Page 18 of Tasty Tentacles

“Speaking of plans, we need to sort out arrangements for our Christmas Eve potluck with the guys.”

“Thanks for reminding me. That’s on my to-do list,” Bertie says with enthusiasm. “I’ll coordinate with Carl and set it up.”

I can’t quite let the present thing go. The guilt is still gnawing, quietly insistent.

“Maybe we should buy ourselves a present?” I suggest. “Something for both of us?”

“We already buy everything we want,” Bertie says, and it’s completely true. “We don’t need anything for the house, apart from a new roof, we both have a closet full of clothes, and we just took that vacation. Let’s just skip presents and focus on the good stuff, like dinner with our friends.”

“Of course. That’s the easiest thing to do.” I’m determined to quash the guilt and let it drop. This is best.

Bertie gets a sly look, and says, “Just a thought: I could surprise you with that puppy you always wanted.”

“That would be wonderful,” I say, imagining it. A cute puppy in our huge backyard, greeting us when we get home every day…but no. “But don’t you dare. You know we don’t have time to give a pup the attention they deserve. It wouldn’t be fair.”

“I know, I know. That will be something to look forward to in retirement, whenever that comes.”

We both ponder wistfully on that, finishing the last few bites of our tacos and picturing a different life, a life with ample time for presents and pups.

“That reminds me,” Bertie says. “I’m worried about Orion. I haven’t seen him since that day we all met up in the bakery. I’m worried I spooked him somehow.”

“I’m sure there isn’t a problem,” I say, but I wonder. Orion was startled when he saw me, so maybe there is something up. But maybe not. He has a lot on his mind now, with our planning for the procedure. That must be throwing him off.

“You know, I don’t even know his last name,” Bertie says, shaking his head. “I have no idea how to reach him. He always just shows up, smiles, and takes off.”

“He is a quiet one,” I say, keeping it vague. Fortunately, I know exactly how to approach the problem without breaking Orion’s confidence. “Don’t worry, I have an appointment with him tomorrow. I’ll check in with him then and make sure he’s doing okay.”

“Thanks. I don’t want to pry into his personal business, but I’m worried, and I miss seeing him. Please let me know what he says. So, getting back to presents, I’m trying to figure out what to do for Camila and the rest of the bakers.”

“Holiday bonuses are always appreciated. That’s what we’re doing at the clinic, and we’ve never had any complaints.”

“I do that every year,” Bertie says.

“And the problem is…?”

“Well, you’re right. I’ve never had a complaint either. It just doesn’t seem very personal.”

“Get her a nice card and tuck it in there, or a poinsettia. That’s sure to put a smile on her face.”

“I’ve been worried about your sense of taste,” I say, looking closely with the magnifier. Sure enough, just like they mentioned in the research article, there’s a narrow groove extending on the ventral side, but only near the tip. That must be the site of taste sensation. “I have some bad news. I don’t see any way we can retain it. It’s mostly localized here at the tips of your tentacula.”

“That’s what I expected, so it shouldn’t be a problem,” Orion says, distracted. “You can’t taste with your chin, after all. I’ll just make do with a normal sense of taste.”

He seems off today, on edge, not his normal stoic self, but he’s taking the bad news better than I would have expected. If he goes through with the procedure, it’s going to be a major sacrifice, vastly narrowing his culinary world. We need to talk about informed consent, so he doesn’t do anything rash, and my plan is still nagging at me. Maybe Bertie and I can help him understand how much he has to lose, with the assistance of some holiday food. But how to do it?

“Excellent point, but it will be an adjustment for you. I’d like you to discuss this with our counselor before we proceed.”

“I’ve had enough counseling to last the rest of my life,” he snaps. “Counseling, therapy, the whole nine yards.”

This isn’t like him at all. There must be something else going on in his life…but is it my place to pry?

“Just the same, I’d be most comfortable performing this procedure if you have at least one session with our counselor. This is an irreversible decision that will impact your entire life, and…”

There’s a quick knock on the door and my new intern enters, carrying a stack of papers.

“I have the cost breakdowns for you and…” he says, and then stops in his tracks, staring at Orion and going sheet white.

Time moves in slow motion as I see him crumple, so I step over and catch him under his arms. The papers scatter in a noisy flurry in all directions.