emotionally exposed.”
She sucks in a breath.
I glance over at her in the passenger seat. As soon as our eyes meet, she crosses her arms over her chest and turns her gaze out the window.
I’ve pushed too far, but it’s too late to take it back.
The rest of the drive is silent. We don’t speak further until I’ve parked in front of her apartment building.
She opens the door to leave, ready to run off without another word.
“I’ll call you if I hear anything,” I tell her. “And I’ll have your car back here by tomorrow morning.”
She turns, her eyes searching and wary. She nods once.
I wait until the light clicks on through the window before I drive away.
Sunday afternoon, right on cue, there’s a honk out in front of the house.
“Granny’s here,” I call out, but Beast is already walking out the front door.
“Get in, losers, we’re making moonshine,” she hollers from her 1956 Cadillac convertible. It’s a DeVille, and it’s pink with gleaming chrome fi
xtures. Just like the one Elvis used to own.
Granny has sort of adopted us over the last month—in exchange for Beast’s brawny assistance. He’s a natural at making moonshine, as he is with most culinary-related activities.
And me, well, I’m pretty sure I’m being used for the eye candy and flattery.
Once Beast and I have exited the premises, I lock the front door and walk down the path to her car. “Well I do declare, Mrs. Jackson, you are a sight for sore eyes. Is that a new hat?” It matches her car. Large and light pink, with a floppy brim and a white flower poking out of one side. The top is off the Cadillac even though it’s only about sixty-five degrees.
The hat does not, however, match the rest of her. She’s wearing red overalls and a yellow shirt. Giant sunglasses complete her mismatched outfit.
“Don’t you try and butter me up, boy. I’m not adding you to my will even if you are handsome as the devil and talk prettier than a preacher at a tent revival. Besides, I’ll be outliving you anyway.”
I can’t help but laugh as I open the passenger-side door while Beast settles his large frame into the back.
The drive is a quiet one on my part because every time I try to make polite conversation, Granny shushes me so she can concentrate on driving, which means she wants to concentrate on waving and yelling at people she knows that we pass on the slow drive through town—which is everyone. And it’s slower than normal since she’s doing fifteen in a thirty.
“Hey, Prudence, don’t forget to cover your roses before it gets too cold! It’s likely to get below freezing before next month!”
“Hello, Mr. Thompson! If you’re gonna go without a hat, remember to put sunscreen on that shiny head of yours!”
“Elaine! You gonna send me that fried chicken recipe?”
Once there are no more townies to yell at, she speeds up and then hauls tail down the long gravel drive, blowing dust in our wake.
Granny lives in a ranch-style home owned by Reese’s parents, Granny’s son and his wife.
It’s large and comfortable and colorful. The giant ranch house has orange shutters, red trim, blue shingles—and a blindingly yellow rocking chair with a shotgun leaning against it on the porch. The house itself is a reflection of its owners’ artistic natures, although they’re rarely ever here.
