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“I’m married to your father.”
“Well, I’m married to my life out here.” I guess this is him reacting. He slowly crosses his arms, which makes his muscles bulge, and his veins stand out, while my panties start to send off random sparks that might burn the house down before the three of them implode it with this tense-ass situation. “I’m married to my single bachelor life out here, and that’s not going to change. I have room in my life for more sheep, more chickens, and maybe even a goat or two. Definitely another dog and absolutely another cat. I’ve also been meaning to get a donkey companion for Herman Merman. And maybe a llama to help guard the sheep. But not a wife. Never a wife. There is zero room for a wife here.”
“Well then, don’t marry her,” Elmira huffs. But both of us know better than to take her at her word. “You could just be friends. Friends with benefits. And then you could fall in love, and then you could get married.”
“Granny!”
“What? I’m a realist. I’m just trying to give you a workaround solution.”
“For the love of God. That is not a workaround. And you’re going to call yourself a realist! You, who planned this long before I was even born? Doomed me, I should say. Doomed both of us.”
I feel the need to point something out, but my voice doesn’t come out as strong as I want it to. “Doomed would imply we’re actually going to go through with it, which we’re not, though. Just saying.”
Elmira is all sweet smiles. “Of course you can say so, sweetheart. But you’d be wrong.”
Thank fuck that right at this moment, a white hurtling object comes careening through the open window. It’s all feathers and clucks, which is either a dove with a bad cold or a chicken. I didn’t think chickens could fly, but this might have been more of a wild leap of faith. The flapping is so frantic that dust and feathers fly everywhere.
I throw my hands over my face and scream while I simultaneously try to calm myself down and debate crawling under the table for cover. All I can do is scream and not move since I’m apparently paralyzed with fear.
“Oh my god, cover its eyes!” Wanda screams. “We’re eating its kind!”
Thaddius’ jaw falls open as he stands and walks to the window. Instead of shooing the bird out, he takes it in his arms and, holy meat pies with extra gravy, was there ever anyone who looked as good holding a chicken as Thaddius does? He could pose for chicken calendars. Mr. Chicken June. I can see it now. “What on earth are you talking about?” he asks his mom, carefully smoothing down ruffled chicken feathers.
“The eggs! We’re eating unhatched brethren.”
“I don’t have a rooster,” Thaddius says calmly.
“How do you get—oh.” I really should have just stayed silent. It’s sometimes better to say nothing at all than to show how painfully little you know about farming.
“If there’s no rooster, those eggs would never hatch. They lay eggs all the same.”
“Well, still!” Wanda huffs. “It’s rude.” She scowls at the bird. “And no one asked you in here for breakfast, missy. All the same…” She pats her bob, smoothing down a few strands. “I’m sorry about the travesty.”
“We’ve scarred it for life,” Elmira agrees. She covers her plate with her hands. “Quick. Turn the poor bird around.” Thaddius turns and lets the chicken go inside the house. It walks around, cooing and clucking. “What do you think you’re doing?” Elmira screams shrilly. “Outside!” She shoots up from the table, scoops the bird, puts it on the sill, and shoves it in the bottom. “Shoo! Outside, you marauder. Outside, I say!”
Then she walks over and sits back down with more dignity than I ever would have been able to muster. Thaddius looks doubtful about rejoining the table for breakfast. I’m not sure if I can ever look at eggs the same way again without thinking of the termchicken brethren.
“We’re not finished talking,” Wanda points out as she pats his empty chair. “Come on, sweetheart. Let’s get this settled.”
This time, at the loud braying noise that comes from right behind me, I do leap out of my seat and end up under the table with my hands over my head in the typical disaster pose.
“Herman Merman,” I hear Thaddius say affectionately. “What did I tell you about breaking out of your pen and sticking your head in the window? You’ll frighten the guests. That’s what I always say.” Never mind that he never actually has guests and sounds way too amused to be legitimately sorry.
“Your donkey is loose!” Wanda sounds about two seconds away from having a heart attack.
I crawl out from under the table in time to see her fanning herself wildly. I think breakfast is pretty much shot, but maybe that’s not such a bad thing. They were heading in the direction of trying to force us to honor that silly marriage contract. Maybe now Thaddius will see why it’s so important that we have an anti-contract. A—you can’t make us get married even if you threaten us with wedgies or lawyers or lawyers who give good wedgies—tight as heck style, iron-clad piece of paper that guarantees our freedom.
Thaddius is at the window on the other side of the room, patting the donkey’s head. I didn’t realize the house was so low. Either that or that donkey is pretty freaking tall.
“Good boy,” he says.Pat, pat, pat.“What a smart donkey. Always getting loose and coming to the house for pets. Hey? Herman Merman? So handsome. What a handsome donkey. Isn’t he handsome, Mom?”
“He’s full of fleas,” Wanda sniffs. “Sit back down. We’re going to finish this business even if it kills us.”
Thaddius just keeps petting his donkey.
Good god that sounds dirty.
Pat, pat, pat.“Yeah…I don’t think so.”
