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Because the wholeDeliverance-squeal-like-a-pig thing wasn’t getting any traction, and the clothes thing had been a flop, Tean gestured at the lobby of the resort. True to its name, Santaland had gone all out with the Christmas decorations. Plastic Christmas trees, of course, filled every corner, shedding multicolored light from big, old-fashioned bulbs. Plastic reindeer perched in ornamental spaces overhead, looking down at conference-goers from where they bounded and leaped and frolicked in plastic snow. Plastic garlands draped the mantel of an enormous fieldstone fireplace, where orange plastic streamers shimmered. No actual fire in August, thank God—Tean was still soaked with sweat after the short walk from the car. Plastic elves wore jaunty plastic hats. And, of course, no fewer than eight plastic Santas were staged in various positions: one in a sleigh, of course, and another with a sack of toys over his shoulder. One appeared to be bending over and pulling down his red velour trousers. Background music played softly, and at least one of the hidden speakers had blown. It sounded like Irving Berlin had suffered a stroke. The only concession to the conference were signs and banners for the International Habitat Conservation and Protection Association.
“Do you know—” Tean began.
“You get one, so make it good.”
For a moment, Tean floundered. He went with “They have too many bucks. If these were real deer, when they went into rut, they’d trash this place.”
Jem made a face. “Really? That’s the one you picked?”
“No, hold on—”
Laughing, Jem put a hand on his nape and steered him toward the registration desk. “You’re going to have fun. You’re going to cut open snails and ride walruses and throw fish back into ponds, and one of you is going to have to wear the shame antlers, and there will be so much animal urine, you’ll be like a kid in a candy store.”
“One time,” Tean said, “I had coyote urine in my pocket one time, and it should be a lesson to you not to snoop, much less open things that don’t belong to you.”
Jem smiled at an older man passing them, and because he was Jem, the older man smiled back.
“If I’d smiled at him,” Tean said, “he would have burned me at the stake.”
“Get it all out of your system, or your friends are going to make you wear the shame antlers when you do the annual penguin dive.”
“What are the shame antlers? What is a penguin dive?”
“Like you don’t know.”
“It’s going to be three unbearably boring days, Jem. In fact, it’s going to be so boring that we should turn around right now, and we can fly back tonight, and—”
“This lady is coming to talk to you.”
“—and I’m going to tell her I’ve got giardia, and don’t you dare contradict me.”
“Never,” Jem said through a smile as the woman reached them.
It had been years since Tean had seen Missy Bennett—since grad school, actually—and she’d changed. They both had, of course. She’d gotten rid of most of her dark hair (thanks to Jem, Tean knew it was called a bald fade), and she’d opted for a baggy t-shirt and jeans that accentuated the androgynous look. The heart-shaped gauges were new, but the earbuds worn around her neck weren’t—and neither were the dark, friendly eyes.
“Missy—” Tean began, lurching into a hug when Jem propelled him from behind.
At the same time, Missy said, “Teancum—”
She laughed. Tean tried to extricate himself. Jem, when Tean glimpsed him out of the corner of his eye, was beaming.
When they separated, Missy turned toward Jem, holding out a hand. They shook, and Missy said, “You must be—”
But Jem said over her, “He doesn’t have giardia.”
It was an interesting experience, Tean thought through the distant ringing in his ears. He’d never been swallowed by a black hole in slow motion before.
Then Jem grinned and said, “I’m Jem.”
And somehow, because he was Jem—again, over and over again—Missy only laughed and said, “Missy. I’ve wanted so badly to meet you. Ever since you made Tean get Instagram.”
“He didn’t make me get it,” Tean said. “He stole my identity and created the account himself.”
Missy’s smile got bigger. “I see rings.”
“Yes,” Tean said, touching his gold band absently, “and it’s always getting caught on something. With my luck, I’ll probably get my hand ripped off during the walrus ride.”
Missy turned a look on Jem.
