139- Are you a panda? Because I can’t bear to be without you.
ALI
I’ve just about finished sorting the griffin out when one of the kids clears their throat.
“I think if we sing to it, the wing will heal faster.” He announces with total confidence. Julian raises an eyebrow.
“Oh yeah? Where’d you learn that trick?” He asks. The smallest one pipes up.
“My nana sings to me when I’m sick. It makes me feel better.” This is said as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world and that somehow Julian is the silly one for not knowing that. Still, I can’t argue with the kid’s logic. Before I can even suggest a gentler alternative, the living room explodes into song. It’s loud, high pitched, and utterly chaotic. One child belts out something that sounds suspiciously like the opening to a superhero cartoon, another commits to a melody that is mostly shrieking with enthusiasm. There is clapping. There is interpretive dance. The griffin looks mildly alarmed but oddly soothed. Or maybe he’s just so baffled by the sudden show that he’s forgotten his injuries. Julian leans over to stroke the griffin’s neck, murmuring something calm and encouraging, and immediately gets bitten. He doesn’t flinch, just slowly pulls his hand back.
“Alright, fair enough. I’ll ask next time.” He says very gently. I stare at him. He didn’t even BLINK when the griffin bit him.
He just said he should have asked. I didn’t think you could fall in love twice in one night, but here we are… The griffin, evidently satisfied with asserting dominance, gives a self satisfied chirp and waddles a few clumsy steps forward… Only to collapse dramatically across Julian’s foot. One wing draped like a Victorian fainting lady. It lets out a long, exaggerated sigh like it's just been through a great and terrible ordeal. Which I guess it kind of has? Julian blinks down at it.
“Did I pass some kind of a test? Is this my life now?” He asks contemplatively. One of the kids nods solemnly.
“You’re the Griffin Dad now.” He announces. Another little girl solemnly drapes the sparkly towel around Julian’s shoulders like a ceremonial cloak or something. Julian accepts it with the gravity of someone being knighted. I feel myself falling harder with every passing moment. I had been so worried. Worried that this, the mess, the creatures, the strange interruptions and louder than expected emotions, would scare him off. Or worse, that he’d tolerate it quietly but never really understand it. But he’s sitting in the middle of it all, a baby griffin drooling on his boot and a child is trying to braid rosemary into his hair, but he’s just sitting there, like this is exactly where he’s meant to be. I think he might even be enjoying himself. He catches me watching and smiles.
“Is this going to be a regular part of our dinner dates? Because if so, I might invest in thicker socks. This little guy’s claws are no joke.” He comments, his voice warm and a little teasing. I try to answer, but my heart is trying to climb up my throat. Is he flirting with me while holding an injured animal and comforting a distressed child? Stop it. I can’t handle that.
Eventually, after Julian makes a bunch of phone calls and bribes all the children by giving them the feathers that have somehow ended up scattered throughout the room already, the kids are collected and taken home. They’re peeled off the floor by siblings and shushed out the door by exhausted parents who barely question why their children smell like medicinal salve and bird feathers. The griffin finally falls asleep in a nest of towels and half my throw pillows, snuggled against Julian’s foot like it’s a lifelong source of comfort. I’m smitten. Fully, hopelessly, no way out smitten. Julian being sweet with kids? Respecting my chaotic, mildly improvised magical healing process? Making dad jokes while elbow deep in mythical creature triage? Done. I am done. There’s no coming back from this. Dinner is a distant memory until my stomach growls loud enough to betray me. I look at the clock, and then at the cold, slightly wilted meal on the counter, and sigh.
“I’m sorry. This was supposed to be our first real dinner. Not... Whatever this was. I really did try and make it nice but it just ended up ruined.” I tell him. I suddenly feel a bit teary. I put a lot of work into this dinner. I wanted to impress him with a really nice meal. Particularly since he’s willing to stick to vegetarian meals when he’s eating together with me. I would never force him to do that, but part of my magic is a sort of extra empathetic connection with animals so the idea of eating them, or being around someone eating them… Well, it makes me feel a little sick. It wasn’t until our third date that Julian realised why I was only picking at my food and since then he hasn’t eaten a single meat product when he’s around me. Last time we were out we ordered a vegetarian option and it was… Really disappointing. I just wanted to prove that I could still make a nice meal that we can both share. So much for that. Julian shrugs, easy and sincere.
“I still got to spend the evening with you. I’d call that a win. And it’s not too late to eat.” He says casually. I’m a little anxious about it. I don’t want him to think I’m a terrible cook. I’m usually very proud of my cooking abilities. But I don’t want to send him away either so I agree. We reheat what we can. The vegetables are a little mushy, and the bread isn’t warm anymore, but it doesn’t matter. Julian tells me at least three times how amazing the bread is and even eats all the vegetables without complaint. We sit on the floor while we eat, because the griffin is still sitting on Julian’s foot with its little claws hooked into the hem of his pants. Throughout the mean, Julian feeds it grapes, with a fork like it’s a tiny, feathered lord. Seriously, he’s feeding it grapes. He’s using a fork. I think I might have to marry this man. He’s just so perfect. The conversation drifts, soft, sleepy, full of quiet laughter and gentle looks. Julian tells me he was nervous about tonight too. That he thought maybe I’d be weirded out by him or think he’s been coming on too strong. I nearly drop my fork.
“Julian, because of me, you’re hand feeding a griffin and just spent an hour babysitting a bunch of random children. If anyone’s getting thrown into the deep end it’s you.” I point out. As if to punctuate the moment, the griffin perks up and lunges for a candle that I brought down from the table in an attempt to restore at least a hint of the romantic evening I had planned. Neither of us move in time. There's a sizzle, a snort, and the griffin looks deeply betrayed, wax dripping from its beak. Julian doesn’t even blink.
“That one’s on you, buddy.” He tells the griffin dryly. It chirps, wounded and dramatic. Then it flops across Julian’s lap like it’s dying again, wing flung over its eyes, tiny talons tucked in like it’s seconds from drawing up its will. Julian frowns.
“He didn’t burn himself… Did he?” He asks, a little concerned.
“It’s fine, just being a bit theatrical.” I sigh fondly. The griffin huffs. Deeply offended. Julian shrugs and starts petting it again, murmuring nonsense in a soft, careful voice. He’s talking to it in a soft voice. That’s my thing. Stop that. No, wait. Don’t. Okay, note to self. Do everything I can to make this thing between us work out. If this relationship fails, it will not be because I didn’t try hard enough. It will be because Julian Mead is absurdly good with griffins and I emotionally combusted.