1

“To be completely honest, there’s no one who deserves this more than you do.”

Ayala Diner beamed. She had worked so hard to get where she sat today. She opened her mouth to speak, but caught herself, remembering that Mr. Thompson was someone who didn’t like to be interrupted.

“And yet, I’d be breaking a lot of tradition appointing someone like you as our sales lead…” Mr. Thompson continued, turning his back on Ayala for a moment to stare at two portraits on the wall, the family resemblance uncanny.

Ayala’s heart sank – words like “tradition” and “someone like you” did not bode well for her kind. She slumped slightly in her seat, the white patches of fur on her forehead scrunched together. She rubbed her legs against each other in a way that appeared to indicate nerves.

“…you’d run into a fair amount of…scrutiny…especially as this is a cookware company…” He turned, staring Ayala down. “How would you handle it?”

Ayala had been “handling” this type of teasing her entire life, being a member of such a unique minority. Her race, the Dyani, had nearly hunted to extinction hundreds of years ago when they were discovered on a small island in the Caribbean. They were labeled savages, like so many others native to the Americas, with the distinction of looking like a mix of a human and a common deer.

“Head on.” Ayala said, confidently.

“Some would prefer head off…” He quickly responded, testing her.

Ayala felt a sudden warmth between her legs, which was soon quelled by a familiar pain from her right oblique. She saw a flash in her mind’s eye of the times she’d been reminded of how far her race had come. A sales conference “up north” would have mounted heads of some of her ancestors in the conference room, a lifeless, vacant stare their final expression of their existence. Who they were, and whom they loved, was forever lost – their only remaining legacy was as a mounted trophy.

“Some are still very old fashioned, I agree, Mr. Thompson.” Ayala stated, leaving a pause for dramatic effect, a sales tactic she had learned from him. “But, that’s exactly why I’m the right choice for this position. You always say that we need to evolve with the times – I say that identity should be humans and Dyani working together, side by side. What better statement could you make than to have ME as the one leading the way selling our signature pots and pans!” Ayala said, confidently.

Mr. Thompson smiled, and nodded. “Yes, it is time we made a very important decision on who we will be and how we will market to the next generation…”

Mr. Thompson’s gaze drifted again to the two portraits on the wall.

“You know, my father wouldn’t approve of this type of thing…” he said, staring at the portrait to his left. “He was much more of a separate but equal kind of guy…”

As time passed, so did the barbaric customs that her ancestors suffered. Dyani like Ayala were treated as equals, and no longer lived in segregated societies “for their safety.” Over centuries of change, they were able to obtain citizenship, hold bank accounts, and work among humans. Even in Ayala’s lifetime, harassment was taken very seriously – the “who brought dinner?” jokes she endured as a child were a thing of the past.

“And my grandfather…” Mr. Thompson continued, now looking at the portrait to his right. “Well…you don’t want to know what he’d do if he saw you in here.” He paused, and turned to face Ayala for one final test.

“You know, our original best-selling piece of cookware was actually a pot specially made for…”

“…cooking Dyani, I know.” Ayala muttered, her eyes wandering from his for a second, a flush coming over her face.

Ayala knew deep down she was safe from what was once determined to be the “true purpose” of her race – being cooked and served as a venison dinner for humans. Stories, festivals, and holidays had been made around the ritual of “hunting the most dangerous game.” But, as time evolved, public opinion turned to finding the practice questionable, then immoral, and finally, absolutely illegal…

…except for one rare exception.

“About that…” Ayala said, finding her footing, discreetly wiping the sweat forming on her forehead. “I am well aware of the history of this company, and with THAT in mind, I’ve developed a revolutionary new product that I think can really put us back on top for decades to come!”

Ayala felt the energy in her words as she finished her pitch, studying Mr. Thompson’s reaction, his curiosity clearly piqued. She watched as he slowly walked over, sat on his desk, and nodded for her to continue. This was her best chance to finally seal the deal – she felt the gravity of the moment after years of working toward this exact moment.

“I call it the Dyani-matic! It’s a special Instant Pot for vegetarian meals – it has a special immersion technology that allows plant-based meats to soak in the same depth of flavor as traditional meats – so they taste even more like the “real” thing. Think about it – the hardest thing about eating cleaner is you crave certain comfort foods – but they NEVER taste the same! I’d like to give our buyers a chance to sample the best vegetarian meals they’ve ever had – healthier, cheaper, and best of all, without the need to slaughter an innocent animal.”

“WELL SAID, Ayala.” Mr. Thompson loudly replied, jumping out of his seat. “When can you bring it in?”

“Well, the prototype is with Lily right now, she’d been my taste tester. I can get it cleaned up and over here by the end of the week?” Ayala exclaimed.

“Perfect. Save it for your big day. But please, keep this to yourself, I’d like it to be a big surprise when we name our sales lead on Friday.” “It’s a bit presumptuous, but I wanted to say – congratulations.”

Mr. Thompson took a moment to nod to at both of his forefathers before walking over to Ayala and extending his hand.

“Thank you, Sir, I’m just so grateful for you, really. You have no idea what it’s like to have a boss who sees you for what you are on the inside.” Ayala said, shaking his hand.

Ayala closed her eyes for a moment, trying to hold back tears, as she in a rush realized how far she’d really come. Her mother would be so proud of her. She’d remained abstinent for thirteen years, and now, she was going to do something no Dyani had ever done.

Ayala took a breath as a shudder went through her body, remembering who she was in her youth, and the path she was once on that nearly consumed her.

Despite the peaceful and comfortable living between humans and Dyani, there were still those on both sides who craved a return to the “old days” and the “tradition” of a Dyani hunt. For that reason, a legal carve out still existed – Dyani could consent to a hunt – with the full understanding of the stakes and consequences within. A Dyani could only be eaten if she made the choice to run naked through the forest, knowing that if she was caught, she would be snuffed, cooked, eaten, and any part of her could and would be proudly displayed as a trophy.

“It’s been an honor watching you grow up here, Ayala. I still remember you as a young intern – our first Dyani at Thompson – something that you’ve proved was long overdue. Now, I can’t imagine having anyone else at the head of our table.”

Ayala and Mr. Thompson’s long handshake slowly blended into a hug.

“There, there. It’s going to be an entirely new generation for Thompson – with you as the face of the company - and the celebration begins Friday!” Mr. Thompson declared.

2

Ayala stood taller than ever as she marched out of Mr. Thompson’s office and headed across the 38th floor to her corner office. She made sure to make eye contact with each of her various co-workers on the way there, exchanging a nod, a smile, or a hand gesture with all of them, feeling the inevitability of her ascension in the room. She felt a familiar shadow behind her, and allowed it to follow her.

As Ayala entered her office, she left her door open, with Lily walking right in behind her, softly closing the door softly behind her. Lily never knocked, but best friends don’t need to ask permission to drop in – especially on a day as big as this.

“So…how are you feeling?” Lily said.

“I feel like…” Ayala paused for suspense. “…I feel like you’re looking at the new Lead of Sales at Thompson Cookware!

Lily squealed. They jumped up and down in Ayala’s office, which Ayala noted now felt small.

“I KNEW IT!!!” Lily exclaimed. “That’s why I made a lunch reservation at our favorite all-greens restaurant – so you don’t forget ME when you get to the top!” Lily teased.

I’d never forget you, Lily. Ever.” Ayala remarked. “Thanks for always being there for me. Really.” Ayala said, tears welling in her eyes.

“I don’t even know what you mean? Why wouldn’t I be?” Lily said.

Ayala nodded at her absent minded, go with the flow Gen Z counterpart. Lily wouldn’t know what she meant – she was fifteen years her junior, after all, and she grew up in a world where there was nothing different about being Dyani. She didn’t even realize there was any reason to think any differently – her only realizations of past perceptions were of celebrities being “cancelled” for their racist remarks about Dyani.

Ayala just decided to hug her very human, very blonde, best friend a little longer.

“Gosh, you’re emotional today. You’re sure there isn’t something else on your mind?” Lily wondered aloud.

Mr. Thompson’s words had lingered in Ayala, but she didn’t dare share them with Lily. Ayala remembered what it was like growing up. She felt herself travel back to the time when she was just a teenager at an all-human party, where one of the older relatives of a friend asked “When dinner would be in the oven?” and gave her THAT stare. Or, the time in college where a drunken frat guy pushed her against a wall, claiming he planned to “mount her in his bedroom and add her to his trophy wall.” She quickly turned him down, telling him he was a racist asshole.

His words still echoed in her mind – she could still taste the alcohol on his breath when he said he wanted to “fucking skin her” and “if this was 50 years ago, you’d be riding our fucking spit.”

Ayala never forgot those moments. She never talked about how sad they made her feel. She never shared it was the only time she ever questioned herself.

And she especially, especially, never told anyone how they secretly made her wet.

Just then, Ayala overheard laughter in the lobby of the 38th floor of Thompson Cookware. There was something about the laugh that made Ayala uneasy, like it somehow lacked the prerequisite of joy. Ayala felt herself wandering towards the sound, feeling for a second not in control of herself, before Lily’s voice broke the tension.

“Oh, that must be the new Director of PC.” Lily announced, her curiosity also piqued.

“Director of PC? Don’t you mean IT?” Ayala quickly corrected, feeling a twang of guilt rush through her body about how she’d just spoken down to her friend. Ayala noted she had suddenly become anxious, like whatever was out there was somehow unsafe.

“No, like Director of Political Correctness. I heard some of the guys talking about it in the cafeteria.” Lily absentmindedly said, her head bobbing up and down trying to catch a glimpse.

“SOME OF THE GUYS?” Ayala suddenly exclaimed, before collecting herself. “You didn’t tell me you were talking to someone here?” Ayala pressured, eager for the gossip.

“Oh, no, it’s not like that. Well, not YET, at least.” Lily said with a giggle. “Just some of the younger guys at work, my age, really. They’ve been talking about how we’ve hired someone to make sure it’s not “too woke” around here. It’s not something you’d understand.”

Ayala was taken aback, feeling her jaw go slack. Lily had never spoken to her like that before.

“Because you’re older, duh. What did you think I meant?” Lily said, studying Ayala’s face. “Besides, I didn’t think you were interested in men. Or, at least, interested in anything besides work.”

“I just have…particular tastes…when it comes to romance.” Ayala stated, feeling a bit embarrassed, not sure if she should feel more or less offended.

“Well, why don’t we go meet our new co-worker and see what they’ve got a taste for?” Lily said, nodding at the opportunity to help steady her best friend.

“You’re right, Lily. Actually, this is her job, is to make sure nothing ever comes between us!” Ayala said.

Ayala led the way in approaching the gathering of a dozen or so co-workers. She didn’t know what she expected the new “Director of PC” to look like, but she was pleased to see it was a woman – an older woman, a generation older than Ayala, nonetheless. She was tall and thin, with lean, well-kept muscle, dyed bleached blonde hair, and very tan skin, like she spent hours in the sun. THIS was the type of woman Lily could look up to, Ayala thought to herself, a successful human twice her age.

Ayala felt that excitement turn to an uneasiness in her stomach when this woman made eye contact with her. There was *something* about the way she stared at Ayala that pierced into her soul, and she felt her body freeze, like, well, a deer in the headlights. For a moment, Ayala felt like she and this woman were the only people in the room, their surroundings completely fading to black, the only sound her own heartbeat.

She could only watch as the woman slowly approached her, each step heightening her natural senses, her fur starting to stand on edge. Ayala’s feet turned; every instinct told her to run, but she stood her ground. The woman stopped about six inches too close for Ayala’s comfort. Ayala could’ve sworn the woman took a huge inhale before speaking, as if she were breathing in her scent.

“You must be Ayala…dinner.” The woman said, a smirk flashing on her face.

Ayala had heard the joke before, but not since college. She felt her hands squeeze into a fist, and forced a swallow as she suddenly regained awareness of all of the others in the room. The quietness of the room and the anticipation of what would happen next somehow felt very loud. She quickly turned her workplace confidence on.

“It’s Ayala DINER, actually. Pronounced…”

“Oh.” the woman interrupted. “Dine-her. Perfect. How absolutely perfect.” the woman responded, letting the moment linger for a few seconds. “You look even better than I’d imagined. You’re grade A I presume?”

Ayala couldn’t believe the slight – being referred to by a meat grade instead of her standing in the company. She felt herself take a big breath and her stance widened, ready to push back on whatever THIS was.

Before Ayala could speak, the woman burst out in laughter.

“Oh, it’s just a JOKE, my little doe.” The woman said, poking Ayala on her nose. She looked around the room at Ayala’s co-workers, and made a gesture with her arms, and some of them joined her in laughing at the joke. Ayala didn’t like how easily this woman had made this joke feel…normal.

“I go by Remi. It’s nice to FINALLY meet you, Miss Dine-Her.”

Remi offered a handshake, and Ayala reluctantly accepted it, even as her brain raced at what was happening and the strange way that Remi lingered on the word “finally”, as if her reputation, or somehow, her existence preceded her. She felt Remi squeeze her hand enough that it hurt, but before Ayala could react, Remi discarded her hand in a way that felt disrespectful.

Remi then stepped back, and looked at each person in the room to make sure she had their full attention.

“Everyone…THIS is exactly what I’ve come to Thompson Cookware to do. My job is to make sure all of US together can finally have FUN at work again and enjoy ourselves. For too long, everyone’s just been so worried about saying the WRONG thing, and we’ve lost sight of what makes all of US special, while OTHERS are simply not.”

Remi looked over at Ayala briefly when she had referenced “others”, with Ayala feeling deliberately slighted.

“So say it with me - “I want everyone to know that the RIGHT thing to do is treat everyone how they SHOULD be treated.” Remi announced.

Ayala heard clapping and some cheers from the group. She was surprised to see Lily mindlessly clapping along.

“Go on, say it everyone!” Remi shouted.

Ayala couldn’t shake the stare that Remi kept flashing in her direction - cold, indifferent, and yet, as disinterested as she appeared, she was certain Remi’s attention was solely fixed on her. As people tried on the new slogan, Remi crossed her arms and stood quietly. She noticed Mr. Thompson standing at the doorway of his office, and she tried to flash him a look that shared her disapproval, but found him repeating her phrase as well, nodding along. Her heart sank.

“GREAT JOB EVERYONE!” Remi shouted. “Camaraderie and groupthink are going to go hand in hand at Thompson moving forward! With that in mind, as my first official act as head of PC - I’m organizing a potluck this Friday. Please bring your best dishes. I’ll be bringing mine – a recipe that’s been passed down for generations with a VERY special ingredient.”

Ayala felt Remi’s eyes burn into hers as she said the words recipe and ingredient. She did not like what this woman had already done to her, and she felt her right oblique ache again as the implication lingered.

The group slowly dispersed, and Remi walked back towards Ayala, invading her personal bubble even further this time, and whispered in her ear.

“I do hope you’ll come to the potluck. I’m going to make something special just for you, Miss Dine-her.”

Ayala could feel Remi’s breath on her neck as Remi shifted her position from Ayala’s ear to right in front of her eyes, making no effort to disguise herself as her eyes slowly scanned over her body.

“Oh, and by the way. Grade A at your age would be a compliment.” Remi said.

Ayala felt a wetness inside her - a wetness she had not felt in a long time. She felt herself breathe heavily, her vision blurred. She noticed for the first time a strange necklace that Remi wore, the collection of stones resembling…bones?

Just as quickly as Remi had stepped forward, she walked off, snapping Ayala back into reality.

Lily walked over to Ayala, excited.

“A potluck sure sounds fun! Maybe I’ll make those mashed potatoes you say go with everything? What are you going to bring to the table, Ayala?” Lily asked.