Before I can finish the sentence, milk shoots from my nipples, this projectile steam of mortification from my breasts to Rhyson’s face.
“Shit.” With one eye screwed closed, he swipes a palm across the wet trail I sprayed over his face.
“Oh, God, Rhyson, I…no, don’t lick your…”
In complete dismay, I watch him lick his lips and grimace heavily.
“Well, that’s not great.” Rhyson’s lips twitch at the corners, and he looks at me from under a dark slash of brows. “How does Aria choke that down?”
We shake against each other laughing at the same time. It only gets funnier, that unreasonable funny that feeds on the other person’s humor, escalating to the ridiculous. Tears stream down my face. Milk drips from my scabby nipple.
Rhyson cups one side of my face with his palm. Musician’s callouses tip his fingers, a delicious scrape over my cheek. He dips until his forehead rests against mine.
“I love you.” He drops a kiss on my mouth. “Projectile milk, weird bras and all.”
“Yeah?” I pull back to search his face for any sign that all this mammary dysfunction creeps him out the smallest bit. How can he still look at me like that? Like I’m his one essential? I mean, I have scabby nipples, for God’s sake.
“Yeah,” he whispers the word across my lips. Only Rhyson could convince me that I’m the sexiest woman in the world right now. The heat in his eyes, and the hands gripping my hips convince me.
“You better since all of this.” I gesture at the mess on my chest. “Is for your kid.”
“She’s a good cause.” With a chuckle, he eyes the flaps and nipples and pads. “We made the most beautiful girl in the world.”
“Yeah, we did, but I’m the one getting up every two hours for feedings and walking around with scabby nipples.”
“Scabby nipples.” Rhyson chokes on a laugh, sobering quickly when I death glare him.
“It’s not funny, Rhys. You—”
The sound of muted voices and approaching footsteps cuts into my words.
“Shhh!” We hiss at each other simultaneously, eyes wide and fingers pressed to the other’s lips. I shrink into the wall, like that will somehow make me invisible. We’re in the last stall. Maybe whoever just opened that bathroom door won’t come down this far.
“We need to get back to the serving line, Earnest.” A familiar female voice says, urgency in her tone. “This has to be quick.”
“I can do quick, Beth Anne,” a low pitched male voice responds.
“Claymores,” Rhyson and I mouth at each other.
“Believe me. I know how quick you can be,” Mrs. Claymore says.
“You haven’t complained before.”
“The hell I haven’t complained,” she grumbles back. “Last fifty years I complained. If it wasn’t for that little blue pill—”
“That little blue pill’s the only thing little.” Mr. Claymore’s roguish chuckle is vaguely disturbing. “Wait til you see what I got for mama.”
The door a few stalls down closes, and the sound of the lock slamming into place makes me jump.
Oh, dear Lord above. Please don’t let them do what I think they’re about to do.
My eyes meet Rhyson’s in mutual horror. Maybe I’m wrong.
“Mama’s ready for more Claymore.”
Oh, God, I’m right.
“Take the dentures out, B,” he says.
“Gimme a sec,” she mumbles. “And you’re gonna have to help me get up off this floor when you’re done.”
Rhyson’s cheeks puff with the laugh he’s holding in. I refuse. I absolutely refuse to engage with him because I will be laughing my ass off and give us away. I screw my eyes shut, wishing I could stop my ears against the nasty noises coming from the nearby stall. The sucks and groans and hisses of elderly pleasure.
“That’s it, B,” Mr. Claymore huffs. “Take it all down like a good girl.”
The strangled sounds seeping through the walls make me queasy. Rhyson is no longer amused, but looks like he has food poisoning or ate something nasty. Speaking of eating something nasty, I think Mr. Claymore is approaching his happy ending.
His gasps and moans peter out. The sound of his zipper pulling up rips into the subsequent quiet after that vile storm.
“Here’s your dentures.” Mr. Claymore says.
“I told ya you were gonna have to help me up.” I can practically hear her frail body creak and groan as she gets up from her knees. “And my turn when we get home.”
“Always, B.”
I think she harrumphs.
“Come on,” he continues. “The sooner we close up shop, the sooner we get home. What time are the kids coming to the house?”
“’Round six o’clock, and I still need to get my ham in the oven.”
Their stall door opens, and their shoes shuffling across the tile floor is the only sound in the bathroom for a moment.
“Can’t wait to see the grands,” Mrs. Claymore says, a smile in her voice. “You know Savannah lost another tooth this week.”
“I was on the Facetime thingamabob, too, remember.”
“Oh, that’s right. I forgot.”
“You been forgetting an awful lot lately, B.” Concern colors Mr. Claymore’s voice. “We’ll ask Dr. Johnson about it next week at your appointment.”
The bathroom door opens, and their voices fade, drifting back to us as they make their way up the hall. Maybe it’s my hormones, but apparently all my holes are leaking because there’s tears. I’m blinking back tears. The Ropers…uh, Claymores…are weird, but they have something special, and apparently have for fifty years. We just witnessed it. Not witnessed as in saw, but we were…around for it. A captive audience to it.
“That was one of the most disgusting things I’ve ever had to endure,” Rhyson says with another grimace. “But it was kind of…I don’t know…”
“Sweet?” I offer with a tiny smile, glad I’m not the only one who thinks so.
Rhyson’s mouth crooks into a lopsided grin. He adjusts the snaps on my nursing bra until the scabby nipples are hidden behind the padded cups.
“Yeah. Sweet.” He buttons me up and unlatches the lock on the stall. Grabbing my hand, he tugs me out of the little box we’ve been trapped in. “I mean, they’re old and that was…ugh. A gummy blow job?”
I bring his hand to rest over my heart.
“Think when we’re that age you’ll still be dragging me into bathroom stalls for a quickie?” I ask.
“Depends on if they’re still making those blue pills.” A smile accompanies his smart-ass reply.
“I’m sure sexual science will have far outpaced blue pills by then.”
His back to the door, Rhyson faces me, hooking his elbow around my neck and drawing me into the fresh scent of his shirt, into the hardness of his chest.
“Then, yeah, we’ll still be screwing in bathrooms, orthopedic shoes, dentures, whatever. It’ll always be you. It’ll always be me.”
A smile I can only describe as tender rests on his lips and fills his eyes. A happy laugh breaks free of my chest to bounce off the walls. There’s no one else in this whole world I’d rather be married to, raising a kid with, chasing my dreams with. This is my guy. I’m his girl. The only thing better than all the days we’ve had so far is all the days ahead of us.
The End
* * *
About the Author
Kennedy loves to write about herself in third person. She loves Diet Coke...though she's always trying to quit. She adores her husband...who she'll never quit. She loves her son, who is the most special boy on the planet. She's devoted to supporting and serving families living with Autism.
And she writes love stories!
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Happy Awkward Turkey Day and an Asshole Dog
Laura Ward
Thanksgiving had always been my favorite holiday. Even after I was kicked out of my family’s home and my son Finn and I were on our own for every holiday, I still eagerly anticipated Turkey day.
Perhaps it was that the entire day was centered on family and tradition. I longed for both, and until I fell in love with Dean Goldsmith, I had had only a small part of what I dreamt about.
Now I was surrounded by his crazy, loud, loving family. And I relished every second of it.
“I’m so glad you all got here early, my dear.” Dean’s mom, Dorothy, wrapped her arms around me in a tight hug. She already smelled like home to me. “Especially since you have to leave first thing tomorrow morning.” Dean’s mom looked adorable, wearing an apron with a large turkey on it over her jeans and blouse. Her blond hair was graying but styled in a short bob that made her look chic and lovely.
Dorothy moved to the coffee pot, holding it up, her eyebrows raised in a non-verbal question. I nodded and began to unpack the bag of food I brought to cook today.
“Me too. Finn is thrilled to spend the day watching the parade on television, playing football, and eating. I’m so sorry we have to leave early tomorrow, but with Dean’s game on Sunday, the coach has ordered everyone home by Friday afternoon.”
My fiancé was the starting quarterback for the Chicago Bears. His season had started off rocky, but the Bears were on a winning streak. Dean claimed it was all due to our fantastic sex life. I was fairly certain that was not the case, but it was an excellent excuse to keep us regularly and actively engaged.
“Flower?” Dean’s father Dale bellowed as he shuffled into the kitchen, his slippers smacking against the tiled floor. His hair stood up on end and he wore a red robe, loosely knotted at the waist. I hoped our favorite Big Kahuna was not going commando on this holiday morning. “Where’s my Daisy? I’d like one of her famous omelets to start the day right.”
“Good morning, Dale.” I walked over and kissed my soon to be father-in-law on the cheek, handing him a cup of hot coffee. “Daisy just left for the store. She decided she needed to make a pumpkin mousse tart, so she and Jon headed out to get the ingredients.”
Daisy was one of Dean’s five younger siblings. She was an incredible cook who hoped to attend culinary school next year. She had graduated from high school a year early and was working and saving money to make her dream come true.
She didn’t know it, but Dean would stop at nothing to help her. If she got accepted into culinary school he would make sure she could afford to be there.
Dean entered the kitchen wearing a rare frown. Finn was latched onto his back, piggyback style. “We put the bags away upstairs!” Finn called out in a happy, sing-song voice.
Dean kept his gaze trained on his mother. “Why did Jon take Daisy to the store?”
“Now, dear,” Dorothy said in a placating tone. “You know Jon is staying here for a while. His mother has been awful to him since you both graduated from IU. He needs some space. He and Daisy have become very good friends.”
“Daisy needs to make friends her own age,” Dean growled, gently easing Finn to the floor.
“Jon’s good for our Flower. She’s been picked on in school for too long. She needs to be around people she trusts. And we all trust Jon.” Dale announced. He pulled a chair away from the kitchen table and sat down with a grunt. “I’m starving, Dorothy. What’s for breakfast?”
Dean’s mom handed his dad a green package. “We have a big meal in just a few hours. You need to watch your cholesterol. Have some yogurt.”
Dale picked up the container and his eyes widened. “I’m not eating this.”
“And why not? It’s good for you.” Dorothy’s voice rose with irritation, and she placed her hands on her hips.
Dale grimaced. “Dorothy, this is female yogurt.”
Dorothy sighed in a loud, exasperated tone. “Oh for God’s sake, Dale. What are you talking about?”
“Look,” he picked up the yogurt and handed it to Dean. “Son, you see that right? That’s girl’s parts on that yogurt. It’s for the ladies.”
Dean coughed to control his laughter. “Pops. That’s the digestive system. Not ovaries. This is not vagina yogurt. Everyone has a stomach and intestines.”
Dorothy smacked the back of Dean’s head and then swatted Dale’s arm. “For the love of all things holy! It’s a probiotic. Just eat it and settle down.
Finn looked up from where he was studying the newspaper comic section. “Daddy, you just said ‘gina. Mommy says we don’t talk about penises or ‘ginas or bras in the kitchen.” Finn admonished, trying to hide his smile.
“That’s right, you smart boy,” Dorothy kissed the top of Finn’s head. “Let me make you and your mom and your daddy some of my special cinnamon toast.”
“Why don’t they have to eat lady yogurt?” Dad asked from behind his part of the newspaper.
“Dale!” Dorothy groaned.
The rest of us laughed. “I’m fine, Dorothy. Thank you, anyway. I’m going to prep my stuffing so I can play touch football later with everyone.” I told her, pulling out a cutting board and knife.
“Sure, Mom.” Dean grinned as I handed him a cup of coffee. “Thanks. Finn and I would both love some.”
Dorothy bustled around the kitchen, making piles of toast. The rest of the Goldsmith clan was still asleep, most likely exhausted after mini reunions with hometown friends the night before. But when they stumbled downstairs Dorothy would be ready for them. She started another pot of coffee and then finished sprinkling cinnamon and sugar on the bread.
As Dorothy delivered her treat, Dean looked up at her from where he sat at the kitchen table, his face holding a huge smile. “Ma, for real? I’m a professional football player. You do not need to cut my cinnamon toast into four squares.”
Finn giggled. “I like mine cut in four squares! Thank you, Grandma Goldsmith!”
Dorothy squeezed him in a hug. “At least one of the boys at this table appreciates me.”
As soon as her back was turned, Finn slid half his toast to Dale, who gobbled it up in a nanosecond. He winked and Finn gave him a thumbs up.
A few minutes later the kitchen side door opened, and Daisy and Jon stumbled inside. Daisy appeared to be falling over her feet tripping, and Jon grabbed her, steadying her before she could fall.
“Oh, sorry! Thank you, Jon. Hello everyone!” Daisy called out. She looked positively alive. Her eyes danced, her skin glowed, her cheeks were pink and her lips… well, they looked red and swollen.
And so did Jon’s.
Hmmmm…. Things just might get a bit awkward around here.
* * *
“Who’s ready for some fooooottttballllllll?” Dale yelled from the family room.
Daisy and I grinned at each other, wiping our hands on kitchen towels and headed in to join him.
“We’ve got some newcomers here, so let me explain.” Dale wore a black and white striped referee shirt with a whistle around his neck. “The Goldsmith Family Turkey Bowl has been played for generations. I started with my brothers and sisters back in–”
“Prehistoric times?” Damian interrupted. His girlfriend from IU giggled and clutched at his shirt. Crystal was staying with him for the weekend. Daisy, Dorothy, and I had learned while peeling potatoes that she had decided to stay in state for the long weekend rather than head back to California. Because the Goldsmiths were the most generous people in the world, they offered to have her as another guest i
n their home. Since they weren’t engaged, Crystal slept with Delilah and Finn with Damian. Dean and I were able to stay in his old room.
“That’s not true, right Grandpa Goldsmith? You aren’t that old?” Finn asked with wide eyes.
Dale gave Damian the stink eye before shaking his head at Finn.
A shrill barking followed the group’s laughter. Crystal also brought her dog, a pug named Diamond. It snorted and made a lot of odd noises, but then again, so did its owner.
“Okay, settle down.” Dale held his arms out to his sides. “On Team One we have Dean, Grace, Finn, Devin, and Daisy. Team Two is Damian, Crystal, Jon, Dianna, and Delilah. I’ll referee, and Ma will keep score. No tackles. No rough play. Fight fair. Let’s try not to bleed this year, all right chuckleheads?”
The brothers immediately started shoving one another around.
Welcome to a Goldsmith family Thanksgiving.
* * *
Thirty minutes later, we stood in the Goldsmith’s backyard sweaty and covered in mud. The score was tied twelve to twelve. Both of Team One’s touchdowns had been thrown in by Finn carried in the arms of Devin. To say my son was having the time of his life would be a massive understatement.
Dale blew the whistle, and we got into our positions. Dean had the ball, and he threw long to Daisy. She caught it and raced to the end zone. I ran after her, ready for a pass if she needed help. I watched in slow motion as Jon caught up with her. While this was strictly touch football, we had had some tackles so far. This one I watched with what felt like a front row seat. Jon wrapped his arms around Daisy, taking her to the ground, but twisting so that his body broke her fall, cushioning and protecting her. He rolled on top of her, their bodies shaking with laughter as he whispered something in her ear.
“That’s a penalty, douche. We get the ball.” Dean called as he jogged over. “And get off my sister.” He yanked Jon up by the shirt.
Jon got his feet on the ground and pushed Dean’s hand away. “Get off me. Calm your nuts, man.”
Dean took a step closer to Jon. “Don’t touch her, then.” While voices had started off light and teasing, a threatening vibe now lingered in the air as both men stared each other down.
F*CKING AWKWARD HOLIDAYS: 25 Short Stories of Awkward Holiday Encounters Page 19
