Windfall: An Otter-Body Experience

by Tempe O'Kun

  Cloying steam filled the room. Howled carols blasted from a waterproof phone on the counter, surrounded by open containers of spices. At the stove, his otter girlfriend stood on a step-stool to swirl a long-handled ladle into a massive pot with great enthusiasm. Small splashes pattered on the surface of the stove, which appeared to be supporting the weight for now.

  A quick tap of his knuckles on the doorframe and he leaned against it. He’d been a big guy since his early teens and had learned to actively not sneak up on people. He didn’t bother to hide his amusement, however.

  “Oh hi, Maxie.” She straightened an ancient oyster-print apron. “Wondered how long this holiday magic would take to summon you.”

  He stepped up behind her and rested paws on her curvy hips. “Stealing a page from my mom’s cookbook, eh?”

  The otter stirred with pride, sloshing more. “Aww, you knew because of the smell?”

  “That and it’s the only cider recipe I’ve seen that could be sailed across.” He craned his muzzle over her shoulder to look at the almost-full lobster pot. “This is way too much for us, even with your relations.”

  “My entire family’s coming over!” Her deft brown paws propped atop his big clumsy white ones.

  Resting his chin atop her head, he chuckled. “Yeah, but they’re all small.”

  Mock defiance chattered from her muzzle as she brandished the ladle at him. “We’re not that small. You’re just twice normal size.”

  “And yet you don’t complain about how big I am…” A couple centimeters was all it took to bring her rump to his crotch. Thanks to the step stool, her tail fit very pleasantly against the bulge in his pants.

  A pleased chitter rattled from her muzzle as it angled to brush under his jaw. “No, I suppose you have your uses.” She kissed his extra-thick fluff.

  He’d brushed extra well, so she didn’t even get shed fur on her lips. He wagged. After a few pleasant seconds, he noticed a bowl of tiny green and red dog biscuits, too uniform to be homemade. He picked up one of each and sniffed: turkey and cranberry, respectively. “Why’d your mom have me carry in a turkey?”

  Kylie glance to the barely-closed refrigerator. “She didn’t want to throw her back out.”

  He nuzzled her unusually-fluffy cheek ruffs. “I thought fish was the dish.”

  “It was. But I thought it might be nice to bring in a little of what you’re used to.” She shrugged. “So I stalked your family online, then stole their recipes and music playlist.”

  The musical woos and woofs soared to a very familiar chorus. Max gave a pleased sigh, tightening his arms around her. “I appreciate the thought, but you don’t need to do anything special for me.”

  “You’re missing out on your family.” A squirm of guilt caused her to slither in his arms.

  “You guys are my family too. You especially.” He squeezed her middle. “Being part of your life is the plan, rudderbutt.”

  With a small squeak of relief, she nuzzled into his chest.

  In the living room, Kylie lay on the floor, scrolling through the Internet one phone screen at a time. Outside, wet snow fell. The world outside her door had become a slush drink flavored with inconvenience.

  Across the dining room, floorboards intended for the weight of otters creaked under a much greater burden. Max trod into the room looking gloomy, phone in paw.

  She studied his face, not bothering to get up, but bothering to soften her tone. “How’s your mom?”

  “Demanding.” He sighed, closed his eyes, and relaxed his posture.

  She arched an eyebrow. “I thought you were going to talk before you left.”

  “I did.” His triangular ears tuned in on her. “She had a conversation saved up about how I should ditch you guys for two holidays in a row.” He glanced at, then pocketed his phone. “This was just her resurrecting the ghost of conversations past. And informing me I’m coming back for New Year’s Eve.”

  Kylie squirmed through a long moment. “But you’re not going back…right?”

  “No, I’m not going.” His ears rose with his tone, though in confusion and frustration rather than anger. “She needs to learn I’m an adult and she can’t stop me.”

  “Yeah.” She inclined her muzzle at the window. “Especially on ice.”

  Looking down two meters, the dog crossed his arms. “These talks are usually indoors.”

  “It’s a husky household.” She swished her tail into his ankle. “You probably have ice floors.”

  “We have carpet floors.” With one foot and no apparent effort, he rotated her ninety degrees.

  “The point stands. She’s not that much bigger than me, and you toss me around like a throw pillow.” Her arms flopped to the sides. “Just keep walking.”

  His muzzle unfurled a sad smile. “That’s what I’m doing.”

  Sprawled over the sofa, Kylie let the holiday happen around her. Snow tumbled past the window outside, dusted with color by the setting sun. The dining room table groaned under the weight of a slew of side-dishes. Her mom clattered around in the kitchen, muttering into her phone. The stress of uncertain plans radiated through the house. The younger otter watched her boyfriend’s butt as he poked around inside the fireplace, which proved therapeutic. His fluffy tail swished over jeans pulled tight over his rump.

  Across the room, those heavy white paws assembled an intricate structure from sticks and logs. He’d tried to explain to her the complex theories behind how to build a fire, but she told him to save time by just showing her.

  With an impatient chitter, the otter rolled belly-up, head dangling toward the carpet. “Wouldn’t it just be faster to spray the logs with lighter fluid?”

  “Much faster.” He tore apart some old cardboard boxes for tinder. “Maybe even fast enough to burn down the house.”

  “Otter houses can’t burn down. They have too many pools.” She could think of four, not counting large bathtubs. She reached into a mixing bowl of caramel-drizzled popcorn and dropped the tidbits one at a time into her open mouth. They had a pleasant crunch. “True fact.”

  The dog emitted an agreeable grunt. A mixture of rude lutrine sea shanties and howled canine carols drifted from her mom’s battered stereo. After another five minutes of building the most flammable log cabin possible, Max struck a match and lit the cardboard. The ancient material ignited with stuttering eagerness, giving off a faint musty smell from its decades in the attic. New boxes were saved for repacking.

  The fireplace crackled brighter, casting hues to match the sunset. The massive pine filled a quarter of the room. A sparse scattering of ornaments hung on its boughs like carolers lost in a vast forest.

  She pondered the tree. “We shoulda bought more decorations.”

  Sitting down on the sofa, he shrugged. “We can add more over time.”

  She snuggled up to him. “So, you’ll be around to help add them?”

  “Yep.” He threw his arm around her shoulders. “Besides, you can’t just buy decorations. You have to be given them over time. And quietly throw out the ones you don’t like.”

  Alone for the moment, the younger otter elbowed her boyfriend. “So, how’s this compare, Maxie? To what your family does?”

  Scanning the room with his ears, he gathered a response for a moment. “Quieter.”

  Kylie snorted. “In spite of Mom’s best efforts.”

  He soaked up the ambience for another second, then turned those bright blue eyes to her. “Saner.”

  She tilted her head side to side. “Not a word usually associated with my family, but I’ll take it.”

  A glance at the dining room table, then he growled a chuckle. “Lacking a yule-log meatloaf.”

  “A what?” She peered at him to clues. He had to be making that up.

  “A very large meatloaf…” He spread his paw almost a meter apart. “…festively decorated.”

  “You could have asked for one.” She bopped him in the shoulder.

  He shook his blocky muzzle, then hooked a
thumb toward the dining room. “A turkey that size brooks no rivals.” As his stomach growled, the scent took him by the nose until he was facing the origin of the savory scent. “I really want to get started on that thing.”

  “Still worth it?” Her gaze floated up to his like a brave balloon. “Being here instead, I mean.”

  His strong arms closed around her. “Mmmhmm.”

  Having finally convinced herself to trust him to know when he’s happy, Kylie cuddled up to his warmth with a merry chirr, disrupted only by muffled chatters from across the dining room. “I can’t believe Mom is still on the phone.” She tumbled to the tree and snagged a small present. “Here.” She tossed the box to him. “Open your family’s gift.”

  He caught and considered the box. “Can we start without Laura?”

  Carrying a small gift for herself, she flopped down on the sofa beside him. “We always do one the day before.” She paused, then groaned when he didn’t move: “I give you permission, Maxie.”

  A cardboard cube, slapped with postage, almost vanished in his giant white paw. His knife flickered from his pocket and whispered through the tape sealing it. Inside, nested in crumpled bakery parchment, lay a coffee mug. He turned it so she could see the text: “The mountains are calling and I must go. - John Muir” soaring through a blue sky.

  Kylie glanced from cup to boyfriend. “From your mom?”

  He nodded with resignation.

  “Subtle.” She wiggled a little straighter on the sofa to see the paper and foil sticking out of the mug. “What’s all the stuff in it?”

  He pulled three little mylar packets free. “Mana Clash booster packs, from my sisters.” A small envelope rattled around the ceramic enclosure, which he plucked out and read. “And something for you, from my dad.” He offered it to her.

  She opened it to find a delicate bundle of tiny gray-blue feathers and yellow spots. “A hat pin?”

  From the vantage point of his height, Max peered with approval down at the object. “He ties flies.”

  She examined the hat pin for traces of insects, which only made him chuckle at her.

  “Fishing flies. It’s a Gray Ghost Streamer.” He unfurled a paw toward it. “It’s supposed to look like a smelt.”

  She plucked it from the packaging to examine in the firelight. “Huh, it kinda does. I guess I could wear a smelt on a hat.”

  The husky nodded. “Or you could fish with it and not be a weirdo.”

  “Wait, I’m an otter, so I know how to fly fish?” She noodled in place, then poked him in the ribs. “That’s a little presumptuous.”

  He captured her poking paw. “You’ve worn a fishing vest every time he’s seen you, in person and on TV.”

  “I guess that’s fair.” With her still-free paw, she examined the business end of the fishhook. “Did I tell you I found the spare spears for the harpoon gun? They were in with the lawn darts.”

  “Oh good.” The dog rolled his eyes. “I was really worried about that.”

  “Well, if you’re opening your gift from your parents, I’ll open mine from Greg.” Looking down at the present in her lap, she rubbed her paws together greedily. “Come on, Pinchy’s gift certificate…” She shook the parcel. “Okay, maybe taped to canned oysters?”

  Laura appeared in the living room doorway. “Well, Max, you can start on that turkey leg you’ve been eyeing for the past hour. No sense letting the food go to waste.”

  The canine’s ears shot up, instantly departing the conversation. He quietly rose, patted his girlfriend’s mother on the shoulder, and practically dashed to the dining room.

  For a moment, the middle-aged otter stood and looked around the massive, mostly empty house. A heavy sigh sank her shoulders. “Nobody’s coming.”

  Max’s face craned back into the doorway behind her, ears up, plate already full.

  Kylie watched her mother stalk into the room. “Nobody?”

  The older otter collapsed into an easy chair. “The relations are worried about the roads, so they’re having dinner at Thomas’s place like usual.”

  “Can you blame them?” The dog woofed from the next room. “Even I’d hesitate to drive through the mashed potato you guys call snow.” He hooked a clawed thumb toward the window. “Low visibility too.”

  “I guess I shouldn’t be mad, but Thomas didn’t exactly fight to get them out the door.” With an agitated wiggle, she shoved her phone in her pocket. “That old grog-monger…”

  Her daughter tossed both hands in the air. Her uncle Thomas ran a brewery just shy of the Canadian border, a few hours’ drive away. “I thought he was on your side.”

  She shrugged. “More like willing to go along with me.”

  Kylie’s small ears flicked down with a grumble. “So it’s just the three of us, stuck in this giant house, with Turkeyzilla.”

  “And an industrial drum of cider.” Already at the dining room table, the husky ladled himself another mug.

  “You watch your tone about Turkeyzilla.” She waggled a finger at her child. “Cooking it was a three-day ordeal. We’ve bonded.”

  Max reappeared in the doorway, juggling a steaming mug and a massive turkey leg. “At least you have a year to prepare now.”

  “True.” The plumper lutrine allowed herself a sigh. “I may have been in producer mode, thinking I could call the shots and everyone would fall in line. We were gone for twenty years, and there’s been significant tradition drift.”

  “We are up one husky, though.” Kylie leaned over the arm of the sofa to make sure he’d hear. “He’s big enough to count for several otters.”

  “He’d better, with all the food we have.” The elder otter took off her glasses and rubbed the bridge of her nose.

  Returning, Max nodded, muzzle buried halfway through a massive turkey leg.

  Kylie waved her still-unopened present. “We’re opening gifts from estranged parents.”

  “Well!” She huffed into a half-smile. “I suppose I should open mine from my estranged ex.”

  Ever helpful, the dog fetched said gift from under the tree, carrying it gingerly in the paw not full of turkey. He handed it to the spectacled otter.

  “Thank you, Max.” With the patience that comes from being old, Laura drummed her paw pads on the object. “Go ahead and open yours, sweetie.”

  Kylie shredded the paper in a burst of glittery scraps. Inside the flat box, she found a filigree cheese wedge with a built-in opera glass. “A sextant? Is this an add-on for the Amphicar?” After finding a brochure for a floating camper trailer in the car’s service manual, she’d believe just about anything.

  Laura sat back, smiling fondly at the little brass gizmo. “That’s an old Bevy heirloom.”

  She rocked the tarnished metal back and forth in her paw. “What? Did Greg pinch it when he left?”

  “Very funny.” She turned the large package over in her paws, causing it to glug softly. “I gave that to your father a long time ago. When he was looking for some direction in life.” She picked at the wrapping on her present, looking for the edge of the tape. “As it happened, his direction was a little different than mine, that’s all.”

  “Ah.” Kylie peered through the scope at the twinkling lights, then set it on the coffee table in an aesthetically-pleasing manner. “I’m sure it’ll tie the shots of my biopic together someday. I’d better save it.”

  Pushing up her glasses, Laura’s voice took on a directorial tone. “See that you do. You’re living in a very authentic props department.” With that, she abandoned decorum and her claws tore through the wrapping. The paper fell away to reveal a bottle. The dark amber liquid sloshed in glass designed to look like a bundle of sugar canes with one taller in the center. The cork bore a tuft of dried and slightly-crumpled leaves. Her face lit up. “Oooooh, the good stuff.”

  The younger river otter’s eyebrows rose. “Since when do you get more than a gift card from Dad?”

  “It’s not like we don’t talk, kiddo. And we did just move back to his
home state.” She gripped the bottle in both webbed paws, then used her tail to launch herself off the sofa. “I have just the place for this…” Without explanation, she vanished into the kitchen.

  Dabbing his muzzle with a napkin, Max lifted pert ears to his girlfriend.

  Kylie let out a soft sigh as glass clinked in the next room. With all the prep work her mother had done over the past couple weeks, who knew what secret fruitcake she might ignite and wheel in, next to the giant pine tree and the roaring bonfire. Where had that fire extinguisher gotten to?

  A couple minutes later, the middle-aged otter sailed back in with a tray of creamy drinks.

  Her daughter’s ears popped up through her hair. “What’s that?”

  “Eggnog.” She handed her daughter a glass. “Served in the best crystal that I didn’t sell—and fortified by rum.”

  He sniffed the drink. “Um, Laura, you put rum in ours too.”

  The former TV producer gave him a weary look. “Drink the damn eggnog, Max.”

  He drank the eggnog. His triangular ears cycled through a few different settings as he sipped. His expression struggled to remain the same, though his electric blue eyes widened.

  Cradling the geometric glass in both paws, Kylie stuck her tongue in the liquid. Beneath the nutmeg, the burn of rum was quickly quenched by sweet cream. Not bad.

  “Well, Max, if we’re only going to only have one extra person in the house…” Kylie’s mom raised her glass to him. “…I’m glad it’s you.”

  The hulking canine smiled shyly and tinked his glass to hers. “Thanks for making me feel at home, even before Turkeyzilla.”

  “We’ve been trying to make the old place feel homey.” Laura took another sip, then wiped the nog from her whiskers.

  Kylie tapped her beverage to the other two. “And we are, one dusty room at a time.”

  Over the lipstick-blurred rim of her glass, she looked at the younger lutrine. “High praise from my surly child.”

  “Must be the spiked nog.” The slimmer otter poured another gulp into her mouth. “Shameful, all this underage drinking.”