Princess Gummies, an Austin and Ally oneshot
I do not own Austin and Ally. Titles taken from my new novel Skeleton Girl, which can be found one Inkitt.
(The Beginning)
She's knitting a blanket when Benny toddles up next to her.
"Mommy, where do babies come from?"
She drops her stitch. Better than Austin, who's dropped his coffee. It lands in his crotch.
They hadn't been expecting this talk for a good couple years. He's what, six (and three quarters, if you ask him) years old, and if he's going to learn the proper way to make a baby, without the stork that is, they're going to wait a little longer.
Like until after he's married.
She realizes that her husband is screaming in pain. Ditching the now tangled mess of yarn, she leaps up to get some napkins. "Sweetie, get me the bottle of pain meds for daddy. We can talk about this later."
Later today, or later in life, he doesn't have to know.
(Results Not Typical)
All this stress is getting to her. There's crows' feet at her eyes from countless nights of sleep lost to baby screams. The nursery rocking chair has become a second bed to her.
More like first bed, if you're asking her boyfriend.
"What is this?" Austin picks up the jar from the bathroom counter. She glares at him through the mirror.
"Anti-aging cream. Trish said she can see wrinkles forming already."
"You're twenty three." He grips her shoulders, forcing her to turn around. "And beautiful to boat."
She chuckles. "I think you mean 'to boot.'"
"So you agree with me!" He tosses the jar in the trash, letting it thunk to the bottom. The baby wakes, and cries.
Well, it's not like these things work anyhow. That baby is going to cry, and she is going to get wrinkles.
But so will he.
(Fistful of Denim)
How has the boy gotten through this many years of life without learning how to fold his laundry? Sleeves in, half, half again.
It can't be that hard.
"All of my clothes hung up," he whines in self defense.
"Even your boxers?" She smoothes a pair against the laundromat table. Fold once, fold twice.
He shrugs. Plucking a pair of jeans from the dryer, he tosses them in the laundry basket. "What?"
He hates when he gets that look.
"You really hate folding your clothes, don't you?"
"I'm going to hang them up when we get home anyhow. What's the big deal?" Still, he takes them out of the basket and folds them in half, then thirds.
She shakes her head. You can take a boy out of his teens, but you can never take the teens out of a boy.
When he turns his attention to mating socks, she unfolds his pants. Half, then half.
Much better.
(Big Men Don't Cry)
That is not a teardrop falling from his eye. No sir, it is simply sweat, because he's worked his eyes ragged lifting them to meet hers so many times.
What, can't he ogle her post baby curves? She looks pretty hot.
No, he's not referring to the temperature outside.
His son says the word again, and darn, his eyes are sweating a lot today.
"Dada." He grips his girlfriend's arm, pointing excitedly.
"His first word, 'dada.' He knows my name." The fact that he has yet to say 'mama' is just gravy to him.
The tear splashes on his son's cheek as he picks him up from the crib.
He thinks he may be in love.
Again.
(Cross My Heart)
The thing about youth these days is that they're never quite like youth those days, his days. Back when Legos made mansions and mattress samples made fake chests all the more real to beat his best friend at war.
That last part may have been just him. Not every child grows up in a family of mattress salesmen.
He glances into the backseat of the car to see Benny strapped in, watching some video on the phone. It sparks some sort of reaction in him, because now he's looking up, mouth open.
"Daddy, promise you'll never leave me."
"Cross my heart, hope to die, stick-"
"DADDY!" He screams, and the car jerks, thankfully not hitting anything. Austin pulls over, a bit shaken.
Twisting round under his seatbelt. "What?"
"You can't die. You're not supposed to leave me, remember?"
Kids don't make promises to die these days.
If only it could be that easy.
(Stick for a Cat)
Wiz Ka scampers across the room, running after a pencil.
When their son had said he wanted to play fetch with a dog, she hadn't expected this. Especially when you consider the fact that he's a cat. Hence the Wiz Ka as in whiskas as in whiskers, because her husband is such a genius.
She was partial to other names, but she'd named their child. He called dibs on the cat.
Yet he's tried on multiple occasions to dub him Jammin, because why does Benjamin have to derive his nickname from the first half of his name?
Crash.
"What was that?" She glances to her son, who is scooping up his feline friend.
If only the landlord had allowed dogs, who could go outside and play. She hadn't thought that a pencil could be so destructive inside.
Scratching behind the ears, "I dunno. Sounded like it came from the kitchen."
And there, squatting on the floor is Austin, picking up the remains of a sheet tray of cookies that had been sitting out to cool for the school's bakesale.
He just couldn't stay away.
Should've gone with store-bought.
(Benny and the Jets)
At the ripe young age of twelve (no quarters necessary), their son decides to audition for West Side Story. As a Shark.
"Um, sweetie, you do realize that the Sharks are Puerto Rican, right?" Ally sets a bowl of mashed potatoes in the middle of the table. Sitting down, she unfolds a napkin in her lap. She does not want another gravy stain to set in her white pants.
And no, she's not just going to go pantsless, Austin.
"So?" He plops a large scoopful of potatoes on his plate, dodging the green beans.
His parents exchange a cautious look. They don't want to squash him dreams, or make him think that his race should determine what he can, or can't do in life. His best friend is hispanic, and he's never said anything negative about it.
Except that one time he said he had booger breath because they were both crushing on the same girl.
Austin cuts into his pork chops. "Wouldn't you rather be a Jet?"
"Why can't I be a Shark?" His voice is louder, a bit distraught. His parents have never bashed his dreams before.
"It's a story of interracial warfare. The director is going to want to cast as close to original intent as possible to make the biggest impact." She shakes the pepper across her plate.
"That's racist."
No son, that's just life.
(Angels Don't Have Feeding Tubes)
It's Monday afternoon, and they're arriving at her door. Their door, technically, as his grandpa is sharing the hospital room with Mr. Johnson.
Was sharing, actually.
"Where is he?" Benny asks, tugging on his mother's shirt hem. He'd grown close to her roommate, always fascinated at the coins he made appear from his ear, how he always knew which card was his.
He had an affinity for the jack of clubs.
Lester sighs, frowning at his grandson. "I'm afraid he's gone."
"He got to go home? He's gonna get that banana milkshake?" They'd been talking about he desperately wanted one, how it wouldn't fit down his feeding tube. Benny had promised they'd get one when he got out, that he would wait to have ice cream without him.
"Not exactly." Austin pats his head, pushing the blond curls out of his son's eyes.
"Where did he go?"
This is not going to be easy.
(Rain and a Chance of Weight Gain)
No, the test has to be wrong. A prank, where her boyfriend managed to get her uterus and bladder in on it.
He doesn't know she took the test. He doesn't know she missed her last cycle.
She lifts her shirt in the mirror, studying her stomach.
"Do I look bigger to you?" she asks, hearing his approaching footsteps.
He pushes her shirt back down. "Of course not. Why?"
The stick speaks for her.
Thunder and lightning grumble out the window as the rain storm carries on, but he's not distracted by the flashes of light. His eyes are glued to that stick.
"I'm going to be a dad?"
(Freckle on an Elephant)
His nose is pressed against the window of the elephant house, watching them get a bath. He's fascinated with the process.
Or he was, until his father piped up.
"When do we get to see the monkeys?"
Benny swivels his butt around on Austin's arm, wide eyed. "Monkeys?"
Ally smiles. He is so his father's child.
The monkeys are playing in their cage, and one has something suspiciously brown in his hand. The one that happens to be aimed at them.
"Poop!" he squeels.
"Don't worry, they won't throw it at us," Austin explains, being a seasoned visitor of the exhibit.
He fails to catch the scrunched appearance of his face. Ally hears the grunt.
"I don't think that's what he means."
Will they ever get this parenting thing down?
(Allez a la Peche)
Leaning back, with the fishing pole anchored to the side of the boat, he takes a look at his son. His nose is white with sunscreen, eyes bulging as he stares at the water, waiting.
It's too early to make conversation.
"Papa, je veux food." Ally has been trying to expose him to other languages in preparation for her European mini-tour.
He's not doing too well. Better than his dad ever did in Spanish, but he's five. Kids can't be perfect. Not even the ones that know how to conjugate basic verbs in other languages.
He is so his mother's child.
Austin reaches into his pocket, pulling out a bag of gummy bears. Candy at seven a.m. What could possibly go wrong?
Sugar rushing on a boat was not a good idea. Benny can't swim, and he's rocking this boat more than his parent's the night he was conceived.
Or was that the showers?
That was one zealous weekend.
(Five Brass Knuckles)
Apparently taking care of your personal appearance and being interested in theater automatically makes you gay. Because metrosexuality isn't a thing.
"Dad, I need advice." He loosens his tie, sitting down at the kitchen table.
Whoa, when did those sleep deprived circles appear under his eyes?
"What's up?"
"Some kids have been picking on me at school, and I want them to stop. I tried talking to them, like mom suggested, but they dumped smoothie in my hair." He fishes a chunk of strawberry out of his bangs.
Dez crosses his legs and leans foward to break the father son moment. Honorary uncle nephew moments are totally a thing.
In this household anyway.
"Here's what you do. You get five brass knuckles and-"
"Dez! You can't tell him that."
"You're right, he needs ten brass knuckles. Good call buddy." The response causes Benny to shake his head in disbelief.
Next time he's asking the internet.
(Fat Red Crayon)
Around age seven, Benny notices something.
His dad stares at his mom's butt, a lot. He decides to test this theory.
"Mom, my red crayon got stuck under the couch. Can you reach it?" He'd hit it under there too hard, and it'd nearly come out the other side.
Getting on her knees, she bends down to reach under the couch. Austin looks up from his coloring page to get an eyeful. Several eyefuls, because he doesn't avert them.
When she can't reach the crayon either, so she says, she beckons her husband over.
"It's stuck. You try to get it."
Today he notices something else.
His mom stares too.
(The Whole Ten Yards)
Their apartment is ten yards from the streetcorner. He's triked that distance many times over.
The wheels come off this afternoon.
"Are you sure this is necessary?" Austin asks, knotting the cord holding the pillow to his stomach. It nearly reaches his kneepads, with their matching elbow pads and helmet.
"I just don't want him to get hurt."
He doesn't let go when he leads him to the corner.
She isn't the only one.
(Insert Pig Idiom Here)
Is that their dinner flying through the sky?
The frozen ham wobbles through the air like the meat frisbee it is.
"What's going on here?" She startles him, and he runs backward into their neighbor's car. The alarm goes off. His best friend sheepishly looks away.
"You told dad you would go to the mud pit race with us when pigs fly. We couldn't find a pig, so we thought a ham might work," he shouts over the car alarm.
She takes the ham steak from his hands. "It's an expression sweatheart."
Taking the now thawed meat upstairs, she leaves the boys outside.
"Told you we should've gotten the whole pig."
(Honorary Easter Bunnies)
He doesn't know what's worse: the smell of the costume, or the look on his son's face when he sees it headless, on his body.
"Daddy?"
This is how you break a seven (and one quarter) year old's heart.
"Yeah?" He twiddles his bunny hands.
"Why are you dressed like the Easter Bunny?" He sniffles, lip trembling. He's heard rumors on the playground that he's not real. But it couldn't be his parents bringing him those baskets. There's no way his mom would let him have all that candy, even if his daddy does steal his Red Vines every year.
"I'm an honorary Easter Bunny. He can't be everywhere at once, so he's personally asked me to visit the kids of Miami. Gotta check for chocolate allergies and diabetes and stuff." It's a weak cover story, but he hopes his son buys it.
His furrowed brow unravels itself. "You know the Easter Bunny?"
"Duh."
"Can you tell him to bring me extra Red Vines this year? I always lose mine."
(Everybody is Beautiful)
Hair askew, face redder than the light he ran to make it to the hospital on time, Ally grips her boyfriend's hand.
"You did this to me. I'm hideous!" She pushes.
"You are beautiful and our child will- Ow. That hurt." He wants to take his hand away, but he did put her through this nine month agony.
When everything is said and done, and she's calmly holding the baby, he takes the camera out.
This time she doesn't seem to care that she is hideous.
Not that she is. She's gorgeous.
They're gorgeous.
(I Salute You)
College applications are being sent, and while his heart is already settled in New York, where the performers go, he's forced to attend the mandatory college fair anyhow. In the shuffle he manages to land in front of the military table.
"What do you think about fighting for your country?" The man at the booth is seated.
"I think it's a terrible idea." One thing he's learned from his parents is to speak his mind. They'd taught him discretion.
He chooses not to listen. What's the point of being heard if you're only spouting lies?
"Excuse me?" Suddenly his chair is pushed back, and his eyes are cast down on Benny.
"Fighting. I mean, why can't we use our words?"
He never did use those brass knuckles his uncle Dez brought him. He's still mama's little pacifist. He's not one to kill.
But he's totally slaying that audition next week for the spring musical.
(Bloodbath of Butterflies)
Benny's first crush is when he's five, and giving someone your fruit snacks at lunch is the classiest way to show your affection.
Too bad they were dinosaur gummies. She's a princess girl.
His classmate, whose breath reeks of boogers, got princess gummies. He's got a big sister.
"Daddy, can I borrow three dollars?" He sticks his hand out, waiting for the cash to fall in his hand.
"What do you need three dollars for?"
"I like this girl at preschool, and I want to bring her lots of princess gummies." His hand falls into the pocket of his overalls. His cheeks fall under the curse of a blush.
Austin pulls his wallet out of his pocket.
"If you really want to impress her, buy her flowers." He gives him a five, watching his son run out of the room. He runs back in, giddly bouncing from the support of all the butterflies in his stomach.
"Daddy, can I get a ride to the store?"
(Barricade)
His two year old diapered butt is plopped on the carpet, playing with a foam set of blocks.
He's engrossed in a horror film some old thriller from his teenage years.
"Turn it off." Ally walks into the room, picking her son off the floor.
"Just because you don't like horror movies-"
"He's two." She cradles him against her chest. With her free hand she skims the back of the DVD box. "Besides, why would you want to watch Barricade again? You said it was terrible."
He shrugs, pausing the movie. "Everything deserves a second chance."
True, he did give their relationship a second chance. They could have been without child, without each other.
Second chances aren't all bad.
(Painful Joy)
The crutch is digging into her armpit, her dress keeps getting caught under it, and it is quite possibly the most beautiful day of her life.
'Here comes the bride, striding on crutches. Despite her injury, she won't escape her clutches.'
That's what her son is singing.
Sounds a bit off, and not because he's too young to have obtained such vocabulary. He's taken to sitting on Ally's lap while she reads.
"You ready?" her dad whispers as he leads her down the aisle.
Her glance shifts from her son in the first row to her boyfriend at the altar.
"Let's do this."
(Little Cushion)
They catch wind that there's a party going on at the hotel they're staying at for the weekend. It's terribly crowded, but Ally's been walking around town all day in heels and she wants to sit.
There's one chair left.
"We can share it," he tells her, letting her take his lap.
"Something's poking me," she mentions a few minutes later.
"Sorry." He adjusts underneath her.
She stands, tugging her dress down. It does a better job of covering her bottom, but now her top is a little sparse.
Grabbing for his hand, she grins at him.
"Let's go check out the boats."
He doubts they'll get far.
(Octagon)
They're playing with Benny's mountain of toys (because their students love bringing in stuff for the baby) when Austin comes across a wooden table with shaped holes.
"There's something wrong with the circle one." He holds the block up for her to see.
"Maybe because it's an octagon?" She turns the block to match the sides of the hole and sticks it in.
He crosses his arms. "What baby is going to know what an octagon is?"
Benny picks up a rhombus and sticks it in the right hole.
"The same baby who knows what a rhombus is."
Austin is getting upstaged in geometry by his son.
He is so proud.
(Slip n' Slide)
The wedding is soon, too soon, and she still hasn't found the perfect dress. She has a few connections from event parties she's had to attend.
She just had to pick the one that lives where it snows.
She flies out, steps on a patch of ice, falls and feels the pain. Ankles aren't supposed to move that way.
Being an injured bride was not in her fantasy. Not that she daydreams about this.
Often.
(Cheeseburger, Extra Cheese)
Austin is impressed. For a pint sized girl, she's managed to down a large fry and cheeseburger. She looks guilty, like she can't believe she did it.
"That was awesome!"
Five minutes flat. She'd been in a rush this morning, only getting a piece of toast for breakfast.
Untoasted toast.
Yes, bread.
"Is it wrong that I'm still hungry?" She wipes her mouth clean, grimacing at the empty tray in front of her.
"We've got a baby to support," he says, getting up. "I'll get you more fries."
"Austin, wait."
He puts a hand on her shoulder. "It's okay. Nobody is judging you."
"I know. I just wanted to make sure you get ketchup this time."
"Okay."
(Sticker Gun)
There's discount ice cream on the shelf. The red sticker taunts him, half off. It expires in a week, and if he doesn't buy it, they'll toss it, and all of those cows will have lost all of their cow juice for nothing.
But he promised he'd wait on the ice cream.
It's been three months since Mr. Johnson died, and he still doesn't feel right about it.
"You want to get some?" Ally opens up the freezer, letting the cold air out.
"Nah." Benny scuffs his shoe against the tile.
"You don't have to give up ice cream just because he's gone you know." Ally takes a tub of vanilla off the shelf. "You could have a milkshake in his honor."
"I dunno." He scuffs so hard he stubs his toe.
She sets the ice cream back on the shelf.
"Just let me know when you are ready."
(Don't Talk to Strangers)
She really should tell the guy she has a boyfriend, but the way that Austin is turning pink in the corner is way too amusing.
Besides, shouldn't he have noticed her baby bump by now? She is three months along.
When the party's host announces the next performer, the pink boy himself, he hops on stage, and very pointedly, as in pointing, with his finger, dedicates the song to Ally.
"This is for a very special lady, soon to be mom."
That's one way to clear things up for the tabloids.
The guest backs off, claiming he has to use the bathroom. Her eyes roll when she sees her boyfriend grinning ear to ear. He'll claim it's his performance fueling that smile.
She knows better.
(Satiety Tank)
It's the first morning after their first time, and he's hungry. Starving, like someone who hasn't eaten in weeks.
Or someone who just really loves pancakes.
There are four burners on the stove. Clearly they need to invest in three more pans to make three times more pancakes.
"How are you still hungry?" She sets down another pancake in front of him, taking a bite of her own.
"I worked up an appetite. You, Miss Dawson, are quite the challenge." She had the most ticklish of sides, and any time he would go to grab them she would break into a fit of squirming giggles.
It was kind of fun to watch with her naked.
"I still can't believe that happened." A dollop of syrup lands on her shirt.
Er, his shirt.
He still can't believe she said yes to seconds.
To the pancakes or last night, he won't tell.
(Cashews and Cheese)
Breaking news, Benny is allergic to cashews.
Breaking into a rash, is more like it.
They rush to the emergency room, and he gets put on oxygen. He's too young to die.
When is it finally acceptable to die? She doesn't want to lose either of them.
They're always too young to die.
(Nothing)
Pupils wide, her eyes squeeze shut.
"Hah, I win!" Austin stands, pumping his fist in the air. She blinked, she finally blinked.
"Huh?" She pops a grape in her mouth.
Sitting back down, careful to avoid the pie, he answers her. "Weren't we having a staring contest?"
"No..."
"Then what were you staring at?" He steals a handful of grapes from her, eating them off the vine.
Nothing. Her eyes had gone on autopilot as she looked on to the future. One with wedding rings and franticly tossed blankets.
Of their future child, not theirs. Their bed would be made.
Most days.
Just not when they're in it.
(Washed Dollars and Corn Chips)
While folding the laundry, a chore deligated to him by his mother, due to his father's inability to fold (though she guarantees he really can, but would rather feign incompetence), Benny finds a dollar in his dad's pocket.
He should give it back, but his dad won't be home for hours. He's out on a date with Ally.
And there's practically no food in the house.
Okay, no good food in the house.
He walks down to the gas station to buy a bag of Fritos. That's when he sees his parents sitting under a tree, a guitar in Austin's lap. She's fingering the frets, he's strumming.
There's something adorable about his parents. He doesn't want to admit it, because they're old, and he's young, and hasn't found love since that little girl took his daisies and ran, right across the play yard to his best friend and his box of princess gummies, but they are.
Why can't he have that?
A kid goes by on his bike, gagging at the adults. Austin's lips are on her cheek.
He forgets to buy the corn chips.
(Gain)
Something smells different. Good different.
Sniff.
"Austin, what are you doing?" She stuffs the pillows into their cases.
"Something smells really good." Sniff sniff.
She giggles, smoothing out the wrinkles in the sheets. "I bought new detergent. It was on sale."
He throws his body onto the bed, absorbing the scent.
"Come lay with me," he commands. She still has to remake Benny's bed, wash the dishes, vacuum the rug.
Her body ends up on the bed. Right in the crook of his side.
It'll get done tomorrow.
(Woe is Mine)
When Benny is rejected for the homecoming dance, he sits on the stoop of his apartment, his father's words floating around his head.
"Sometimes that girl has been under your nose the whole time."
He's not particularly tall, like his mom. If anything, he'd be the one fitting under someone else's nose.
His neighbor from the apartment below them comes up behind him.
"Benny, what are you doing out on this stoop? It's homecoming." She pushes her glasses up her nose.
"I could ask you the same question." He nods to her jeans and tee shirt. She's obviously not going anywhere.
Placing her book down, she joins his level. "The guy I wanted to ask me didn't. So I'm not going."
She fiddles with her braid, and the headlights of a passing limo shine in her direction.
His dad didn't mean literally under his nose, did he?
If only he had the nerve to kiss her.
(Get Drenched)
The rain is pouring something akin to the world's largest faucet on full blast, where the cars are swerving and jumping puddles come into existence.
"How are we supposed to get from here to the door without getting soaked?" Ally holds her doggy bag to her chest, peering out the window.
"We could wait it out," Austin trails, reaching for the door handle. "Or, we could make a run for it."
He bolts before she can make up her mind.
When she reaches the door, with a soaked bag of chocolate cake, he moves to pin her against the wall.
"Now is not the time for a Notebook moment."
When they reach their apartment, the cake is dead. Looks like she isn't getting dessert tonight.
Then again, maybe she will.
(Burning Chicken)
It's Ally's birthday, and her favorite boys have decided to make her dinner.
They have not, however, decided to burn said dinner. It did that on its own. Well, maybe they had forgotten it was in the oven while they duked it out over a new video game, but that's not the point.
The point is, the chicken is burnt. Not crispy, burnt.
Austin gives his son twenty dollars.
"Go get a pizza, and get home before your mother notices."
Next time they promise she doesn't have to cook, they better put a timer on.
(Blade Grows Dull)
The terror, the pure terror. Her husband has grown facial hair.
You know how some people look better cleanly shaven?
Austin is one of them.
"I can't find my shaver anywhere." He runs his hand across his fuzzy jaw. It's at the prickly stage, and it scratches her when she kisses him.
"I can buy you a new one." She doubts that model is out anymore, but any electric shaver can erase that monstrocity from his upper lip.
He continues to glide his hand across his face. "Come on, you think I look good."
"You look ridiculous." She opens a can of food for Wiz Ka, and he pads over on his neatly trimmed paws.
Even their cat has better hygiene.
He takes a bite of his pancakes. That's when she threatens it. No more kisses until he shaves.
"You wouldn't dare."
"I would."
He's buying a razor after breakfast.
(Sledgehammer)
They're at the fair, the strongman booth. He heaves the mallet over his head, hits the big target.
Yet she still proves to be stronger, because her works knock him out.
"I'm pregnant again."
(Evicted)
There's a guy with a cup on the corner by school, holes in his socks.
"Why are you always sitting on the ground Mister?" Benny asks one day on his way home from class.
"This is my home."
"It's the cement."
"I lost my job, got evicted. I don't have anywhere else to go." His stomach rumbles, and Benny offers him a piece of candy. It's all he has to offer.
He picks the lint off the Lifesaver, holding it out to him. "You wanna come to my home tonight? Mom's making meatloaf."
Meatloaf. The man's mouth waters, then his eyes.
It's the first kind heart he's seen in weeks.
(Jester of Health)
At age eleven he falls sick. He doesn't want to take his medicine though. It tastes like everything bad, and contorts his tongue into a writhing snake, trying to avoid tasting the vile stuff.
His father adjusts appropriately.
"You have to take your medicine."
"But it makes my tastebuds unhappy."
"I'll make you happy again." He tickles his sides incessantly. So much so that bile ends up on the front of his shirt.
Ew, gross. Parenting reeks.
Still worth it.
(Sparkletastic)
For Halloween, Benny is bent on being the fairies from Sleeping Beauty. He claims dibs on Fauna, says that Ally can be Flora.
"Who even remembers Merryweather's name?" Austin argues, trying to get out of wearing a sparkly dress.
"You do, Daddy." His son beams at him, watching as he tries to squeeze himself into the costume.
He tugs the dress over his head, and hears the fabric tear.
"Maybe Daddy should go as Prince Phillip this year."
He wouldn't even need to buy a costume. He already has one from being the prince of Mattress Kingdom.
Oh, you thought it's because he's already a prince to her?
That too.
(Puppy)
They're at the pet shop, picking up food for Wiz Ka when they see the sign.
"Ally, there's an adoption fair this weekend. Can we go?" Austin juts his bottom lip out, demonstrating the family resemblance of his similarly posed son.
"It's an adoption fair for canines." She walks through the automatic door, leaving them behind.
Benny pops up behind her. "So?"
She glides her hand over her growing stomach. She already has enough mouths to feed.
Her husband spots a cat toy, tossing it in the basket.
"We just wanna look." They're not going to relent, are they?
"Fine. But only if you two take over cleaning the litterbox. I can't see it under my stomach anymore."
They high five and the baby punches, almost as if to join in.
The Moon boys always do have the best timing.
(Crutch)
This time it's his senior homecoming, and he's on the park swings, which are moving like her mood. Her, that downstairs neighbor that's adopted him as some sort of crutch, like a surrogate boyfriend without the benefits.
Her, who's going to the dance tonight with that guy that reeks of cigarettes and patchouli.
One minute they're up close and snuggly, seeing local productions of Guys and Dolls with banana milkshakes (because she's convinced him that it is indeed okay to have one without Mr. Johnson) and the next she's cozied up next to a smoke cloud under the bleachers.
Dollar store perfume doesn't cover anything.
He can smell the stale smoke approaching the swingset.
"Is this seat taken?" Her sneakers hit his downcast eyes first. Then he trails up to see her tutu.
She always was an odd one.
He makes a noncommittal motion. She takes it as her cue to sit.
Dragging her foot in the sand, she exhales. "He never did ask me to homecoming."
"Your boyfriend?" Her on again, off again, sitting on the fence again boyfriend. The one that gives Benny room to whisk her off her feet, only to anchor her to the ground days later. Of course he didn't ask her.
"No, he did."
"Then who?"
It took him three years to get that kiss.
(Life Doesn't Stop)
When he comes home for his sophmore winter break, he knows he shouldn't expect everything to look the same. His parents told him that they put the crib in his room (which really explains that faint smell of dirty diaper) and that his belongings would be stored in the closet (to avoid said stank).
What he doesn't expect are bookmarked pages of two bedroom houses and Wiz Ka curled up with his brother.
Some best feline he is. Cheating on him with an ear yanking infant.
"Benny, we'd like to show you something," they say. They break out the stroller and walk to a house a few blocks away. He feels weird being in his shorts again, having spent the past year in the frigid snow of New York.
"We've been thinking about moving, and we want to make sure you like the place in case you ever need to- er, want to- come home." Austin introduces him to the real estate agent.
Even when things change, they'll never leave him behind.
(Life Goes On)
At some point he learns that the Easter Bunny is as real as the Tooth Fairy. He learns that babies don't come from storks, nor love from princess gummies.
His parents have taught him a lot of things. And now, they're in the hospital, hovering over his wife's bed, teaching him one more thing.
How to be a pretty kick butt grandparent.
He has the best teachers.