How Green Becomes Wood

"At the end of the day, we trade shifts, and there are always nap times and bed times," Dark replied, "But Daizi--- that is my wife--- she does not need me to be popular, she likes me regardless. Toddlers and teenagers are more fickle."
 
McCoy chuckled. "That is the truth! I have three. All boys. Let me tell you, it is impossible to win a popularity contest every day! But they are good boys, every one of them, and I am so proud of how they are turning into fine adults!"
 
"21, 19, and 16," she told him. "The oldest is out of the house now, sharing a house with some roommates. The younger two still live at home, though the middle child is out more than he is in. The eldest has an internship at a law office, the middle child is considering going into anesthesiology, and the youngest has not yet picked out a path, but he currently volunteers at the local animal shelter. They are turning into smart, considerate kids, though there was some doubt there for a while during their particularly roudy years. Like the time when they decided to make their own homemade fireworks and made their own gunpowder... inside the house."
 
McCoy thought for a moment. "Let's see. Jason was 12, so that would make Ajax 15, and Ulysses was almost 18, I believe. Gunpowder in various forms is actually not that hard to make if you know how, or know how to find the recipe. Unfortunately. How about your boys?"
 
"Those are good names," Dark replied, impressed, "Is it you or your husband who is the fan of Homer? My boys have not caused much trouble of that sort. They used to have an issue with leaving the house on a whim, without a word or a note. But being adopted later in life, we expected those sorts of difficulties. Once they rearranged all of the furniture in the living room to make an obstacle course for my daughter, and Daizi was fairly upset about it."
 
"No one has ever caught that connection before," McCoy said, impressed. "People usually think Ulysses is named after the president, and one person asked me why I would name my middle child after a dish soap. I imagine your boys must have given you a few headaches, but it sounds like they at least have good intentions."
 
"Never? Really?" Dark asked, "That surprises me. Although, to be honest, when I hear Ulysses, I think of James Joyce and not Odysseus. And they have certainly given me more than a few headaches, but it has been completely worthwhile. I am pleased they will always be in my life."
 
A small knot of women awaited Dark. However, before they could approach him, Ciara, fresh from her own slow dance, stepped forward and wordlessly took his arm. The knot instantly dissolved, but not without several disappointed looks in his direction.

"Champagne?" Ciara offered him, holding up a glass.
 
"It looked like you could use a break," Ciara said, guiding him to one of the serving plate sized tables. She'd managed to gather a few things she'd seen on his plate earlier for him to eat, if he wanted. "How are you holding up?"
 
"Thank you," Dark repeated, trying to hide how pleased he was she had also procured food for him, "I am surviving. I did not expect..." He gestured towards those who had an eye on him, "How are you?"
 
"Not quite as popular, but there are fewer men who enjoy dancing than there are women, I suppose," Ciara said as if completely unaware of the nervous glances she received from time to time.
 
You must log in or register to reply here.
Back
Top