I woke the next morning to swollen eyes and a scratchy throat. I reached for the box of tissues at my bedside, nose a leaky faucet once I sat up within my comforter. Coughing a little into the tissue, I balled it up and aimed for the trash can.

Looking over the side of my bed, I located my slippers sitting close to the air vent. Stretching probably beyond human means, I snatched them from their spot and quickly slipped them over my sockless feet. I quickly grabbed my towel, a fresh set of underwear, joggers, long sleeve t-shirt, and an oversized hoodie.

Shuffling obnoxiously down the short hall to the bathroom, I hurriedly closed the door and turned on the hot water. As I waited for the water to warm, I took stock in the vanity mirror.

Crying and laughing all night was definitely something I did not want to do again.

Stripping, I stepped under the hot water. The steam unclogged my sinuses a bit and I could breath easy again. I stayed under the water a little longer than necessary, the water warming me up quite nicely.

Once I turned off the water, I quickly toweled off and hauled on the layers I'd lain out. Twisting my hair into a towel turban, I pumped lotion into my hand and lathered it on my face, hands, and toes.

Quickly opening up a pack of eye masks, I pasted the metallic suckers over my eye bags, hoping they would do something. Dodging back into my bedroom, I dug through the sock basket and pulled out two different-colored wool socks.

Shrugging, I pulled them on then slipped my slippers back on underneath. Snapping my phone off the charger, I pressed the home button. A solid eleven thirty glared back at me.

"What the—"

Dashing to the other side of my room, I pulled open the blackout curtains. The bright noon-day sun glinting against the ocean sea blinded me momentarily and I quickly pulled the curtains shut again.

I busted down the stairs, quickly opened a can of food from the fridge, grabbed the plastic bowl sitting on the counter, and threw open the back door. Frankie sat there calmly, licking her paw and patting behind her ear.

Heaving a sigh of relief, I squatted and plopped the wet cat food into the bowl. The bowl set near enough to Her Majesty, Frankie leant over and dug in. My arms folded around my knees and I watched her eat. I had once tried to pet her while she ate; I could still find the fading scar on the back of my arm.

Once she had finished, she rubbed her scarred, cowlicked fur against my pants leg, and I took that as the okay to pet her. Gently pressing my hand into her fur and lightly scratching behind her ears and beneath her chin, I noted what I observed aloud,

"Aren't you a gorgeous girl, huh?"

She gave a low mrrow and the motor that was her purr vibrated through her entire body.

"You're gettin' kinda chunky, aren'tcha gorgeous? Looks like the food is helping."

When I first found Frankie outside my backdoor, she'd been a skeletal mess with fresh wounds curled into a ball next to the backstep. I'd rushed her to the local vet, coughing and sneezing the entire way.

While they were patching her up, the vet tech had recommended I run to the CVS and grab a few Benadryl, since my reaction to her was so severe. I'd thusly passed out in the vet waiting room. This was how I'd officially met my friend Sally.

She'd brought in her giant Great Dane for his routine checkup and noticed the vet tech trying to wake me up, to no avail. Once I was in a drugged Benadryl stupor, I was dead to the world. She'd mentioned that I was a regular at her coffee shop and talked to the tech for me. After getting all the information for me, she went through her dog Bentley's appointment then sat in the waiting room with me until I woke up.

In the groggy stupor that I was, I was basically useless for another thirty minutes. As we both waited for the med-induced fog to pass, she asked about my relationship to the cat, and I explained my side of the story. Interested in the results for the cat, we exchanged numbers and she left, monster dog in tow. Since I'd had such a bad reaction to the cat, the vet recommended a couple day stay at a reduced price, and I agreed.

Over the next few days, I visited before and after my time at the café. I would update Sally on her condition and sit at the bar chatting with her, simultaneously working on my next project and sipping on my habitual hot cocoa.

We had a few scares with Frankie—named for Frankie Heck from the Middle—the first day or so, but afterwards, she pulled through, thank heavens. Once she was released, I brought her home; well, relatively. I'd bought an insulated dog house and hung a multi-layered piece of cloth overlapped by a thick plastic covering, clumsily stitched together by yours truly, in front of the doorway. Placed right next to the door, I hoped she would stay there while she recovered.

She did.

And then some.

Which was how I—a strong allergic—acquired a tough outdoor cat with a literal chip off her shoulder.

After washing my hands and swallowing down my daily allergy pill, I dashed to the bathroom to peel the patches from beneath my eyes and slap on some tinted moisturizer and mascara and called it good. Grabbing my laptop, drawing tablet, and phone from their charging stations, I shoved them into my bag and hurried out the door.

Five minutes away from the café, my stomach grew butterflies. What if Mr.Soft—Andrei. I had his name now. What if Andrei was there? I really didn't want to see him before our supposed date, which I was in reality dreading.

Thankfully, once the bell dinged and I looked around, I didn't see the familiar stranger and his posse. Only the normal lunch regulars. Heaving a sigh of relief, I grabbed a hot chocolate and a sandwich from Sally and headed to my normal spot.

After the lunch rush died down, and it hit close to half past one, Sally put a part-timer in front of the register and came to talk to me during her break. I told her a condensed version of my harrowing experience yesterday until I came to the Beach Reveal—as my brain had deemed it.

"Then, when we were at the beach—"

Did I tell her about Andrei being a selkie? He shared it with me readily, but was it more of a real secret than an open one?

"And he told me something that put his behavior into perspective, but it was also really weird and I'm not quite sure how I feel about it."

"What did he tell you?"

I paused.

Did I tell her? Or no?

Would Andrei care?

Was it okay for me to share?

"I can't tell you. I think it's kind of important to him."

"C'mon, you can tell me!" She pressed, grinning mischieviously.

"No, dude, I really can't. He didn't tell me not to, but it seemed really personal."

My eyebrows were creased, and a hard edge had crept into my voice.

She leaned back in her seat, a satisfied smirk tweaking the right side of her smile upwards.

"He told you he was a selkie, didn't he?"

I blinked. Multiple times. It might have been S.O.S. in morse code.

Sally burst out laughing.

"Your face, dude! If I had my phone—"

"How-how did you know?!" I spluttered, whispering harshly.

It took her a minute or two to compose herself, then she held the palm of her right hand up to me. I blinked, confused, at her hand for a bit, then looked back to her face.

"Look in between my fingers."

I focused on where she told me, and it took be a bit but then I finally saw it. There was thin, skin-tinted film connecting her fingers together.

"What—"

"It's the same on my other hand, and on my toes, too."

"How—"

"I'm half selkie. Mom was one, dad wasn't. Halves get webbing in between their toes and fingers. I was more human, so my webbing isn't as strong, but my sister's was, so she went full selkie once an older one died."

"So when you saw Andrei—"

"I've known him for years, and he's a good kid. A little shy, hasn't really picked up on human behaviors yet, but he's getting there."

"So when I—"

"I knew exactly what was gonna happen. Thank heavens it was Andrei's and not Mikhail's, who's a total dickhead. He's nice, he's a good guy, but he never sticks around for long, if you know what I mean."

"So—"

"No, you're not going crazy."

"But—"

"This is not some kind of elaborate joke, honey."

"Why—"

"Honey, drink your cocoa."

I took a sip, then decided I needed just a bit more. I was parched and these new revelations were a bit shocking.

"So I should be totally good on this date, right? Like, nothing to worry about?"

"You'll be totally safe. He doesn't speak English very well, but he understands it just fine. He also knows when to take no for an answer."

"Which should be every time."

"Exactly."

"But what if after this date, I'm, like, definitely not into him at all?"

Sally paused, eyebrows slightly creased, and looked to the side.

"He'd leave you alone if you really wanted him to. It's kind of taboo to reject a pairing, but since you're an outsider he wouldn't be in a bad place for long. But sweetie," she reached out and grabbed my hand gently in hers, "he is a good kid. I'd be surprised if you didn't like him. But, you're human, and I don't know you perfectly, so make the decision that feels best to you. Don't do it because it might make someone else happy or because of what you think other people's expectations of you are. No one else can make you happy but you."

I nodded, a little cowed by her emotional speech, but also bolstered by it.

"Speaking of which, when is he coming to pick you up?"

"At three."

"It's two thirty, doesn't it take you about fifteen minutes to—"

"Oh my gosh! I've gotta run!" I hurriedly packed up my bag and sprinted for the door. Paused with the door propped open, I waved back to Sally,

"Thanks again, Sally! I'll tell you what I think tomorrow!"

She raised her hand in response,

"Sure thing, sweetie!"

And I dashed off.