Chapter 20: Story End

“Kezia? We need to talk.”

“Sounds ominous, am I in ill-favor?”

“That’s an odd way to put it, ill-favor. Are you reading a Victorian romance?”

“Pride and Prejudice.”

“Forsooth.”

“Forsooth would be Elizabethan, Shakespeare’s time, I think.”

“Let’s speak modern English. The topic is difficult enough without having to translate antique words.”

“Okay, let me guess. Since you just returned from visiting Ruth, you have bad news to share?”

“News? No. Are you happy, content here with me?”

“Of course! Why wouldn’t I be? But I’m not staying. Tomorrow, I’m going home.”

“Can I ask why?”

“Because, it’s time for me to go home.”

“Can’t you give a better reason?”

“I’m not your wife, or your roommate, house-mate, mistress, or live in girlfriend. We’ve had a lovely time, a nice long holiday, and now it’s time for me to go back home. Resume normal life.”

“Are we done? Over? Kaput! Finished?”

“Of course not, silly. I’m your girlfriend and your dance partner. We just became lovers, and I won’t let us quit. Don’t suggest it or even think it!”

“Well, that’s a relief. So, you’re saying you don’t want to live with me?”

“Exactly. I just turned fourteen. I want to enjoy my teen years and freedom. You want to turn me into an old lady. Like fat hairy bikers call their tangle haired windburned girlfriends.”

“You don’t like riding tandem.”

“I don’t accept sitting in the back seat, except in limousines.”

“Okay. I understand. Maybe we shouldn’t talk serious tonight, it’s our last night together, for awhile. Let’s celebrate, be romantic.”

“Never put important stuff off. You wanted to say something, say it.”

“What do you think is between my mom and me? Ruth says you’re confused about my relationship with my mom. That’s all she said, and I’m curious why she should think you’re confused. Are you?”

“I am. That anecdote you told about your mom ordering a gigolo and you showed up, confuses me, because you never finished the story, you just left it hanging for me to worry about. Unkind to put ideas in my head and abandon them without an explanation.”

“Do you want to ask me questions?”

“Will I learn answers?”

“Questions and answers usually go together.”

“So does dodging the question and gas-lighting the answer.”

“Aren’t you the smartypants. Ask your questions.”

“Did you fuck your mom?”

“WHAT?”

“Pretended shock isn’t an answer.”

“No, not if the shock is pretended.”

“You’re dodging the question.”

“It might be fun to lead you a merry chase, as just punishment for thinking I might have sex with my mom.”

“Might? Not only is it possible, I strongly suspect you wanted to, and likely did and even enjoyed it and want more! My next question is, are you two having a continuing affair, or only once, a one time fluke?”

“That’s some imagination you got, Kezia. A fluke fuck?”

“I want to hear all the lurid details.”

“What interests you more. The truth? Or a titillating tale of incest?”

“The titillating truth.”

“Sweet fourteen.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means, you’re ten going on twenty, and adept at switching ages.”

“You’re treating me like a kid who doesn’t know what they want.”

“No, I’m pretty sure you think you know what you want, but you don’t want the truth.”

“Try me!”

“No, I did not have sex with my mother. That’s the truth.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“That’s my point.”

“Why won’t you admit it?”

“Excuse me, there’s some one at the door. Put on your robe, they might come inside and I may not be able to prevent them.”

“Police? You’re expecting police?”

“Always possible. We’re both minors. Family maybe wondering where you are and ordered a search party?”

“They know I’m with you, and they’d come with guns if they didn’t agree with it, and they’d never involve the police.”

“Armed men at the door then. I better let them in. Cover yourself.”

At the door are my Mom, Betsy and arm loads of babies in bassinets.

“Come in, it’s getting chilly already. What’s wrong? It’s too late for a social call.”

“Ed kicked your mom out. Insisted she take the brats with her.”

“Okay, we’ll sort it out. Toss your coats anywhere convenient. How are my princesses doing? Can I offer you coffee or anything?”

“You can dress and help me unload the car. There’s a bunch of stuff out there for your princesses’ needs.”

“Give me a minute. Kezia? Would you make us some coffee the special way you make it?”

“Nothing special. I make it in a sauce pan, doesn’t everyone?”

“NNNOO!” The three of us in near unison responded.

“Why not? It’s the best way.”

“No argument from me, Kezia. I prefer your coffee.”

All the bundled diapers and pampers, and stacks of jumpsuits and footed sleepers, boxed toys and stuffed animals. Books printed on waxed fabric. Eventually Betsy’s car is unloaded and everything inside. We set up the playpen near the bed in a corner of the bedroom. The babies were transferred to the playpen without disturbing their slumbers. The four of us take our coffee in the living-room amidst the piled baby gear.

“Eventually, I’ll hear the causes of this upheaval, but not tonight. Everyone is welcome here tonight, so plans for tomorrow can be discussed tomorrow. Everyone is safe, sheltered, has coffee. Anyone hungry? I make mean biscuits. Piping hot in minutes. The ayes have it. I’ll be back in ten.”

Took that long to mix and cut and slide the raw biscuits in the oven. Ready to come out in twenty minutes. Anxiously returned to the fray with a fresh cup of coffee in hand.

“What did I miss? Anything important?”