Straight No Chaser

Kisses to Ernie On His Imaginary Birthday, Katrina Langham

she is on a diet of pretty much meat, salad, and broccoli. these days, she has no qualms with indulging the cravings, even though they include foods previously foreign to her palate; she has to smirk even at herself, in the mirror, shoveling down two steak'ums and bacon strips like a catholic after lent. it isn't her fault, she reminds herself, shrugging off the weighty feeling that comes over her after every free-for-all. she's just doing her job, paying her ante to the greatest poker game she's ever played.

he watches from the doorway to the kitchen with arms crossed, adoration playing at the upturned corners of his lips. "what's so funny?" she demands with her mouth full. "you are," he replies as they collaborate on mountains of dishes smeared with steak sauce.

pillow talk is different these days, interrupted by her frequent attempts to get comfortable. he shifts along with her, holding her in the ever-expanding circle of his arms, wordlessly apologetic for her discomfort. "almost to the halfway mark," he reminds her sometimes, thinking, perhaps, that this helps things; really, doesn't he understand how it scares her? several months to go and so much growing left to do--it frightens her and she cries, it thrills her and she cries; he blames the tears on hormones and he holds, and holds, and holds.

and catches her playing music she ordinarily finds unbearable: slow-moving ravel rondos with understated themes, with the volume turned up for maximum effect. always with her eyes closed, daydreaming; picturing the rhythmic and languid development of a tiny cerebellum and limbic system, watching the tiny cortex crinkle and fold around the somber notes. again, he holds her, coming up from behind, kissing her neck, setting her delicate body humming. "i'm glad it's you," he tells her, sliding his hand to where they belong...

yeah, you've seen that before. i was going to keep it for myself, to expand later or something, but i found a better purpose for it.

seems like there are few things ernie wants more than to honor his grandfather by capitalizing on those amazing paternal skills we all know he's going to have. and so, since the guidelines of his prompt say we can suspend reality, that's my gift to him--that little vignette come true (with modifications), and in place of "she" he can put the name of whatever woman he wishes, and he gets the solace of knowing the baby's a boy, ernest the fourth, and the added blessings of three daughters afterward, to name whatever he chooses, and all the joys and perils of raising his quartet to self-assured, functional adulthood.

we give the gifts we'd want ourselves. but seriously, in addition to what the other party guests are giving, that's what i'd most want ernie to have, and what i'd think he'd make the absolute most of.

i ended that sentence on a preposition.

his suggestion was that we use his prompt to come up with gifts for everybody. i don't have the energy to do everyone, but there's someone else whom i think deserves something similar.

pause pause pause.

and meg gets china, and grim gets the pleasures of our babies. and me, i just want love. doesn't even have to be wrapped.