Aborigen

“Be right back,” Dakota said, to which Rylee could not muster a grunt. A glance at her screen suggested she was deep in a conversation with someone else. Rude, Dakota thought, and excused herself as she slid between a small group of millennials; they apologized and let her slide.

She was nearing the one gap in the bar when a big burly guy in a black shirt, long oily beard, and a samurai knot placed his meaty hand on the bar and filled in the space. He’d pretended not to notice her and leaned over to make eye contact with the bartender.

“Really?” she barked. “Seriously?”

He half-turned and side-eyed her. “Got a problem?”

“You seriously just shoved a woman out of your way?” She got louder. “You big side of beef, that’s how you treat women? No wonder you’re still single!”

His broad shoulders shook with a single chuckle. He drew his hand back, light just catching the wedding band on his finger, but the rest of it had the desired effect. People on the left and right of him slid off their chairs to stand and square off at him.

Dakota could see the wheels turning in his mind. They weren’t as big as him, but they were more than him. Even if he took them out, others would replace them, and the ruckus would attract the attention of a titan. And the titans in here were on their best behavior, looking for a partner, and a noble gesture would completely play into that.

The big guy stepped back and raised his hands partially. “I apologize. Didn’t see you. Here,” he said, digging for his wallet. “Have one on me.” Before she could turn him down, he pasted $10 in her palm and went off to try his luck at the other end of the bar.

“Prick,” she muttered, but nonetheless placed the bill in front of her. She rested on her elbows and caught her breath. That kind of confrontation wasn’t her style, but the evening was giving her weird energy. She didn’t like this many people, and Rylee was being exceptionally Rylee tonight. She hung her head and focused her senses.

She heard a hundred conversations, spiked with laughter.

She could smell old beer and detergent.

The polished bar was hard under her elbows.

Her palate tasted of lingering stout, roasted barley and cocoa.

She drew a long breath and looked up, just as a small plastic sphere raced up to her. It had a shiny cockpit and four wheels jutting from its sides, and it hauled a credit card reader in a wagon behind it. The cockpit clicked open and a tiny man climbed out, hair slicked back, dressed in a black tee and black jeans. Rather than the Småkraft logo, his shirt only had room for a creamy “SB.”

He smiled up at her and waved her to come closer, curling a hand around his mouth. “What can I getcha?” he hollered. His thin voice nonetheless cut through the din.

She was abashed: she’d forgotten to look at a menu, and she hated people who did what she was about to do. She swiped a plasticked menu from nearby and scanned it quickly. “Nachos, definitely. As for beer …”

He waved his arms and hopped behind the menu. “If you don’t mind my saying, you seem like a Velsmagende Milk Stout.”

Dakota blink-blinked at him. “I just had one of those. How did you—” She quickly wiped her mouth, guessing he’d spotted some errant foam.

He laughed. “You just seem like the type. Nothing hoppy, a beer to think about.”

“That’s … pretty good. Are you psychic, or are you just reading something in my microexpressions?”

He nodded, grinning, and wouldn’t say. “Then maybe you’d like to try the Krympet Red. It’s almost as full-bodied as a stout, I don’t think you’ll be disappointed. Our original recipe,” he added, rocking on his heels.

She assented, impressed, and he climbed into his cart to punch in her order. “Anything else?”

She opened her mouth, closed it, then leaned in close and said, “A quieter place to talk to you, actually.”

He’d had one hand on the cockpit and froze. “That’s very kind of you.”

The blood drained out of her face. “Oh, look, I’m sorry. I don’t usually—”

“And I would, normally. But it’s a really busy night, with this event.”

“I know, I know, I’m sorry.”

“And I’m kind of taken. As in very. Three lovely years.” He looked behind him at the far end of the bar.

Dakota thought, oh, please, don’t tell me. As though on cue, the burly guy with the samurai knot leaned over the bar and waved at the tiny bartender, paused when he saw Dakota, and receded into the line of seated patrons.

She straightened up and rolled her eyes to the incredibly high ceiling. “Fuck me.” She heard the buzz of the cart whizz off, and after she checked on her oblivious friend at their table, there was nothing else to do but look up at the presentation.

A gorgeous Japanese giant in a huge replica camel-hair coat was lounging on the stage, his legs hidden behind-scenes off to the right. His face was serene and sculpted waves of brown rolled around his brow; he bore just the shadow of a mustache. A fiercely exotic woman stood in front of his chest, with a strong brow and blazing green eyes. Tall as she was, she only came up to the man’s head as he reclined there. In contrast, she wore only tight, shredded blue jeans and a skimpy olive halter that showed off her abs. By themselves, they would’ve been a formidable power couple, and Dakota was wondering which of them was available. She was very keen on this, in fact.

“She has one of the purest souls I’ve ever encountered,” the man was saying. “She’s endlessly sweet and thoughtful. Origami is one of her favorite pastimes, and she often surprises me with an exquisite animal or a flower a couple times a week. Too tiny for me to see, but …”

The woman reached up to click to the next slide. Dakota had been so fixated on the tableau these two minor deities presented, she’d entirely forgotten to look at the screen to see who was up for grabs. The titan struggled to lie down and get out of the way. The screen now displayed a couple dozen astoundingly precise figures in pastel colors: a swan, a frog, a chrysanthemum, a multihued sphere, diamonds, lots of things. “And it’s all the more amazing because her fingers are far too fine to work with normal paper, yet she still does all this.”

Dakota furrowed her brow. That woman didn’t look small at all. She looked like she could tear a phone book in half, though most people in this room wouldn’t know what that was. Very slowly, she realized there was a high-top table beside the guerilla girl, with a glass carrying case in the center. There was certainly something—or someone—in it, but it was hopeless to make it out from here.

Click. The screen was full of one of the most casually beautiful women she’d ever seen. She was the kind of innocent beauty that makes your heart pound, right before you remember who you are and decide to hide in your house and lose yourself in books until you die.

Her raven hair spilled in long, loose waves around her pale, heart-shaped face. Rosy lips tugged back in a cute grin, and her eyes closed like little smiles themselves. She sat on a huge book and leaned against the spine of another stacked on it, wearing a baggy white shirt and a cardigan that slipped off one shoulder. “Mi-kyung loves to read. She prefers the classics and can quote Pride and Prejudice at the drop of a hat. I don’t think she’s read anything more recent than the Wooster and Jeeves series, actually.”

This got limp laughter from the crowd, who sensed there was a joke in there somewhere.

Click. “She’s gotten my ass outta trouble more than once,” the fierce woman said, rolling the microphone in her grip. “Shota knows me, I’m like to punch a guy out and not even ask questions later. Mi-kyung’s different, well, obviously, but she kinda rubbed off on me.” The photo behind them showed the woman laughing—even her laughter was intimidating—and wearing gold hoop earrings in a back yard on a summer day. There was a tiny figure on her shoulder. Click. The next photo was a close-up shot of Mi-kyung, presumably, sitting on a vast curve of caramel skin. She reached up with one fine hand to grasp the large gold ring, and she was craning her head back to call up to the woman’s ear overhead.

“This was at a barbecue two years ago. My idiot ex showed up with his new girl, and I was about to shove his face into the grill.” The woman rolled her head, flexed her neck at the memory. “But Mi-kyung was with me, and she said something … I can’t repeat it here, but it was hilarious and it totally took the fire out of me. Probably better it went that way.” She stepped to the table and rested her hand tenderly around the glass case. “I’d do anything for her, obvs. She showed me I’m not such a bad person. Like, she said that it’s okay to lose your way because you can always find it back again. Something like that. She’s better at words and shit than I am.”

The crowd laughed and applauded.

“This would be the point where I say that if anyone tried to mess with her, they’d have Shota to deal with.” She walked back to his face and stroked the bridge of his nose like the long face of a horse, patting it at the end.

The titan didn’t need any microphone. “The fact is, Yahya would be all over you before you’d realized you’d done anything wrong. I wouldn’t go up against her.” She flexed her bicep and he playfully took it between long, white, shiny teeth.

Click. The screen displayed a tiny woman standing in the middle of a vintage stove, between four element burners, two of which were boiling rice and simmering beef. “She’s a hell of a cook, too!” Yahya barked. “Her favorite dish is bibimbap. She tells me what to do, and she almost makes me feel like I could be a cook, too.” The next image showed the finished dish in a gray stone bowl, an orange egg yolk glowing in the center of shredded carrots, shiitake, bean sprouts, and spinach. The tiny woman was perched on the edge of the bowl, as though warming her feet in the rice. Yahya’s broad grin overshadowed everything as she leaned in, her hair draping around Mi-kyung like a curtain.

“What’s Mi-kyung looking for in a partner?” asked Shota. Click. “She would like someone who:

• likes to sleep in on the weekends.
• loves cats. Dogs are okay, but there was an incident when she was eight and she can’t trust them.
• loves reading. That’s a deal-breaker.
• is comfortable just being quiet, together.
• works out, eats right, respects themselves.
• is good to their mother! Most important!
• has a favorite Poirot.

“And if yours is Kenneth Branagh, please don’t even bother.”

Yahya cracked up, screaming, “That mustache! That mustache!” and the crowd was with her on it. The screen clicked through to the contact information, and Dakota tugged her phone out of her jeans. She found Mi-kyung’s Instagram page, but it was invite-only; she had a prejudice against Meta products and wouldn’t download WhatsApp. She just sighed and stared at the screen as the video tech hustled up and zoomed in on the impossibly adorable Korean woman in the glass case, blushing and waving and smiling like her heart might burst.

She felt a tug at her elbow. There was the tiny bartender, hauling away at her sweater with all his might. “Sorry, I know you’re into the presentation, but your beer’s here waiting for you.”

Turning all the way around, she found a pint of red beer, the head stubbornly in place, the body almost radiant like the fire of a hearth. She wrapped her hand around it and gave it a sip. There was a slight astringency to it, but it wasn’t unpleasant, and the other flavors piled in to work with it. She nodded at the tiny guy, deeply impressed.

“I was talking with Derek, and he’d like to apologize better.” The tiny bartender bit his lip. “You know, if you wanted to talk some other time. Uh, read the fine print.” He tore the receipt off the card reader in his cart and slid it under her coaster the way a home constructor might manage and wield a sheet of drywall. He hopped into the bubble-cart, wished her a good night, and zipped away.

Too late, Dakota called out, “Hey, wait, I’m running a tab. This is …” She took up the receipt to see what she owed. All it said was Småkraft Brewery’s address, number, and website. Down at the bottom, past a long empty space, there was a tiny scribble in black ink. She pulled out her phone to zoom in, and it started a new contact when the camera saw it was a phone number.

Dakota puffed out her cheeks as the crowd roared at something going on behind her. She denied the new contact, but she folded the receipt and stuck it in her back pocket. She had a lot to think about, not least of which was why she was suddenly so horny and open to the world, when an hour ago she would’ve been happy settling down on her couch with some Brie, some Havarti, an Aperol spritz, and Detective Chinatown for the third time.

Taking up her beer, she threaded her way through the swaying bodies and returned to her table and her friend. Rylee was just putting her phone away when she looked up and grinned at her. Dakota smiled back and perched, holding her pint in both hands. “I don’t know what’s going on with me, Rylee. I don’t know if I’m overstimulated, or if I’ve been swallowing something for years, all this time being alone—”

“That’s super important, and I really want to talk about it with you, but real quick,” Rylee said, tapping the pint glass. “What’d you get me?”

All Episodes