2. Art

Art

I am sitting alarmingly close to Dean Miller. The couch in Frank's office is tiny, and despite perching on the far corner of the cushion, there are mere inches between his shoulders and my right tentacles. That is not good. Those tentacles sometimes have a mind of their own. They also have a fondness for Dean Miller.

I still can't believe one of them wound around his wrist this morning. How embarrassing.

"Cold morning, huh?" Dean Miller says.

I stare back at him like an idiot. That's pretty much all I can manage around him. Either I'm slack-jawed and silent, or I'm molesting him with my tentacles. Sometimes it's both while my metachrosis kicks in, and poor Dean gets molested by camouflaged tentacles. Because that isn't creepy at all.

Instead of commenting on my profound social awkwardness, he smiles. This makes his distractingly symmetrical face even more appealing. My stomach flutters in response.

Where is Frank? I need to get out of here.

The door to the office opens. He spreads his enormous gray wings for a moment, then folds them neatly along his back. "Sorry. My wings are stiff from flying all the way to Paris and back last weekend. My girlfriend wanted to go shopping again. You know how it is."

Art and I glance at each other. We're both gay, and therefore, do not "know how it is" to have a girlfriend who insists on shopping trips to Paris. Don't ask me how I know Dean Miller's sexuality. It may or may not be a constant fixation of mine.

Frank walks past us to his desk, his wings rustling behind him. He's a harpy. That means he can shift into a huge bird, with the exception of his head. But like me, he stays mostly in his human form. The main difference being that he shows off his wings, which make him look like an angel, while my tentacles make me look like the villain of a horror movie.

"I'm just gonna be real with you. The lab techs keep quitting. It's like our lab is a bowl and the lab techs are water. I keep pouring water into the bowl, but somehow, it's always empty. Do you want to explain that to me, Art?"

Oh, no. He's talking to me. That means I have to say something intelligent in response. Now he's staring at me because I've been silent for too long. Dean Miller is staring too.

"The bottom of the bowl is permeable?" I guess.

Frank points at me. "Exactly. Something is causing these lab techs to not like our bowl very much."

"That would mean the bowl was repellent, not permeable."

He sighs. "That's the problem right there. You're always correcting people, or you're just plain rude to them. We've talked about this before."

Unfortunately, we have talked about this before. But those times we didn't have the "Art is failing at basic human interaction" conversation in front of Dean Miller.

"The last lab tech quit because of something you said to her. Did you know that?" Frank asks.

I shake my head. I liked Julie. Her handwriting was excellent and she never stared at my tentacles. Guilt twists in my gut as I try to figure out what I said that made her so upset she decided to quit her job.

"Every time we lose a lab tech, I have to hire someone new. Do you have any idea how long our security clearance process takes?"

I shake my head again.

"Apparently, I can't fire you. The board said your big brain was ‘irreplaceable.'" Frank does air quotes around the word "irreplaceable," like he doesn't agree. Dean Miller visibly cringes.

This is humiliating. I force myself to stay visible, even though I desperately want to disappear.

"That means I have to figure out another way to prevent you from offending people." Frank turns to Dean Miller. "This is where you come in."

"I'm supposed to prevent Art from offending people?" he asks.

"Exactly. You get along with everyone, so you're going to teach Art how to interact with people in a way that doesn't make them want to quit. You're also going to work side-by-side with him all day and smooth over any unpleasant interactions he may have with the rest of the staff."

Dean Miller chews on his bottom lip in a way that makes me wonder what it might feel like if I got to chew on his bottom lip. This is such a bad idea. I won't be able to focus around him. The only thing keeping me from getting fired is my brain, and he turns it to putty.

"I don't want to work side-by-side with Dean Miller," I say.

"Too bad. I may not be able to fire you, but I can demand that you do this. I am still your boss."

That is very unfortunate.

Dean Miller smiles at me. "Working with me won't be that bad. I can teach you a few tips and tricks to getting along with the lab techs," he says. "It's not so hard once you get the hang of it."

He doesn't understand. I've been trying to "get along" with people my entire life. When I was younger, I was desperate to make friends, but nothing I tried ever worked. People outside my family don't like me. They never will. It's easier to keep to myself, even if it gets lonely sometimes.

However, I love this job. I don't like Frank or the ridiculous grant applications we have to waste time with to fund our research, but the work itself is important. I truly believe it will help people.

"What if you locked me away in a room every day where I couldn't speak to anyone?" I suggest.

Frank sighs. "For Christ's sake, Art. This isn't optional."

"What if we just did it for a month?" Dean Miller says. "Christmas break is a month away. We could try it until then. If you absolutely loathe every minute with me, you'll get to take a week off and drink too much eggnog before you have to come back."

A month is a very long time.

"Cephalopod shifters don't celebrate Christmas," I tell him.

"Okay. Sorry. That was presumptuous of me. You can take the week off doing whatever cephalopods do when they're forced to take their PTO during a Christian holiday when traveling is exorbitantly expensive and it's too cold to spend time outside."

I can't help but smile a little bit at that. He's right. Christmas is a terrible time for everyone else to use their PTO. There's nothing more traditional amongst cephalopods than complaining about Christmas break.

Damn it. This is why I'm always flustered around Dean Miller. He's not only visually pleasing, he's funny.

"I would rather work in solitude," I say.

Frank clears his throat. "You're forgetting this isn't optional. I'll put you on probation if you refuse, and neither of us wants that."

Fear coils in my gut. It will take me another six years to complete the research that cannot continue without me. Something like probation could put all of that in jeopardy.

"Fine. If I must put up with Dean Miller until December 23rd, then I will."

Frank clenches his jaw and looks up at the ceiling, even though there is nothing but drywall up there. "That is exactly the kind of thing you can't say anymore, Art."

"It's okay—" Dean Miller starts, but Frank glares at him.

"You're supposed to teach him how to interact with people."

Dean Miller shrugs. "We have a whole month to work on it. Today we'll go over some basic ground rules and phrases to avoid."

Interacting with people isn't that simple. I've tried reading books about how to make friends, and I only ended up embarrassing myself. But Frank seems satisfied.

"You're a good egg, Dean. I'm at the end of my rope here. I can't deal with hiring lab techs every month because Art has no people skills."

Dean Miller's jaw tightens for just a moment, then he plasters on a smile that even I can tell is fake. "I'm looking forward to spending more time with Art. Like the board said, he's the big brain behind this operation."

Frank pauses and gives Dean Miller a long look. "One of the big brains."

"Right, but I imagine he's the only one of us who's irreplaceable. It might be good to remember that."

With that, Dean Miller walks out the door.