“Honey,” Diana paused and hearing no reply, grumbled and turned toward the kitchen door. She yelled in the direction of the stairs, “HONEY, the kids are coming for the weekend. You want to barbeque Saturday?”
Charles clumped down the stairs and peeked into the dining room. Guessing that his wife might have gone to change, he funneled his voice in the direction of their bedroom. “SWEETIE, you want some hot water. I’m going to make a cup of instant coffee.”
“I’M IN HERE! The water’s already hot. Did you hear what I said: The kids are coming for the weekend; do you want to barbeque?”
He followed his head into the kitchen. “I don’t know. Let’s see what the weather’s like first. And then we better check: with those two, bless them, one week vegan, next week fishetereons – or whatever they call it – following week low carbs, then back to being carnivores. Do you think they have a calendar that tells them what to eat? Bottom line, I don’t care. They want barbeque, we’ll have barbeque. I’ll ask and we can take the meat out of the freezer. Anything else?”
“No. I just wanted to plan what we’re doing with the rest of the day. Why don’t you sit down and have a cup of coffee with me.”
Charles had already turned to go back upstairs. He caught the door jamb and pulled himself around. “I’ve had two already. If I start buzzing, you’ll know who to blame.”
Diana smiled. She had just told Lizzie how her father was half-awake at the best of times. “I like to live on the wild side. Come sit down at the counter, I’ll even get your favorite cup from the drainer.”
By the time she returned with the coffee and oat milk, Charles was flipping through the pages of the book she was reading. “Any good?”
“Too early to tell. So, what are your plans for the day?”
“Nothing much. Catch up on bills. Mow the lawn. May’s over – lawn looks terrible. No more ‘No Mow May’ – let the bees buzz elsewhere.”
Diana returned with the coffee and oat milk and reached across the table to recover her book. “I don’t think you’d like this. It’s first-person narrative with dense descriptions about too many things. Very slow-moving.”
Charles brought the coffee to his lips, “Nope,” took another sip, and put the cup down. “New brand of coffee?”
“Nope.” Diana smiled. Think I nailed it that time. Charles and his nopes.
He chose to ignore the mimicking. “Any particular reason the kids are coming?”
“Nope.” She paused, waiting for a reaction, but then reconsidered. “Well, they’re missing us. Lizzie said they hadn’t seen us in ages and the weather’s supposed to be good. I thought we could all take a walk in one of the parks. She asked if the beer gardens were open yet and said, ‘The one by the river is a prize.’ I told her that was a good idea.”
“OK.” Charles topped his cup with more oat milk and gulped it down. “I’ve some work needs finishing upstairs. I’ll be down for lunch. What are we having?”
“Whatever you’re making, it’s your turn to cook. And after you clean up, we need to get their room ready. They’re leaving midafternoon on Friday and said they should be here in time for supper.”
“Yup, I suppose. And what’s next week look like?”
“Not too bad. Just a couple of doctor visits. We can talk about it over lunch. You can go back up to your man cave now. Just don’t fall asleep like you always do.”
Charles walked his cup over to the sink, rinsed it, and put it back in the drainer. He caught Diana’s look about not washing his cup. “Look, I’m the only one that uses this mug and, frankly, the flavors build up over the week. By Friday, you can just add boiling water and have a good cup of coffee. We’ve been through this before. Besides, using less hot water is my way of combatting global warming.”
Diana decided she’d leave it. “Well, when you come down for lunch don’t forget to bring along your appointment book and a magnifying glass. I don’t think you’ve gotten any better deciphering your codes…we’d need one of those Enigma machines.”
Charles slapped his hands on the door jamb, calling over his shoulder. “Yeh, OK. Maybe we should advertise for those Benchley Ladies like in the movie.” He stomped up the stairs, down the hall and into his study. Yawning, he lay down on the futon, pulled the Afghan down over his shoulder and was soon sound asleep.
Kenneth M. Kapp lives with his wife in Milwaukee, Wisconsin, writing late at night in his man-cave. He enjoys chamber music and mysteries, and has been nominated for the Pushcart Prize. His stories have appeared in more than ninety publications worldwide including the Saturday Evening Post, October Hill Magazine, EgoPHobia in Romania, Lothlorien Poetry Journal in Ireland, and The Wise Owl in India. Please visit http://www.kmkbooks.com.
Modern Flash Fiction 