My nose wrinkles as the sound of a tongue slapping against moist lips breaks into the twilight haze before wakefulness. Then I stop clinging to hopes of slipping back into my dream as that same slobbery tongue finds my face and begins avidly running up and down my face. I squeal in protest, raising my hands up to protect my face.
“Jacque, we know you love the baby but let her sleep.”
If my eyes weren’t already wide open, they would be at the sound of my mother’s voice. “Mama?”
“Yes, baby. Mama’s here. Did Jacque wake you up?” Then she is lifting me into her arms and smothering me with kisses.
But I am too big to be lifted by anyone but a bodybuilder and too old to be called baby. On top of that, it has been years since my mother tried to kiss me and decades since Jacque crossed the Rainbow Bridge. While I am still trying to wrap my mind around what must be the wildest dream ever, my father comes into the room.
“There’s my pink pumpkin and her lovely mother.”
He leans in to kiss my mom, and I know my eyes are bulging out of my head. They divorced before I turned six. And I have zero memories of seeing them kiss. My therapist assures me that is for the best because those kinds of memories would have only given me hope that my parents would end up together. In this moment, I understand why she said that because my heart flutters a little as they linger with their lips locked together. Then they return to cooing over me.
I realize why when I reach out a hand to put a halt to all the kissing. My hands are tiny and adorable. And my tongue won’t form the right sounds to say stop. The sound that does come out just elicits more cooing and kisses, so I decide to accept my fate.
I sigh internally as I try to figure out how I ended up back in my tiny baby body. Before I come up with a valid hypothesis or figure out how to take advantage of the situation, my tiny body demands rest so it can grow into the adult body I remember so fondly.
When I wake, my cell phone demands attention. The ringtone I reserve for my mother blares on and on until I finally accept the call.
“Hey, mom,” I say more kindly than normal, still wrapped up in the memory of how she loved me at three.
“Hey, baby, I was wondering if you would want to come over for dinner tonight?” Her tone implies she has more to ask.
“Depends.”
“On?”
“What else is happening at dinner tonight?”
She sighs. “I can’t fool you. Your father and I want to talk to you about something.”
“Dad? You’re talking to dad?” I squeak out as an image of their affectionate kiss dances through my mind.
“Yes, dear, we have been talking for a while.”
“About what?”
“Will you come to dinner?”
I release my own sigh. “I guess. If I have to…”
“That’s my good girl. Love you. See you tonight.”
She doesn’t give me time to back out. I roll my eyes as I set the phone down and get ready for a day that culminates in dinner with both my parents.
~
When I get to my mother’s house, I park in the empty driveway. I peek through the garage windows to see my mother’s car parked next to a muscle car that can only belong to my dad. As I slowly approach the front door, it opens and both parents stare out at me with trepidation on their faces.
“Come on, you guys, what is going on? Is grandma sick or something?”
They exchange glances and my mother speaks for them with a grin, “Something.”
“You’ll have to wait until after dinner. We haven’t got together in a while,” my dad’s words trail off.
I decide not to point out that I don’t remember us ever being together except when they traded custody of me, usually with unspoken animosity making the air around us crackle. I follow them into the house and find that my mother prepared all my favorite things. Conversation over dinner focuses on safe topics like the weather and what I am up to now. I try to broach the subject of this sudden interest in family time a couple of times, but they take turns diverting the conversation to other topics. I swear I see them exchange smoldering looks a couple of times but try to ignore it so I can keep my meal down.
Finally, huge slices of chocolate cake adorn the table. As I raise my first bite to my lips, I give my mother a pointed look. She sets her fork down. Dad reaches for her hand. Then they exchange another maddening look.
“Out with it, so I can eat my cake,” I set my own fork down, cake untasted.
“We’ve decided to get remarried,” my mother’s eyes widen imploringly.
“Pardon?” I scoop a larger bite of cake into my mouth, afraid that an unfull mouth might express too many of my initial responses.
“Your mother has agreed to give me a second chance.” My dad adds, his eyes softening like they had for my mother in the dream.
I hide behind another bite of chocolate cake, allowing its rich flavor to sooth my addled mind.
“Your dad found some pictures from when you were a baby and brought them over for me to see,” my mom continues, “And it reminded us both of what we had…”
“And I promise that this time I won’t mess it up.”
As they stare at me with imploring eyes, that kiss replays in my mind again. I sigh and set down my fork.
“You are adults. You don’t need my permission.” I finally mutter.
“So you’ll give me away?” My mother asks.
That tiny seed of hope I had during my episode the previous evening prompts me to agree.
~~~
Ever had a weird dream that seemed to somehow tie right into an unexpected announcement? It has happened to me a couple of times, but I never got to give anyone away. I do have two brothers though, who might be single. I don’t dare ask, but I could if you want to take them and get them to shape up. I know. I make it so tempting.
