Giant Solidarity G/T

Chapter II. Foster-Humans

After I showered, scrubbed the incriminating stamp off my hand and sobered up with coffee, I pondered whether I was handling this delicate situation appropriately. I wouldn't bother with this subterfuge if it weren't for Troy's newfound anti-humanism. Reagan and I started dating our third year of university, during Troy's lengthy deployment in the mountains. Since Troy was home, Reagan was working a lot, and they hadn't spent much time together. I'd yet to find the right moment to fill him in. He didn't know Reagan was raised with human friends and neighbors. Six generations of her family resided on the Zoltan Archipelago, one of few districts which treated humans and Giants legally as equals. Reagan chose to go for her nursing degree in our district because here, policies regarding Tiny-Giant relations were less enlightened. Always needs to make a difference, my girlfriend. I shouldn't feel guilty about lying to Troy while leaving Javelin. Doubt he'd remember details tomorrow anyhow. Figured I was potentially saving tiny lives. Wouldn't put it past Troy to grind human bones to make butter. Or however that weird chant in that human fairytale goes. Giants like those GRUDAT knuckleheads were why humans thought us evil monsters in their world. Lying was justified, wasn't it?

"Or maybe I'm just a BS artist milksop who's scared of conflict," I uttered, draining my coffee. Headlights outside danced along the living room drapes. 11:15, most likely Reagan arriving home. I dropped my mug in the sink, wondering if I should meet her downstairs. Or would that frighten the humans if I appeared unannounced? Suddenly I felt I hadn't been properly briefed on this, not expecting it for days.

Like she was telepathic, Reagan called my cellphone from downstairs at that moment. "I'm sure you've been overthinking, Mr. Social Anxiety," she said over the phone, teasingly when I answered. "They might fit snugly in our palms, but Alma and Crystal are grown women. Don't worry about scaring them. They aren't bunnies. Plus, they've already heard about you from me at the shelter."

"Alright babe. See you soon." I hung up. Alma and Crystal... two ladies. That's typical of my feminist girlfriend. I could joke about her bisexuality inspiring her choice in human fosters. However, that's the humor that gets pillows thrown at my face. Either way, I'm one of a select handful of men Reagan opened the door to, in her life. And I was honored. She'd already told me we were fostering adult humans. Permits to house tiny children were harder to acquire. Guidelines were stricter. Same with fostering entire human families, for which we lacked space to accommodate in this two-bedroom apartment. We were already keeping our cat temporarily closed off in the spare bedroom. We decided on this arrangement until our Maine-coon Larry adjusted to the new scents in his domain. We'd have trouble getting that greedy couch-potato of a feline to share space. Reagan had stockpiled printouts on how to acclimate humans and giant pets.

Moments later, the apartment door keyhole rattled, and my blonde live-in girlfriend entered. Reagan looked very professional in her blue scrubs, and long hair with teal highlights tied back in a painful looking bun. This was typical wardrobe for her, whether working a shift at the urgent care or volunteering. Her heavy green purse thudded onto the floor by the coatrack. Whoa, I really hope that meant she's not transporting the wee-people in there. She'd be treating them for concussions or whiplash tonight. "I was being quiet on the staircase," whispered Reagan, locking the door behind her. "I wasn't sure if Ms. Perez was awake."

The widow Perez, our short, stout, busybody neighbor across the hall. She'd repeatedly protested us taking in humans. She even petitioned our building against it, unsuccessfully. Lonely old crone thinks tinies scamper around and steal things like rats. It wouldn't surprise me if she was somewhere at that GRUDAT social. Reagan and I didn't care because the landlord signed off and amended our lease accordingly. Even so, we assured the Human Relief non-profit rep that we'd keep distance between her and the humans. Ms. Perez had a ravenous drooling watchdog, German-shepherd-Doberman mix. Both those breeds are on every list of Giant canines that weren't compatible with humans. We entered the small kitchen, where that nosy lady couldn't eavesdrop. Reagan grunted, uncomfortably "Hold not. Take a couple seconds to get them out."