Here's a secret about my Mom: she loves like she researches. It's all intense bursts of closeness that gets bookended by social desertion. That doesn't mean she doesn't love me. She loves me with her entire heart. It's just... Her mind is busy with other things.
It's like I'm a sailor in ancient eras; most of the time, she's a far-off mermaid or siren that dazzles and inspires and drives me mad. But the few times I get close enough, and even when I realize she's just a normal old Manatee, I'm still in love.
Sure, it's frustrating. There are months where I barely see her for a week or two, then spend an entire day with her like I'm the most important thing in the world. Those perfect nights make up for all the blank space. Well, mostly perfect. Sometimes days like visiting her lab happen and there's nothing either of us can do about those. She didn't know how that'd make me feel. It isn't her fault.
But this time, spending all day cuddled up with her on the couch, it felt different—wrong different.
It's mostly the same as other special days, but I have... other concerns to think about. I do have a hungry, lonely person in my bedroom that I'm eager to get back to, and Beck and I did plan to do some research together before she sprung this "day off" on both of us. Even though I enjoy my time with her, my skin feels all prickly, and I have to resort to a sweatshirt on a hot summer day to cover the visible bristles.
"Gotta be honest, Tiger, I don't like this King Orm guy very much."
Her words toss me out of my thoughts and I kick my feet over the top of the couch. "I don't think you're supposed to like him, Mom."
"Says the weirdo who sits like a monkey," she giggles.
I never loved the monkey comparison, but there's something that stings more, knowing that James has never made a joke like that over the past few weeks. Not once.
Sighing, I say, "The point isn't for you to like the villain."
"Hmm." Mom peers at the screen like King Orm has personally wronged her. But I'm all too aware of her lacking patience for hyper-masculine characters. She almost started rooting for the Predator the first time we watched it together. That is, until I pointed out that the Predator was coded masculine, too, and she scoffed and said she preferred Aliens.
Taking a passive-aggressive sip of her coffee, Mom says, "I somewhat regret voting this over Shape of Water."
Action films have never been Mom's forte, but she stomachs them for Beck and I. Thank god for Beck, because otherwise I would've been stuck watching them forever alone in my bedroom. Now at least Mom has a begrudging respect for the special effects, even when she's grumpy like this.
"It's too late, just roll with it." I'll watch The Shape of Water later, anyway. But I'm not going to say that aloud.
Mom clicks her tongue and crosses her arms, sinking into the couch like I've just given her a death sentence. "Action films really are just grotesquely stuffed with muscled-up men, aren't they?"
"Charlize Theron can't star in every single one, Mom."
"Why not? I think it'd be a great improvement."
The rest of the night we laugh about fish pecs, giggle over Chinese takeout, roll our eyes when the delivery guy says he's honored by our order and promises that other people say the food is very authentic, but also doesn't get the hint when my mom says, "Konichiwa."
It all feels off, though, and I can't tell if Mom even notices. She looks just as cheery and clueless, like we just made up for two weeks of distance.
Sure, if we're gal pals talking our 9-5 jobs over wine, maybe. That the job, the husband, and kids took priority, so we met up for these little moments "when we had the time". But I'm her child. And we live in the same house.
It just doesn't feel as sweet anymore.
Especially when the second the movie finishes she kisses the top of my head and runs straight back to her office.
When I get upstairs, James already has The Shape of Water ready on my laptop and a bowl of popcorn prepped. "Heard your Mom ix-nayed the fish romance."
Flopping onto my bed, I reply, "A tragedy, truly."
"I don't mind. You may be an action type, but I love me a good romance."
"Pull yourself together, Jane Eyre, the movie hasn't even started."
As the opening starts, James copies me and lays down on his stomach, the laptop screen only a foot or two away from our faces. As a stereotypical Mom might say, we're begging to burn our eyes out.
I wonder what mine would say. "Should we test it on the fish"?
That would be a sight, truly.
That, or I'm just trying to think of anything other than the fact our elbows are lightly brushing each other. James leans towards me and asks, "What, that my nickname now?"
I try to shut up any telling little giggles. As far as nicknames go, Jane Eyre is only the tip of the iceberg. I have a million for him: lifeguard, little prince, sun boy. Everything we do shows me a new side of him, and each one deserves acknowledgment.
I settle on saying a simple, "Maybe."
James rolls his eyes. "Fine, but I'm going to make one for you and you're going to have to love it."
Our conversation is overwritten by the beautiful green and blue hues of the film. Sure, it's mostly set in the depths of a very sketchy government facility. And maybe I flinch a little too much the first time we see the Amphibian Man in his little pool, a lab rat trapped under hundreds of feet of concrete.
And here I am, complaining about sitting in a comfy bed with everything I can ask for.
Well, other than the beach.
We're both transfixed and silent until the Amphibian Man gets broken out of the lab. My head starts rocking, filled with growing waves about what I'd do with my own freedom.
There isn't any point thinking about it, I know that. I'm better off focusing on what I can do, safe and inside. But as the thoughts keep nagging, the hand millimeters from my own pinkie seems an easier answer.
Though I know it's out of the blue, I pause the movie and ask James, "What do you want to do, once you leave here?"
James barely even blinks, taking it all in stride. That's something I l-
I decide it's best my brain should shut up now, waiting for his answer.
Popping a piece of popcorn in his mouth, he says, "I wanted to be a teacher. Graduated college early for it. Even had a posting a few counties over to be a teaching assistant and everything. But it's hard to be a teacher on the run, isn't it?" I almost laugh and tell him he already told me some of this, but I realize: he didn't, did he? He told Astra. And looking back, he definitely left a lot of details out of his story then. To think, I thought he was so open and honest.
James isn't privy to my internal monologue, though, and keeps talking. "I guess my next option is moving very far away, changing my name, maybe trying to find a way to doctor my degree."
"So you still want to be a teacher."
"I guess I do." James shrugs. "It's just who I am."
Before I can say anything, he shoves a handful of popcorn into my open mouth and un-pausing the film. "Now shush. You knew I'd like this, so hold your questions. We gotta respect the rest of the audience."
I cover my mouth like I'm quieting a laugh, but I'm really hiding how wide I'm grinning. He says that so deadpan, like we're really in a full theater. Maybe even like we're on a movie date, like normal people.
I don't know what "normal" would look like for me. Where would I start? A cell phone, probably?
The answer isn't so easy, but I probably could figure it out with James, right?
I shake my head. This is getting a little out of hand. Like, my obsession with Keanu Reeves in the 10th grade out of hand. This isn't The Matrix and there is no magical pill or magical boy that was going to change it.
This house, my family, that's real.
James is just a short-term, very indulgent fantasy that I have to accept won't last. It's bound to end any day now.
Staring at the screen, I try to only focus on every motion of sign language, every practical effect, all the movie magic that makes my heart skip beats. But then Elisa signs:
When he looks at me, the way he looks at me. He does not know what I lack or that I'm incomplete. He sees me for what I am, as I am.
Against my better nature, I tuck my pinky finger under James'. He doesn't look at me, but I do see the edge of his mouth twitch.
We don't talk about it. We just watch the rest of the film in silence, like it's a secret that we can't admit, not even to each other. Sure, we laughed in all the right places and had mutual misty eyes at the end. But our pinky fingers? Those stay unspoken, and in a way, I like that.
After we shut down the laptop, we babble about nothing until the lights are all off and we're both tucked under our respective covers.
But under the cover of darkness, my lips don't do as well staying silent. I ask, my throat dry, "Would you do that?"
"Would I do what?"
"Feel something for-" I suck in a sudden, sharp breath. What am I thinking? The question would never get the answer I want. What kind of person asks: would you abandon your entire life to date a fish? James will think I'm bonkers. Why ask? "Nevermind."
"... Okay. Goodnight, Kai."
"Goodnight."
I almost ask him about it in the morning, but he wakes up so oddly bittersweet, walking around the room like a lost sailor on the shore wishing for something he can't have. I can't ask him, not when he looks like that. Instead, I sneak him breakfast before heading to Beck's room.
But that look on his face doesn't leave my head. Where I'm normally chock-full of my own thundering brain-waves, it's like the trans-Atlantic current has picked up some of James' Baltic tides to whir around in my head and toss themselves around and around and around-
Mid-skin test, studying the different texture responses of my endometrial nerves, I burst and blurt, "Something's weird about James."
Beck barely misses a beat, pricking my bristled skin before saying, "Ooh, little thief showing his colors? Do we have to take him out before he takes us out?"
"This isn't Taken." I wait for Beck to finish a prick of some of my smooth, cuttlefish skin. "He recognized you from the bonfire. He hasn't been the same since he remembered that."
Unblinking, Beck writes down his notes and goes back to teasing me. "Maybe he's been that bewitched by one starry Astra, or an adorable Kai."
"Be serious. I think he's feeling... regrets."
"If he is, you know they're not about you, right?" Beck taps my shoulder, which is our new shorthand for asking me to shift back to default cuttlefish. I've been "myself" more in the past two weeks than I have been in over a decade. "Have you seriously never seen how he looks at you? No casual Apollo man would stick around anywhere if he wasn't enjoying himself." Beck grimaces as he counts the stripes on my arm, always diligent in seeing if my colors ever changed. "Not to make you sound like a plaything."
"I wasn't thinking that before, but thanks." Swallowing, I admit, "I think he wants to leave."
"Then that's one less thing for us to worry about." It stings more than Beck probably intends. When he sees my frown, he stops logging my skin reactions and looks straight at me. "I know you like him, Kai, and I fully support you enjoying every second while he's here, but you had to know this was never permanent." Back to counting the stripes on my other arm, he seems satisfied with scientific inquiry.
But as his words are already burying a hole in my gut, he throws me another curveball when he says, "Few creatures do well in captivity." Beck tosses a sympathetic smile at the tanks behind him. "Sorry sea monkeys."
Not me? So why am I like this, then? Or am I so alien that I don't even count as a creature?
I don't have the mental bandwidth for questions, though. These foreign tides almost feel more unstable and violent than ever before. Beck is right. At the end of the day that's the truth: Sun princes or gods or whatever James is don't belong in the dark with cuttlefish like me.
I let Beck finish up the rest of the analysis, cataloging how my skin was doing and its adaptability. We discover that we can make me a bit taller, as long as I focus my mass to the exterior, not the interior. I can make it to 6 feet as long as I make my bones practically goddamn hollow. It feels awkward and unbalanced, but not too bad.
It's easier to focus on than whatever the hell my head is doing.
From Beck's room, we go to dinner, a long one with a movie break in it and everything, and from dinner, I finally go back to my room.
I won't admit it to him, but after this morning? I've been avoiding James a bit. I don't want to see what I know is inevitable.
And like a prophetic, darkwave crashing onto my shores, I open my door to James, a packed bag over his shoulder, and the balcony doors wide open.
My heart catches in my chest and his eyes look at me like I'm a sad puppy he's abandoning on the side of the road. I don't like being a puppy, but maybe if it keeps him there...
It takes a little while for me to remember how to breathe, but when I do, I say, "James, you can't go out there."
He runs an errant hand through his hair, his shoulders rolling and hands twitching like he's a caged animal. "I know it's stupid. But I can't hide forever. I need to find my friend and get the necklace back."
"What if you can't find them?" I think about the overalls in my closet. It isn't like I can go to the beach, be Astra, and give them back. Beach trips are over. The second he walks out those doors....
James sighs, frustrated. "Well, the point still stands. Kai, I enjoy being here, I like spending time with you, but... It's a dream. A simulation. I can't live like this forever. I have to go."
Part of me wants to get angry, ask him if that's what he really thought of my life. Especially when, to me, he's the dream. But I can't bring myself to do it.
"Okay. But getting the necklace is dangerous. If you want to go, just go. Don't stay in this town looking for someone you'll probably never see again."
With this infinite certainty, James shakes his head. "My friend isn't like that. I'll find them and I could sell the necklace. Sure, it isn't what my mom wanted, but she'd rather have me use it to follow my dreams than live in an attic the rest of my life."
I wince, and he looks sorry, but he doesn't apologize. Seems everyone's just tossing digs at my life today. I cross my arms and hold them tight, because I know what he means, but it doesn't make feeling left behind any easier.
Creatures can't be caged and no one can live their entire life in an attic. So hell, maybe James is right. Maybe none of this is real. But it's all I have. It's better to live in a simulation than be nothing, right?
With The Odyssey peeking out of his bag, my heart falls through my chest. In here, I'm still nothing, aren't I?
I'm rocked out of my own head when James steps forward and gently takes my hand in his. "You don't have to, either. You could come with me."
I pull my hand out of his grasp, this swirling pit in my stomach, the kind in between pulling him back in or pushing him away.
"I can't." Shaking my head, I say, "Just go. Take my $500. Leave town. Don't be a hopeless romantic about this. How would you even find your friend?"
"I have to try. Think about it, Kai. If they take my necklace to the police, or try to sell it and the cops catch wind... I can't let them get in trouble for my mistakes."
I don't even need to look when I pull my sleeve down. My arm's shimmering from elbow to wrist, wanting to put my arms around him, kiss his forehead, comfort him in any way I can think.
Because how dare this sweet man be torn to shreds just because I'm multiple pieces of an incomplete monster, both of which tricked him into trusting them?
"Goddammit- James." I walk towards my closet and beg, "Don't ask questions. Please."
Grabbing my overalls, I pull out his necklace and hand it to him.
Those soft, sweet eyes fade away. It seems like I've finally found a way to make him recoil. "How the hell do you have this."
Tying my hands in knots, I can't pull my eyes off the ground. "I said don't ask."
"Kai. I'm asking only because I know it's best I don't yell. How the hell did you get this?"
I'm torn between sadness and rage. If he's going to go, he might as well do it already. There's no point in this song and dance, not when I'll never see him again.
Biting back, I say, "Astra didn't betray your completely unfounded trust or anything like that, okay? Just take it and go. Go very far away and become the teacher of your dreams. Forget about me and this entire mess of a simulation. Live the life you deserve."
James is expressionless, dead and closed off like I've never seen him before. I don't like seeing him like this. "I never said my friend's name was Astra." He gestures to the shortalls in my hands. "And why do you have their clothes?"
When he tries to reach for the piece of fabric, I rip myself away and recoil deeper into my room.
"Stop, don't-"
His grasp misses, but James' eyes are filled with confusion and hurt. He keeps staring at me, his nostrils flaring and...
And he looks at me like I'm a stranger.
After a minute of crackling tension, James throws his right hand up and shoves the necklace in his bag, his jaw so tight I swear it looks like he might crack a tooth. "You know what, Kai? Fine. I'll go. I don't know what is up with you, I don't know how a shut-in just happens to have my mother's necklace and my friend's clothes, but you're right. I guess it'll just be a mystery forever." With one final, scathing glare, he says, "I'm sorry I thought I knew you."
I don't know what that glare did to me, but as he stomps towards the balcony door, I find myself darting in front of him onto the balcony. When he tries to pass through, I instead push the door back towards him.
"James, wait-" On a warpath, James runs straight into the door headfirst before either of us can stop.
And just like that, he falls to the floor.
I'm on the second floor knocking on a "Sea Monkey crossing" sign in ten seconds flat. When Beck opens up with a mouthful of goldfish crackers, I say, "Beck, I made a mistake."