The house Mackere used to live in has a door painted black--boring black, but oddly remarkable amidst the houses all painted gray.

The ground outside the front door--and beneath the house--lies littered with kelp dolls, wooden toys, dirty t-shirts.

Mackere glares, lips flat, at it all.

"Sorry, I needed to get away from Opalin's mum," Ange signs/says aloud.

"Why?" Mackere signs.

I bend my fingers back and forth.

"She just casually dropped that someone could've had such beautiful babies and what a shame it is she isn't."

"Marli," I sign. Wait. Oh. I stare at the mud. Was Opalin's mom not talking about a fever?

"She said what? Marli?" Mackere signs.

"Opalin's mum thinks it's a waste that Marli has a girlfriend," Ange signs/says aloud, teeth showing. "Excuse me, did she realize who she was talking to?"

Mackere laughs, covers her mouth.

I sink to the mud. "How is it a waste that Marli has a girlfriend?"

"Sorry, I know I panicked," Ange signs/says aloud. "The only thing I could think of was how is this woman saying this to the three of us? So I panicked and said we had to visit this," he motions at Mackere's old house. "Can we not sit by her?"

Wait. It clicks. It's a waste because Opalin's mom thinks Marli should pass down her genes to make beautiful babies, but if Marli's with a girl, then...no babies.

I cross my arms. Mackere says something aloud, hand over her mouth.

It's not...it's not a waste. I shudder, glaring back to the banquet, hidden behind the rows of houses. "Can we not go back at all?" I sign.

Ange and Mackere look at me, Mackere with eyes half lidded.

"We are absolutely going back," Ange signs. "And we are eating that food. Just to spite her."

"Oh," my stomach flip-flops.

"No sitting by her," Mackere signs, nodding. "Sitting by Marli."

"Okay," I glance at her old house. "Why'd you move?"

"Why'd I..." Mackere glances at Ange.

"Move," he signs/says aloud.

Her face falls. But she quickly flashes her teeth. "Talk tonight," she paddles up the street. "Let's go eat food."

Ange eyes me. "You okay with this?"

I shrug. "I don't feel that hungry anymore. But okay. Let's not sit by Opalin's mom."

***

We go back. We sit at a different table, but not with Marli, since Marli's table is already full with Barreley and his wife and four other strangers. We sit at one of the only empty tables left, and not long after we get there four people in flowing gowns and tight shirts take the other stools. They've never met Mackere before and they know even less signing than her, so none of them must be regulars to the dear deaf club.

Opalin's mom and Surgeo's dad float above the tables and give grand speeches, signing about Surgeo's success in the education system despite his disability, and about the deaf club's next meeting, and welcoming all the guests, and sending their love to all the dear deaf members and families.

I squirm in vague discomfort; I don't know why, isn't Surgeo doing well in school a good thing? So why is it making me vaguely uncomfortable how they're talking about it?

I look around the banquet, more hands sign conversations here than I've seen in my whole life--snippets of "dishes" and "centerpieces" and "beautiful outfits" wiggle for my attention--so I should feel like I...belong, right? Like I've found people just like me who I can be myself with.

***

I read a book once, about a bunch of seahorses, who found a baby octopus and decided to raise her with their own family.

They were a good family, all the kids were friends with the octopus, the parents did their best, but still the octopus felt lonely. She lost at all the seahorse games, she didn't eat the same, or look the same, or move the same.

Until one day at school, the octopus met another octopus, and they shared things only octopuses can--tentacle games, camouflage pranks on the teachers, eating the same lunches in the cafeteria.

But the octopus girl still didn't fit in with her friend; her friend didn't know any seahorse games, had never tried camouflaging to look like kelp before because his family lived in a cave.

The story ended with her friend visiting her family, and everyone playing seahorse games, and everyone trying tentacle games, and the dad being shockingly good at them. But the octopus still never quite fit in with anyone.

***

I look around the banquet; these are my octopus people, I think. I went to school with a bunch of seahorses, I work in a store in a street full of seahorses. My brother and his boyfriend are the closest people to me, but I think they're still seahorses, they don't know not hearing, they don't get my swim-bladder making me float, they don't get lockbox keys making my skin squirm.

Is there any other octopuses raised by seahorses out there?

***

And we eat.

I try the fish.

I try the rice.

I don't really like either; the fish has been cooked but still wriggles slippery in my mouth like a second tongue. And the rice has been rolled into perfect, spherical scoops, so every nibble I take has me glancing at Opalin's mom's hands, two tables down, at the silver rings glinting on three of her fingers--are those the hands that rolled this rice into spherical scoops, am I eating contaminants from the metallic rings on her fingers?

Mackere and Ange don't mind, they devour the food from the bowls set in front of them, they go over to Surgeo's dad at the only half-empty table and ask for the extra bowls, the three people at the half-empty table gladly hand them over, Ange and Mackere come back and eat those bowls like they're still starving.

The gown and tight-shirt group on the other half of our round table eat slowly, talking so softly I catch none of the vibrations. Mackere tries talking to them once but they ignore her, so then we ignore them.

Our table's centerpiece is a bright red coral fan in a tiny green pot, I can't figure out how the tiny pot is keeping the swaying fan from falling over, or floating straight off in some current.

Opalin and a few friends come out of the house with desserts; Ange groans and covers his eyes.

"What?" I sign.

"We didn't know," Mackere signs, patting her tummy, sticking out her tongue.

Ange's hands smear down his cheeks.

"What's wrong?" I sign.

"We didn't know they had dessert," Ange frowns. "And I'm full."

"Same," Mackere signs.

Opalin sets seven plates of tiny blue cakes on our table, then flutters away. I pull three of them toward me, glancing at Ange and Mackere. Ange sticks his tongue out. Mackere nods and points at me.

I eat them in three bites total. The cakes have no icing, and they dry out my mouth, and they taste like the algae bites Mum used to make because it was "healthy for growing kids."

But I swallow them all anyway, one after another. "Ew," I flick sticky crumbs off my fingers.

Ange laughs.

Algae taste sticks to my tongue. I glare at the other four cakes that the gown and tight-shirt group haven't taken yet, since they're still slowly eating their rice and fish. The shimmery-gown one is staring at me through the red coral fan branches, so I forcibly stare at his chin until he looks away. I don't like this gown and tight-shirt group, for some reason.

"Can we go now?" I ask.

"Sure," Ange signs. "We aren't even the first ones leaving," he motions to Barreley's wife and Marli swimming to the street. Ange gets up from the table, says something softly to Mackere, and she shrugs, sliding off her stool too.

"Your home," she signs. "Not mine."

We flutter from the banquet, back into the street of gray houses. My mouth's prickling from the inside, I scrape my tongue over and over on my teeth like this will make the algae taste go away.