A/N: Angel of Feel Good made me do it again! And I'm not practicing safe beta-ing so please ignore the errors.
Special thanks to Ninde Ancalime for the inspiration for this piece. Your royalty check is in the mail! J
Unmatched
Could she do it all?
It was unmatched.
The feelings of irritation, incomprehension and complete incompetency overwhelming her as she railed the butter knife deep into the afflicted appliance.
"You know you can get twenty to life for toaster murder, Montana."
The sandpapery accented remark startled her so that the butter knife flipped twice through the air, clanking into the kitchen sink.
"Don't- do- that-," she muttered through clenched teeth as he reached around her and grabbed a beer from the fridge.
She heard his strangled chuckle as she upended the toaster over the sink, shaking the very life out of it until bits of oatmeal snow began to flutter down from within.
"Dare I ask what happened to the toaster?"
She slammed it back down on the kitchen counter working the lever furiously up and down several times before upending it and blizzarding the sink once again.
Setting the toaster down with less violence this time; she finally turned to him, swiping both sweat and hair away from her forehead securing the stray strands behind her ears. She let her deep sigh fill the room for a moment before she began, "Your son fed the toaster breakfast!"
She saw the smirk steal across his face as he deduced, "Well it must have been hungry."
She crossed her arms over her chest, retorting in none-too-amused confirmation, "That is exactly what he said when I asked him why he did it."
"Sounds logical to me." He countered with a shrug and a swig of beer.
"Dan, I need you to deal with this. I'm too tired to do it right now."
"Aw Montana, he's just an inquisitive four year old boy."
"You just don't want to be the bad guy," she supplied, wanting to nail him to the wall for the invocation of the age old excuse for why little boys are made of snips and snails and puppy dog tails.
Returning her deep sigh, he pleaded, "I just got home from work. Can't it wait until later?"
"Danny-"
"Awright, where is he?" He swiveled his head around to search the living room. "He's too quiet. I don't like this, Montana. He gets this from you, you know. In my day, you knew where the boys were because you could always hear them playing. It ain't natural for a boy to be so quiet."
She squawked her hand in taunt of the customary grumbling that ensued when he was faced with a difficult task.
"Devin!" He bellowed ten times louder than necessary for the tiny two-bedroom, eight hundred square-foot, city apartment.
Accompanied by an unidentified clopping sound, a stout figure capped with wavy brown hair and questioning blue eyes appeared instantly around the corner. "What Daddy?"
But the figure didn't display the usual endearing boyish features of their son but a princess parody with Hello Kitty body glitter slathered from head to toe, lips ringed with Berry-Cherry pink lipstick, two waterspout ponytails founted gaily upon the top of his head and feet swallowed by oversized, transparent Cinderella slippers.
"What the h-?" Danny choked back the expletive at Lindsay's quelling look, shifting the blame quickly. "Lindsay, what have you been letting Danielle teach him?"
Heat suffused her skin at his misplaced admonition towards the females of the family. "What have I been letting Danielle teach him? This isn't a matter of me or anyone else teaching him anything. It is the natural curiosity of a four year old boy." She felt a small glimmer of satisfaction at the clever turn-around on his earlier reasoning.
"Uh, Uh." He waved a finger at her. "This ain't natural for a boy. He looks-," he sputtered, pushing a hand up over his face before gesturing towards Devin who hummed 'Bibbidi-Bobbidi-Boo' underneath his breath, rocking back and forth in perfect time as he patiently watched the discussion between his parents, "Look at him. He's a miniature drag queen."
The prickling across her skin morphed into a tickling in her bones as she struggled to hang onto her laughter. "Trouble with your masculinity, Messer?"
"I don't have a damn bit of trouble with my masculinity!"
She let the expletive slide this time as she gauged the ire of indignation rising within him.
"It's because of that sissy-assed name you gave him."
"Danny, it's a traditional masculine Irish name with flair and your ma loves it," she finished with a flourishing toss of her head
"That's where you're wrong. It's a unisex name and if we'd named him Giovanni like I wanted I guarantee you he wouldn't be having this identity crises right now."
"For starters you got to pick Danielle's name." Holding up one finger, she plunged on, "And may I mention very original there, naming her after yourself." She added a second finger. "Secondly Devin's middle name is Giovanni which is just Italian for John-- definitely no creativity there." Brandishing three fingers in front of his face, she punctuated her final point, "Lastly, a name, a man does not make."
She noticed he quickly changed topics to deflect her drop into territory for which he had no ammunition, retorting, "Where were you when he poured oatmeal into the toaster anyway?"
"Where was I?" Her voice escalated at the implied fault. "Where- was- I-? I was here finishing up the case files that I pushed aside yesterday to take Danielle to the dentist for her unexpected toothache."
The You-should-have-been-watching-him manner in which he eyed her as he took another swig of beer revived the overwhelming feelings of irritation, incomprehension and incompetency with a vengeance born of a woman wearing too many hats.
She turned her back on him in a huff as the tears, eager to play their part in the release of her emotions, pooled in her eyes. She wouldn't let him see her struggling like this. After all she should be able to handle this. But as a small hand slipped into hers and the boyish words, "Mommy, are crying?" reached her ears, she could no longer deny it. She was struggling to do it all, Mom, Wife, CSI, Housekeeper, Homeroom Mother, Good Neighbor and fifty thousand other roles of which one could conjure up for the woman who does it all for everyone but herself.
The comforting hand suddenly abandoned hers and Devin's anguished words spun her around. His body was tensed into a fighting stance, the founted ponytails bobbing in sync to the punches he rained against Danny's thigh. "You're a meanie. You made her cry. You're nothing but a big, fat meanie."
Setting beer on the counter and a big grin splitting his face in fatherly pride, Danny gathered up Devin into his arms. "Hey, you're quite a slugger there, protecting your ma like that." Matching Devin's graveness, he asked, "So what do you think I can do to make it better?"
"I think you need to kiss it and make it better, just like she does when I have an owie."
"Do you hear that, Montana? Not only is he tough but he's smart as well. Eh! I think he's just like his old man. Whaddya say little man? You and I go to the batting cages after supper tonight?"
The Berry-Cherry ringed lips split into a hideous smile which couldn't overshadow the childish delight in Devin's eyes as he wrapped his arms tightly around Danny's neck, smearing lipstick all over his cheek.
"And look at that grip, Montana," Danny choked out. "I tell you-- just like his old man."
"Umm…. Old Man…" She beckoned in a come-hither lilt as she fisted his shirt in one of her hands, drawing him close. "I think you owe me a kiss."
"Huh?" His eyes momentarily clouded in confusion then cleared in revelation. Setting Devin down, he patted him on the head as he encouraged, "Son, go across the hall and visit Mrs. Gentilly."
"Oh boy, she has a bazillion cats. Mom can I?"
Looking down at the eager blue eyes of her son and back into the eager blue eyes of her husband, she decided she could let one role slide in favor of the other for just a half an hour. "Sure Devin, Daddy will walk you to her door and make sure it's okay."
And just like that she was overwhelmed with feelings of gratitude, joy and love.
It was unmatched.