“I’m a dog person,” her blind date said, which screamed loud and clear he was either a dog shifter or a cat who liked to be contrary. There was a certain way he cocked his head that suggested a dog and his thick, golden mane, neatly groomed, reminded her of a labrador. He most likely shifted for the first time very young. You could sometimes tell, the human and animal merging a little too seamlessly. Nif shook her head, trying to dispel those thoughts. What right did she have to judge?
“Shall we share a bottle of wine?” Nif asked instead of answering, flipping open the wine menu.
“Yes, of course. Your choice.” Her date, Trevor, waved down the waiter before Nif had even had a chance to choose a red or white.
Trevor’s Tender profile had said he was thirty-one, just over a year older than Nif, and yet his bouncy enthusiasm made Nif feel like his senior. But Trevor did seem like a nice guy, which was better than most men she’d been on dates with. At least he had a pleasing voice though Nif was beginning to suspect he liked the sound of it, too.
The waiter took their food order and Nif released the tension in her shoulders, breathing deeply. The restaurant was playing acoustic versions of 80s rock ballads and the lighting was soft and romantic. Trees in large, black and gold ceramic pots divided the restaurant floor and the rustle and flutter of birds wings cast shadows across their table. Perfect date-night material, but she was already looking forward to the point when she could politely decline coffee and retreat home to watch an episode of her favourite murder mystery.
Was she becoming jaded as she grew older? It wasn’t like Trevor had done anything wrong, but there wasn’t that spark she was looking for. She was seriously considering giving up on finding a life partner forever and expanding on that library she always wanted with floor to ceiling shelves.
“I’ve never been to this restaurant before. I’m a burger and chips kind of guy,” Trevor admitted. “But the food looks good.”
Nif followed his gaze to the next table over. Another couple on a date, though clearly not the first. The young woman had her shoes off and the tablecloth wasn’t long enough to hide what she was doing with her toes. Sneaking a peek back at Trevor to see where he was actually looking, she was relieved he was in fact eyeing off the man’s steak, so raw it was almost blue. The sight made her queasy.
“I’m glad you’re not squeamish around meat,” he added. “I once dated a sheep shifter who was adamantly against all animal products despite all the strict ethical farming regulations. She was an extreme animal rights activist, too. Think she ran off to join a shift-form only enclave out east in the end. Not that I judge.”
“Right,” Nif said with a tight smile.
At the table on Nif’s left was an older couple, age worn deeply around their eyes, eating without speaking, but existing in the same space with a quiet ease. Nif envied them.
“They have an amazing chocolate cake for dessert,” Nif said. “I don’t come here nearly often enough.”
The restaurant had been Nif’s choice, but it wasn’t a favourite in case the date went sour and she was never able to return again. She’d been on enough first dates to have her routine sorted, though she could never get used to the rollercoaster of emotions.
So far she could tick the frantic getting ready item off her list. The self pep-talk while she did her makeup always had her housemate Sapha yowling in laughter from in front of the TV. Nif would invariably feel despondent and exhausted, wanting to blow the whole thing off and move to a deserted island. Sapha did Nif’s hair as a silent apology for laughing, and for the first half hour of the date, her hair had fallen in wonderful long curls. Nif suspected it would return to its naturally iron-straight state before her salmon and steamed veggies arrived.
Wine and food ordered. Tick. Now they were at the awkward getting-to-know-you stage of the evening.
“So Jennifer, your profile says you’re in publishing.” Trevor started the first round of twenty questions, though he hadn’t actually asked a question. He wiggled his eyebrows encouragingly, a shade darker than his hair, and she had to admit he had well proportioned features.
“Yeah, I’m a junior editor. For a speculative print.”
“I wrote a novel once,” Trevor said, leaning forward across the table as if he was telling Nif a secret. Not with a voice he had. Booming was putting it kindly, and it was oddly endearing though perhaps more so at a distance. “Never went anywhere, of course, but I didn’t write it to be published. Just wanted to see if I could do it, you know?”
A long pause followed as Nif struggled to find something to say that wouldn’t shift this date into a pitch session. Often she’d been trapped listening politely to writers go on about how their novel was the next bestseller when she’d made the mistake of mentioning where she worked. Enough dates had actually been an attempt at getting a foot through the publishing door that she was considering removing her job from her profile entirely. The writers were always so desperately earnest and Nif just didn’t have the heart to say no. Her down time was usually spent reading half-baked manuscripts and then figuring out how to let the author down gently without bursting their bubble. Sapha was always on about how Nif was a sucker for a sob story.
“That’s good.” Nif offered an encouraging smile, and deftly attempted a topic change. “And you’re an accountant, right?”
“Yeah, it pays the bills, but that’s not what my passion in life is.”
Their meals arrived -- Trevor got the steak -- and as Nif tidied her napkin in her lap, she noticed Trevor dipping a finger into her water glass to smooth down his eyebrows. She glanced up startled and tried to cover it up by reaching for her wine glass. Yes, he’d definitely used her glass. Maybe he hadn’t noticed? Why was there always something weird about the men she dated? She made a firm mental note to stick to the wine.
“So what is your passion then?” Nif asked, half-dreading his answer.
“Would you judge me if I said it was long walks along the beach?” He laughed at his own joke and Nif hastily stuffed a forkful of green beans into her mouth. “I’m a huge fan of hiking actually. Along beaches, over mountains, anywhere out amongst nature. Helps me feel closer to my true self, you know?”
Nif hummed non-committedly. She slipped her phone into her lap and pulled up the pre-typed message requesting Sapha to call with an emergency. This date wasn’t quite there yet -- though the eyebrow thing was weird, right? -- but she was fairly certain it wouldn’t eventuate into a second one.
“I’d totally bought into the nine to five schtick after uni, but I…” Trevor was cut off at the sound of breaking glass and the crack of a palm greeting someone’s cheek.
Horrified, Nif watched as the young couple beside them exploded into motion, the table tipping to the side with a thud and the half finished meals sliding into a mess of broken crockery, spilt wine, mushy vegetables and steak sauce.
“I’m sick of your games!” the man bellowed, chest beginning to bulge. Nif glanced over at Trevor, but his focus was entirely on the fight. The waitstaff had gathered by the register and the man who’d served them was on the phone. A guitar solo swelled towards a climax from the restaurant speakers.
“My games?” the woman yelled, gesturing wide armed at the overturned table. “You’re the child. You expect me to dress up like a tart so you can get your rocks off and yet when I ask you to come to one of my openings, it’s suddenly all ‘art is for snobs’ and you’ve ‘no time for that rubbish’. Well screw you, Jon. You don’t get to pick what parts of me you date.” The young woman had also grown a foot, her dress stretching at the seams, and her dark skin was changing, spots of tawny brown and gold shimmering across smooth muscles.
“I told you I was busy, okay? Not all of us have the privilege of not working for a living. I’ve a project deadline coming up and you know how hard my boss is riding my arse!” The guy ran his hands through his coarse, dark hair spreading down his neck under his collar, the tips of his hair shining silver. “The world doesn’t revolve around you and your hobby!”
“Hobby? You wouldn’t know art if it bit you!” she shrieked and her shifting body accelerated. Her dress tore as she landed on all fours, her long, sleek tail snapping back and forth as her strong, leopard body crouched low. She couldn’t speak anymore, but she hissed her rage through bared teeth. Her partner pounded his now bare chest, his trousers tight around his waist and split open at his thighs. He opened massive jaws bearing long, white fangs. Nif hadn’t seen a gorilla shift this close before and fear froze her to her seat. She clutched her phone tightly to her chest and waited for someone else to do something.
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The staff were quietly trying to clear the area, but the argument was between Nif and Trevor’s table and the nearest exit. Both gorilla and leopard trembled with barely leashed violence. Any second now and fur would go flying.
“Shall we?” said a soft voice behind Nif. She’d forgotten the older couple. Carefully, so as not to gain the shifted couple’s attention -- even though she knew they weren’t wild animals, that they maintained their cognitive facilities in either form -- Nif looked their way, lips already forming words to tell them to leave.
Except the older couple were no longer in their human forms. The woman’s pearls were neatly pooled by her cutlery and her shawl carefully draped over her seat. The man’s trousers and shirt were similarly folded and two pairs of shoes were side by side beneath the table. They’d obviously had practice changing in short order, but most surprisingly, the older couple were a shift match. Both had hulking forms, fur a gleaming chestnut brown and silver around their muzzles, hunched over with their ears brushing the restaurant ceiling. Grizzly bears.
The unease keeping Nif frozen to her chair dispelled immediately at the familiar sight and even though the older woman wasn’t her mother, they shared the same colour fur. The older man -- now a bear -- opened his mouth and roared. The bottles of spirits behind the bar shook, and Nif and Trevor ducked beneath their table, making themselves scarce.
“You okay?” he whispered. He didn’t try to hold her hand, which she was mostly relieved about. Her phone was slick in her sweaty palms.
“Yeah.”
The gorilla was temporarily stunned by the older bear’s bellow, while the leopard just looked smug and then a moment later, she shifted back into her human form. Gloriously naked, she brushed her hair back from her face and glared up at her partner.
“You’re a disgrace,” she hissed, her feline vocal chords still close to the surface. “Consider our relationship over. If I see you around again, I’ll really tear you a new one.” She gathered up her torn dress and discarded shoes and shoved them into her bag, before slinging the whole thing over her shoulder.
The gorilla snapped back into his human form, his anger snuffed out and replaced by embarrassment. His waistband of his trousers chose that moment to snap and they pooled around the remnants of his broken, leather shoes.
“Clara, please,” he said, ignoring his blatant nudity. Nif wanted to look away on his behalf. “We should talk about this.”
“I’m sorry for the commotion,” said the woman, bowing shortly to the restaurant staff and then to the rest of the patrons. “Jon here will cover the drink bill for the entire restaurant as a sign of his repentance.” She smoothly shifted back into her leopard form, her bag snug around her chest, and padded out into the street.
“Sir,” said the head waiter, his face impressively neutral. “If you’d follow me. There’s the bill to discuss.”
Nif slowly emerged from beneath the table, settling into her chair and glancing down at the last of her cold vegetables. She knocked back her glass of wine.
“Well that was unexpected. A bit of entertainment with our meal,” Trevor laughed and kindly topped up her wine glass.
The elderly bear couple beside them shifted back and went about re-dressing, unperturbed their wrinkly bits were on show to the whole restaurant. Trevor and the other patrons didn’t even seem to notice, but Nif couldn’t help but see all that bare skin. It was the same when the gorilla and leopard shifters had transformed back into their human forms, oblivious to their own naked bodies. It was another reason why Nif was so different. She couldn’t help but notice the nudity. The older lady caught her eye and smiled gently, then turned so her partner could do up the zipper of her dress. Cheeks hot, Nif focused on the dark ruby colour of her wine.
Someone righted the table beside them, and the mess was cleaned within minutes, and soon it was as if nothing happened at all except they received a complimentary bottle of red. Nif was more than happy to crack it open, and was already envisioning the phone call to her mum about the whole evening.
“Right, so what were we talking about?” Trevor asked, and the date was back on track.
“Your passion?” Nif suggested, and pushed her plate to the side. Maybe she could order dessert now?
“That’s right. So I just woke up one day and thought, this can’t be what life is really all about, right? So I joined a big brother program. I volunteer my time taking groups of kids out on hikes and camping trips. Sharing my love for the environment with others is my dream. It’s incredible seeing these lost kids realise who they truly are outside of the big city.”
“That’s actually really sweet,” Nif admitted, and maybe she’d been too quick to judge him after all. He might talk a mile a minute, but he was cute in a puppy dog way and she could imagine joining him on bush walks. He’d be the sort who’d be happy to stick to her slower pace.
“And I was Woke, you know?” Trevor admitted, nodding his head earnestly. “It doesn’t matter what shift someone has.”
Nif shifted uncomfortably in her seat. She took a sip of wine. Fiddled with her napkin. Desperately tried to think of a way to change the topic.
“So where’s your favourite place to hike then?”
“The Termora Ranges are stunning,” Trevor said and the knot behind Nif’s sternum unclenched a little. “But the Mount Echo Forest is where my soul feels most at home. It’s where I realised how much harm stereotyping people by their animal shape does.”
God, he was like a dog with a bone.
“See,” Trevor said, putting down his wine glass so he could gesture with his hands. “People assume dogs are faithful and cats are arrogant, which is just not true. Well, not always true. I’ve met some truly sweet cats in my line of work. But it doesn’t matter in the end. That couple from earlier?”
How could she forget?
“The gorilla and the leopard?” he clarified. “Some people would say they’re dangerous because of the animal they can change into, but that’s all just stereotyping. The woman was an artist so she’s creative, which some wouldn’t guess by her appearance. The man could be a banker for all we know. We’ve got to judge people by their words and actions, not by what they are. Beast or man. You agree with me, yeah?”
“Of course,” Nif blurted, twisting the napkin in knots. “The world would be a lot better off if we didn’t make assumptions about people by their appearance or things beyond their control.” Maybe Trevor genuinely believed what he said? Maybe he wouldn’t care about Nif? But then the dreaded question. The one she’d been waiting for. Sometimes it came early on a date, sometimes after dessert, but it was always asked at some point.
“Not that it matters,” Trevor added. “I mean, I may as well just ask what your favourite colour is. Mine is blue. We’re just getting to know each other, right, and I’d like to get to know you more, if you know what I mean.”
Nif’s stomach plummeted. She knew what he meant. Her tongue was stuck to the roof of her mouth, the sticky wine residue clinging to her teeth.
“I should go first, shouldn’t I?” Trevor offered and pushed aside his half-eaten steak. “I mean, I asked first, so it’s only fair I come clean -- so to speak -- because it’s not a big deal really. Like knowing your shoe size. You’re an eight, right? Eight and a half? It’s a party trick I do. Guess women’s shoe sizes. So I’m a labrador. Bet you hadn’t guessed, right? No one picks it, and that’s what I mean about how our shapes don’t define us. So, go on, safe space here, I promise. Doesn’t matter really, whether you’re mammal, bird or reptile, all are equal in my book. So come on, tell me. What’s yours?”
Nif waited, just a breath, to see if Trevor picked up a second wind or not. She kind of wished he would, just so she wouldn’t have to answer.
“I don’t have one,” she murmured into her wine glass. The rim was almost big enough to slip inside it.
“Sorry, didn’t catch that. You’re going to have to speak up. You’d think they’d turn the music down a fraction, for those with extra hearing.”
“I can’t shift.” And of course, right at that moment the restaurant slipped into one of those synchronised pauses as everyone took a breath. Her words carried across the gentle tap of cutlery on crockery and lips meeting wine glass rims, and two dozen eyes spun her way. A gorilla/leopard showdown had almost shaken the roof down, but it was this that shocked people. Nif sunk into her chair, cheeks hot and glowing more than the wine and poor genes could contribute to.
“Oh.” For the first time that night, Trevor was speechless.
Nif glanced at the phone in her lap and hit send. Before Trevor could gather himself, Sapha called and Nif almost dropped her phone in her desperation to answer it.
“You okay, missy?” Sapha crooned. Nif could hear the laugh track from one of Sapha’s TV shows in the background.
“Not really.”
“Initiating rescue. Your housemate is out of catnip. Urgent resupply is needed.”
“Oh no, will she be okay?”
“She’s on the verge of life and death, but she may make it through depending if you can also grab some more of those salt and balsamic vinegar chips. The no name brand though. The pricey ones are for shit.”
“I’ll be right there.” Nif hung up and forced herself to meet Trevor’s eyes.
He wasn’t stupid. He knew a date bail when he saw one, but what was worse was he appeared relieved. All that talk about not stereotyping and judging people by things they couldn’t change, and it was her inability to shift that was his line in the sand.
“It was nice meeting you, Trevor,” Nif said, standing up and gathering her things. She overestimated her share of the meal and left the money by her plate.
“Yeah, get home safe,” he said. No mention of a call or even a hint of camaraderie after having hidden beneath a table together. Surely that didn’t happen on every date? The older couple had moved onto dessert, and Nif wished she’d put off answering that question until after she’d had a plate of the restaurant's sinful chocolate cake. The older lady gave her a sympathetic smile, and Nif suddenly wished she was back home with her parents, curled up against her mother’s furry side while her dad combed her hair with his beak.
In the end, as she abandoned the date to order a Ryde pick-up, she tried to convince herself the biggest regret she had was never being able to set foot in the restaurant again. The food, the snug atmosphere, even the patrons -- the gorilla man and the leopard woman, the elderly bear couple -- suddenly took on a fond flavour as her embarrassment of being seen as defective meant she could never go back. At the rate she was going with dates, she wouldn’t be able to return to any of the bars and restaurants within a dozen blocks of her apartment.
In the back of the Ryde, she slumped into the cracked leather, feeling like a collapsed hillside. How could a girl like her find love when she wasn’t whole in the first place?