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Dinner was less vocal than Mittens had hoped. At least she had an inquisition to break the silence with. “Where’s Milquetoast?” She asked as timidly as she could. “She’s umm, not in a rush to visit these days’ Manfred mouth between asparagus sticks. “Imagine she’s pretty tangled up right now, but hopefully, for the holidays…” There was doubt in his tone. Milk had been attending a lot of those One Bajillion And We’re Right Moms meetings lately.

“You… two… making out financially?”

“Well, we pay every bill at some point. Just need a few more gigs?”

Mary hollered from the kitchen deck. “Maybe you just need a bit of a goal evaluation? Produce something more mainstreamy?”

“FINE, I’LL JUST DUMP HER AND MARRY A BUFF WOLFBOY WITH GLAZED FUR AND THREE TIME-SHARE INVESTMENTS!” Mittens yelled, or would’ve yelled, had the CRACK! not happened. They turned towards the lifted-out-of-mothballs high chair occupied by Knashford. “I sneezed. Plate felt down. Sorry.” The Malones had noticed he never held his head terribly high.

“For f***’s sake Ford, can’t I take you anywhere?”

Must be a real problem child if she only lights up when he’s in trouble, Manfred thought. Probably postpartum depression. A really long case of postpartum depression. Eury bent to pick up the pieces, but was pushed back to her seat.

“I’ll get those!” Mary plopped down the dinner plate. “We were gonna have glazed salmon and hashbrowns for dinner. But I thought it might be insensitive to serve fish to fish, so it’s flax rice and zucchini instead. Delicious, huh?”

There was no winner in the sulking contest between Eury and Manfred once they heard this news.

Regardless, it was getting late and nobody wanted to go bed hangry. They picked and poked, and eventually Mittens’ news dried up. “What do you do outside of the band, Eurydice?” Mary inquired without a scent of judgement. “Teach swimming lessons? Lifeguard? Fishing industry?”

“I’m… um, between jobs. A lot. Right now, I clean toilets at a bukakke studio.”

Manfred coughed. Or gagged, rather.

“Ooh, how unique! You could make T.P. sculptures in your spare time, even compose little symphonies with synchronized toilet flushes!

Eurydice shrugged. “When they’re not clogged up for once. And maybe they’ll give me new gloves soon. Mine are perma-brown these days.”

Manfred was now writhing on the floor, gagging up to last night’s meal.

Eury leaned over to Mitts and whispered. “Jeez, your mom’s so optimistic it’s scary.”

“Yeah, one time she walked in on a circle jerk at some venue and somehow turned it into a game of Round Robin. She’s gifted that way.”

Eurydice did get pestered with welcoming questions from the coyote patriarch, nothing too interrogative. Exhausting, but she had to admit, it was nice to be noticed for something beyond, well, sharkness. She hadn’t noticed Mittens’ father say a word, but presumed that to be a good thing.

………………….

While his mother and Mittens unpacked, Knashford explored the Malone house. It was only about 3 times larger than the apartment back in LA, but still, a mansion to one of his size. There was something else, too. An odd smell, a smell of routine, reliable history. Not like the scents of squatters and booze that came and went back home. It felt… comforting. Like jiggly arms that you could fall asleep in.

Well, maybe it was okay to run around little here, no angry landladies with meathooks to bump into. Maybe they had a VCR here! From what he recalled where the Fatales had been desperate enough to play at birthday parties, TVs were sometimes downstairs, away from window watchers’ prying eyes. Best way to watch movies, Ford thought. Alone in the dark below, no reality to bother you.

The little shark descended the stairs, as if returning from an expedition to Mount Everest. Stovepipe, logs… aha! TV and chair! But… he couldn’t reach anything. “Poopie.” He knew all the Bad Words that grownups used, but had the sense not to use them. (Most of the time.) Maybe there was a stool around? Ford leapt for the closet door, (he had to run a fair bit to make a leap) grabbing the handle. CLICK! And out poured the pictures.

Funny looking pictures, he thought. They’re Mittens shapes, but smaller. And while it was indeed Mittens, it wasn’t as well. Thump, thump. Here comes the tall lady, Ford perked, maybe she knows why these Mittens aren’t Mittens.

“Knashford? Your mama’s looking for you…would you like some spicy cocoa before—“ she stopped. Uh oh, she saw my mess. Ford internally panicked. I don’t wanta be in trouble. I don’t. I don’t wanta upset her, she’s actually nice.

“What… what are you doing down there? She asked in an inquisitive, lower tone. Like a mother bird who had just realized, upon seeing her child off to college, that she’d been raising a cuckoo the entire time.

“Looking for tapes.”

“Oh… yes… right. Mittens said you liked movies. It’s… it’s a bit late for that. Let’s get you to bed now, okay?” The smile was back, but Ford noticed that she didn’t waste time handing him back to his mother. She’d forgotten the cocoa, too.

Maybe I’m only good at making ladies sad, Ford thought as he was tucked into a hot-water bottle cover, used as a makeshift sleeping bag. I’m a missy-missog-what was it they said in that lawyer movie? Misogynist. I wonder if you can make a living as a misogynist. Once he managed to drown out Mittens’ tremoring snores, he drifted out of the waking world and dreamt of burnt bodies.

Continued...

Description

Dinner was less vocal than Mittens had hoped. At least she had an inquisition to break the silence with. “Where’s Milquetoast?” She asked as timidly as she could. “She’s umm, not in a rush to visit these days’ Manfred mouth between asparagus sticks. “Imagine she’s pretty tangled up right now, but hopefully, for the holidays…” There was doubt in his tone. Milk had been attending a lot of those One Bajillion And We’re Right Moms meetings lately.

“You… two… making out financially?”

“Well, we pay every bill at some point. Just need a few more gigs?”

Mary hollered from the kitchen deck. “Maybe you just need a bit of a goal evaluation? Produce something more mainstreamy?”

“FINE, I’LL JUST DUMP HER AND MARRY A BUFF WOLFBOY WITH GLAZED FUR AND THREE TIME-SHARE INVESTMENTS!” Mittens yelled, or would’ve yelled, had the CRACK! not happened. They turned towards the lifted-out-of-mothballs high chair occupied by Knashford. “I sneezed. Plate felt down. Sorry.” The Malones had noticed he never held his head terribly high.

“For f***’s sake Ford, can’t I take you anywhere?”

Must be a real problem child if she only lights up when he’s in trouble, Manfred thought. Probably postpartum depression. A really long case of postpartum depression. Eury bent to pick up the pieces, but was pushed back to her seat.

“I’ll get those!” Mary plopped down the dinner plate. “We were gonna have glazed salmon and hashbrowns for dinner. But I thought it might be insensitive to serve fish to fish, so it’s flax rice and zucchini instead. Delicious, huh?”

There was no winner in the sulking contest between Eury and Manfred once they heard this news.

Regardless, it was getting late and nobody wanted to go bed hangry. They picked and poked, and eventually Mittens’ news dried up. “What do you do outside of the band, Eurydice?” Mary inquired without a scent of judgement. “Teach swimming lessons? Lifeguard? Fishing industry?”

“I’m… um, between jobs. A lot. Right now, I clean toilets at a bukakke studio.”

Manfred coughed. Or gagged, rather.

“Ooh, how unique! You could make T.P. sculptures in your spare time, even compose little symphonies with synchronized toilet flushes!

Eurydice shrugged. “When they’re not clogged up for once. And maybe they’ll give me new gloves soon. Mine are perma-brown these days.”

Manfred was now writhing on the floor, gagging up to last night’s meal.

Eury leaned over to Mitts and whispered. “Jeez, your mom’s so optimistic it’s scary.”

“Yeah, one time she walked in on a circle jerk at some venue and somehow turned it into a game of Round Robin. She’s gifted that way.”

Eurydice did get pestered with welcoming questions from the coyote patriarch, nothing too interrogative. Exhausting, but she had to admit, it was nice to be noticed for something beyond, well, sharkness. She hadn’t noticed Mittens’ father say a word, but presumed that to be a good thing.

………………….

While his mother and Mittens unpacked, Knashford explored the Malone house. It was only about 3 times larger than the apartment back in LA, but still, a mansion to one of his size. There was something else, too. An odd smell, a smell of routine, reliable history. Not like the scents of squatters and booze that came and went back home. It felt… comforting. Like jiggly arms that you could fall asleep in.

Well, maybe it was okay to run around little here, no angry landladies with meathooks to bump into. Maybe they had a VCR here! From what he recalled where the Fatales had been desperate enough to play at birthday parties, TVs were sometimes downstairs, away from window watchers’ prying eyes. Best way to watch movies, Ford thought. Alone in the dark below, no reality to bother you.

The little shark descended the stairs, as if returning from an expedition to Mount Everest. Stovepipe, logs… aha! TV and chair! But… he couldn’t reach anything. “Poopie.” He knew all the Bad Words that grownups used, but had the sense not to use them. (Most of the time.) Maybe there was a stool around? Ford leapt for the closet door, (he had to run a fair bit to make a leap) grabbing the handle. CLICK! And out poured the pictures.

Funny looking pictures, he thought. They’re Mittens shapes, but smaller. And while it was indeed Mittens, it wasn’t as well. Thump, thump. Here comes the tall lady, Ford perked, maybe she knows why these Mittens aren’t Mittens.

“Knashford? Your mama’s looking for you…would you like some spicy cocoa before—“ she stopped. Uh oh, she saw my mess. Ford internally panicked. I don’t wanta be in trouble. I don’t. I don’t wanta upset her, she’s actually nice.

“What… what are you doing down there? She asked in an inquisitive, lower tone. Like a mother bird who had just realized, upon seeing her child off to college, that she’d been raising a cuckoo the entire time.

“Looking for tapes.”

“Oh… yes… right. Mittens said you liked movies. It’s… it’s a bit late for that. Let’s get you to bed now, okay?” The smile was back, but Ford noticed that she didn’t waste time handing him back to his mother. She’d forgotten the cocoa, too.

Maybe I’m only good at making ladies sad, Ford thought as he was tucked into a hot-water bottle cover, used as a makeshift sleeping bag. I’m a missy-missog-what was it they said in that lawyer movie? Misogynist. I wonder if you can make a living as a misogynist. Once he managed to drown out Mittens’ tremoring snores, he drifted out of the waking world and dreamt of burnt bodies.

Continued...