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Fluffer doesn’t share their enthusiasm in the slightest.
I knew I’d be breakfast one day. Knew it.
Art gets the dust bath and sets it out for the little guy.
Turns out, his fear of us isn’t as strong as his urge to take a bath, and as Fluffer rolls around, Mom watches him closely—presumably in case he flashes his peen.
When the dust bath is over, she shakes her head. “I have no idea. You’ll have to consult with a rodent specialist.”
“He or she is very cute, though,” Dad says. “And reminds me of last week.”
Mom grins knowingly. “Yeah.”
I pointedly do not ask what happened last week. There’s no way the answer is something anyone wants to hear.
Art doesn’t get the memo. “What happened last week?”
“We got furry,” Dad says.
“On our Try a New Kink Night,’” Mom adds.
Oh, the images. The images. I see them doing it in Wookie suits. In Ewok suits. Kneazles. Nifflers. Pygmy Puffs. Fizgig. Gizmo. Tribbles. The list will never end.
Someone please bleach my brain. I don’t need it anymore.
Judging by Art’s expression, he doesn’t know what Dad is talking about—and to his credit, he doesn’t ask.
It doesn’t matter, though. They’ll elaborate if not distracted.
“Guys,” I say, forestalling any explanations. “Did I tell you about Art’s amazing Russian movies?”
The deflection works beautifully. My parents clamor to see an example, so Art puts on TheDiamond Arm.
The film turns out to be a crime comedy, and Art has to pause it frequently to talk about Russia with Mom and Dad—who are apparently planning a trip there.
“Were you born close to the Arctic Circle also?” Mom asks after Art explains where Kolyma is—a place mentioned in the movie.
He tells them that he was born in Riga, Latvia, and that it’s a little closer to the Arctic Circle than Moscow, the city he grew up in. He also suggests they visit Latvia over Russia because it is safer.
By the time the credits roll, it’s lunch time, and Art invites everyone to the kitchen.
The main dish looks and tastes like pulled pork but is actually made of jackfruit. In general, fruit seems to be the theme here. There’s fruit sushi, fruit salad, and fruit cake on the table.
“Botanically speaking, an avocado roll is fruit sushi too,” Art says as he gives everyone a serving of his sweet creation. “But I wanted to make something different for you. Something memorable.”
“This is delicious,” Dad says when he tries a piece of a raspberry-mango-kiwi roll with peanut butter. “The only problem is that this gives me a craving for real sushi.” He and Mom exchange creepy glances.
I wonder what that’s about.
No, scratch that. I don’t want to know. In fact, I steer the conversation back to their hypothetical trip to Latvia, which leads my parents to pepper Art with more questions.
When our meal is over, my parents demand to see one of Art’s ballet performances. It’s been a while since I’ve drooled over one of those, so I’m up for that too.
Art puts on The Sleeping Beauty, where he’s the male lead. Watching it takes forever because my parents keep asking him what each of the moves is called (an avalanche of French words), who wrote the music (Tchaikovsky), and so on.
On my end, when Art’s character appears, I wish I weren’t in the company of my parents. His role is Prince Désiré, which is quite appropriate given the raw, carnal feelings he evokes in me.
I shift in my seat uncomfortably. Rule for the future: wear a pad when watching ballet with Art. Or better yet, watch it without Mom and Dad.
