Page 19 of Reindeer Flames
I cleared my throat to get Papa and Dad's attention while they peeled the big bucket of potatoes between them. "I need to tell you something."
Dad grinned up at me. "Have you been spending all your free time with that omega, Tinsel? He sure was a cutie-pie."
"No, but it is omega related." My voice squeaked on the last word.
"Well, spit it out, son!" Dad sliced into another potato.
Neither of them made eye contact with me. I could do this. After I sucked in a deep breath, I asked, "Have you been to Silver and Gold's bakery?"
"Have we?" Dad glanced at Papa, who shook his head. "I don't think so."
"It's run by dragons?—"
"Oh, yes!" Papa dropped his finished potato into the bucket and reached for another. "They're delightful. I ordered croissants for family dinner last month because the grocery store didn't have what we usually get."
"They're expensive," Dad grumbled. "I remember the bill."
"They were delicious," Papa said. "And the beta dragon, Gold, gave me a coupon for next time. I didn't need croissants today, but next time …"
"What about them, Son?" Dad frowned at me.
"Well, I'm sort of dating Silver."
"Silver?" Dad looked confused.
Papa dropped his knife into the bucket. "The omega dragon?" He blinked up at me. "He's huge!"
I expected that reaction from my dad, but the derision in my omega papa's tone was too much. I turned away to hide the stinging in my eyes.
"Hey! Where y'all at?" Bopp's voice carried from the direction of the front door.
"In the kitchen," Papa called.
"Is that Large Omega Lover in there with you?" Bopp's laughter grated on my last nerve.
"I'm gonna go." I turned and fled toward the side door.
"Hart, wait!" Papa shouted after me, but I was already outside in the blissfully peaceful snow, the only sound the pounding of my heart. Instead of walking back to the sidewalk, I shifted right there on the steps, shredding my clothes. The gray sky welcomed me. I kicked my legs harder than necessary until I reached the altitude just below the protective dome that hid us from the rest of the world.
The frozen air ruffled through my fur like a caress. Too soon, I reached my apartment building. It was a five-story walk-up, and my apartment was on the top floor. The roof door was propped open, thanks to so many flying shifters needing an escape into their animal forms on the weekend. I shifted in the stairwell and sprinted to my apartment. Thankfully, no one on my floor had kids, and we were all shifters comfortable with nakedness. We all honored one unspoken rule: no loitering in the hallway.
Without a second thought, I turned on the shower, going through the same motions I would have followed at my parents' place. Shower. Shave. Slap some aftershave on my cheeks. Dress in my Sunday best, thanks to the closet of suits in my old room. Help Papa set the table. Suffer through yet another dinner with my bigoted grandparents complaining about how diversity ruined the North Pole.
"Back in my day," Granddad would say, "reindeer and elves were all we had around here. Then the other shifters showed up, and the fae." Papa and Dad would glance at each other and roll their eyes while the rest of our family said things like, "Here, here," and "You tell it, Granddad."
I slapped some aftershave on my cheeks and stared at my reflection in the mirror. My skin felt tight and razor-burned.'Twas the season. For the first half of the year, I grew my beard out, but the moment we switched to practicing our routes and flying time trials, starting in July, I shaved my beard.
I'd failed my first time trial for Santa 30. That night, I'd shaved off my beard, tried again the next morning, and made the team.
Some called me superstitious, but I refused to run a time trial or fly the sleigh with a beard. It obviously had nothing to do with aerodynamics, since I ran and flew in my reindeer form with fur all over my face. I couldn't explain it. Something seemed off when I had a beard, or even two days' stubble.
I patted my cheeks like the kid in my favorite Christmas movie and let out a loud wail. What had I done? I should have stayed and tried to talk to my parents, but with Bopp there, it felt too much like they were ganging up on me.
Now, my routine diverged from my usual Sunday. Instead of dress clothes, I pulled on a pair of gray sweats. Instead of a big meal, I ate a peanut butter and jelly sandwich on day-old bread from Silver's bakery. Afterward, I flopped onto the sofa to watch people haggle over houses on a home and garden show.
The morning flight must have worn me out more than I thought. I fell asleep during the commercial break before the big reveal. I would never know which house the happy couple bought.
When I woke up, it was almost time to eat again. I grabbed my cell phone from the charger and checked my messages. I was both glad and disappointed there were none from my family.
