Coddiwomple

by S.E. Harmon

Cameron slammed on the brakes as another car cut him off, and suddenly I felt a little more awake. “So… how much is the Arrive Alive Fee in this Uber?”

The right corner of his mouth kicked up as we watched the car cut off another two lanes of airport traffic. “Shut up, JJ.” “I did ask you not to call me that, mostly because I’m not dy-no-mite.”

Then everyone would live together in a castle in an enchanted forest. And so went the book of Fuck You, Happily Ever After Is Not Supposed To Be A Real Thing.

“Um. Why exactly would we be at your house?” Realizing I was talking to an empty garage, I threw up my hands. I had no other choice but to participate in my own kidnapping—albeit a friendly one.

I silently instructed myself to be reasonable. Cameron winced as if he knew exactly what I was thinking. “I used to see the property every time I came over here to check on Jack, and I finally thought, wouldn’t it be nice—” “To get your nose all the way up my family’s ass by moving in next door?” Hmm. And just what part of that rejoinder was supposed to be reasonable? I reviewed my word choices and mentally marked them all with red Xs. You get a D minus for diplomacy.

I glanced down to find Kona standing there, looking at me expectantly. “You don’t think you’re staying in here, do you?” She smiled a doggy smile. Apparently, she did. “Fine,” I huffed, as if I had a choice. “I guess I could use the company.” I had no delusions that she planned to sleep on the floor. Cameron treated animals like people. I wouldn’t be surprised to see her on the couch with a beer and the remote control.

How do you like Antarctica? I snorted. It wasn’t a question. That was sly agent speak for, “They need pictures of something in Antarctica. Before I slingshot your ass down there, do you need a thermal jacket, or you good?”

“I’m not leaving my home, and I’m damn sure not going to Seattle.” He said Seattle like it was a curse word. I didn’t ask what was wrong with Seattle because I didn’t want to hear the list he probably had all cued up. He’d probably been working on it for years because he was just über prepared like that. “You’ll stay with me,” he said. “I already decided that, Boss Baby,” I informed him, “but only for the summer. I’ll give you until the end of August.” “I generally include September in the summer,” he said craftily. “That’s crazy talk. September is fall.”

“I go by the weather,” he said confidently. “When the weather changes, the summer is over.” “The weather never changes. This is Florida.” “We have a winter,” he said stubbornly. “Yes, those two days a year when I have to wear a sweater are truly harrowing.” I made a sound of exasperation. “If you tack on September, you have to add May as well. Where does it end?” “Well, we’re at the end of May now, so isn’t that moot?” I opened my mouth to argue some more, and then I realized we were both strapping on gear to spelunk in a rabbit hole.

We’d only been together for a few minutes, and I was contemplating watching a couple of episodes of Forensic Files with a pad and a pen to take notes. How much planning makes a crime premeditated again? Asking for a friend.

The lies went as follows: 1. Yes, I’ll take it easy. I’m practically retired! I had it on good authority he routinely worked ten-hour days. Retirement was a four-letter word. 2. I won’t miss one follow-up appointment. He was the reason doctors’ offices created cancellation fees. Enough said. 3. Seasoning alternatives? How clever! He managed a look of faux, wide-eyed amazement when the nurse told him about the wonders of Mrs. Dash. 4. Of course, I won’t use salt. Oh, that one was a doozy. He’d managed to look offended when he swore that oath. I couldn’t suppress a snort, and he sent me a quick glare. We both knew he’d eat a shoe if I put enough salt and butter on it.

“JJ, I think there’s some sort of opossum in the car.” “Will you put your shoe back on?” I asked exasperatedly. “It’s a dog.” I think. His face screwed up. “Well, whaddya get a damn dog for?” “I couldn’t afford a helper monkey for you.” “You’re my helper monkey,” he informed me. “A little chattier than I bargained for, but beggars can’t be choosers, and all that.”

I hid a smile. “A bibimbap?” “Whatever. He keeps saying that my palate needs to be educated, and I keep telling him my palate already has a degree in What Normal Folks Eatology.”

I could feel Bailey’s eyes on me, and I wished her into the cornfield.

A bit of tan caught my eye, and I watched Mr. Pickles pick his way down the counter on quiet paws. I hoped he was in one of his I’m About to Knock All This Shit Off This Desk moods.

“I don’t think there were any rules in your Sexamation Proclamation regarding orgasms. Go ahead.”

Hilarious!

“Oh. This is that kind of visit.” His voice was a little husky. “I thought this was just a lunch drop-off.” “This is DoorDash Gone Wild. It starts as food delivery, and then….” I sank my fingers into his hair and pulling him down to my level. “Things get a little wild.”

Journey grunted as he lifted a couple of cases of beer to take to the drinks table. “Yes, you’re both taking turns riding my back like a pair of monkeys, one heavier than the last.” Jack and I looked at each other appraisingly, trying to determine who was Regular Monkey and who was Heavy Monkey. “He’s talking about you,” we said simultaneously.

“Don’t be stupid,” he said, “you are family.” “Thank you,” I said dryly. “I love my Welcome to the Family, You’re a Fucking Moron gift basket.”

I didn’t turn around. Instead, I did the only reasonable thing. I gave Rosy a beseeching look. “Just tell me he’s not standing there. If God loves me—and I mean really loves me—JJ won’t be standing there.” Her eyes glinted with amusement. “God just wants to be friends.”