July Exclusive Tale - "Perfectly Natural" - Part 2

The plush blue dog has crinkly ears, a zipper on its back, and a series of colored buckles on its belly.

It’s the buckles that Harry keeps coming back to. Because the buckles, once opened (which is a feat of manual dexterity worth attempting again and again) reveal the numbers.

Doug points at the numbers with his finger, counting, from one to ten. Not for the first time, and surely not the last. Because Harry really likes this game, and as it turns out, Harry really likes Doug.

The ice was broken so quickly, so easily. All it took as the plush blue dog.

_________________________

“Dad’s not in the picture?” Doug asked, soon after they enter Patricia’s apartment. There are photos of Harry and his mother, and a couple that look like grandparents, but no sign of a father figure.

“No,” Patricia replied curtly, and that was the end of the conversation. She put Doug down, took off his shoes, and said, “Go show Doug your toys!” From the sound of her voice, she made it sound like a trip to Disney World, but apparently her son wasn’t so easily fooled.

“No,” he said, just as curt as his mother.

Patricia made a sad face. “But Doug came here to play with you. You don’t want Doug to be bored, do you?”

Harry looked down at his socked feet and said nothing. Apparently, emotional blackmail was lost on this kid.

And Doug wondered, in that perfectly sulky moment, whether this would be worth it. If he played nice with the little boy, if he acted like he cared, what would he get in return? Would Patricia melt, would she be putty in his hands? And if that happened, what next? Doug knew that he couldn’t just trample his way into a young mother’s life, create a tsunami of expectation, and then leave the same way he came.

So he looked at the little boy, then at the mother. And Doug decided to make his excuses, to call it a night.

Those fish tacos, he could say, clutching his stomach. I’d better get home. I’ll call you.

And he would get home but he wouldn’t call, and Patricia would get the message, and that would be that.

He opened his mouth to slander Mexican food, and Patricia cut him off. “I know,” she said, taking his hand and swinging it back and forth. “I know exactly what you’re thinking. But you should stick around.” She smiled at Doug and added, with wink that could only be described as devilish, “I’ll make it worth your while.”

That was all it took to remind Doug of their first few days, child-free, and yes…rampant.

“Of course,” he replied, throwing his escape plan away. Stabbing holes in his parachute. Because really, how long can a little boy spend sulking before it’s bedtime?

Patricia walked into the living room, Harry squeezing in between his mother and the intruder, and a practiced whine entered his tone. “I’m hungry.”

Patricia sat down heavily on the couch and pulled Harry onto her lap so that they were facing each other. “Oh, hi Hungry, I’m Mommy!”

The little boy screwed up his face. “No. Wanna snack.”

The woman tilted her head at him, her expression a mask of confusion. “You want a…tickle?” And she addressed the un-voiced request, her fingers a blur of mischief as she tickled the little boy’s side.

Doug stood by the couch, looking on as the boy squealed with increasing delight. He felt almost sympathetic. He knew full well how hard it was to resist Patricia.

“Hey,” Patricia said, pulling a toy from underneath a cushion. “What’s Puppy doing here?” She shook her head with concern. “And he’s not buckled up.”

“Puppy,” said the boy, grabbing the toy, and he set about trying to fit the buckles together.

“Buckles are hard,” Patricia said, watching her son’s lack of progress. She tapped her chin. “But I know someone who’s really good at them.” She gestured for Doug to sit down beside her. When he does so, Patricia gets up and puts Harry beside him. “There,” she said brightly, “You too boys play with Puppy.”

And there was something in her tone that managed to both embarrass Doug – really? To be compartmentalized like that, twinned with a boy only just turned three years old – and clearly incentivizing ton Harry, who pointed at the blue buckle and said something unintelligible. Doug looks up at Patricia and she smiles. “He wants you to do it.”

____________

The plush blue dog is reassuring. Good to hold, with infinite patience as Doug and the boy work.

“Red,” Doug says as Harry fits the two buckle-pieces together. “Good.”

Harry glances at Doug, and then lifts up the man’s arm. At first Doug thinks the boy is rejecting him, but it’s the opposite as Harry snuggles against his side. And then he’s back to work, fitting the buckle pieces together, waiting each time for a response from Doug, his brand new cheerleader, before he attempts the next one.

Turns out, buckling is far easier than un-buckling.

“They’re kinda stiff,” says Doug sympathetically. “But it’s here, see. You don’t pull, you push.” He demonstrates once again, pressing with his fingers to release the green buckle. The sides pop out, and Harry smiles. Then he grabs the toy and scrambles off the couch.

Doug laughs. “I guess we’re done.”

But they’re not. The little boy rushes over to his mother, arms around her legs, and then offers the plush blue dog to her, as if he’s awarding her a special prize.

“Puppy!” Patricia exclaims. “I love puppy.” And then she catches Doug’s eye and tosses it back to him. She winks at Harry. “Go get ‘im!”

Harry beams, running back to the couch so he can join the toy and his new friend.

And yes, the dog is good to hold. Reassuring. Relaxing. And the game is hardly demanding.

Doug feels his breathing slow, and he feels, if not sleepy, then calm. It’s fine when Patricia leaves them to go fix a snack. It’s no problem when the minutes pass and Doug continues to play with the little boy, because the plush blue dog makes it easy. The plush blue dog makes it fun.

“He sure likes his buckles fastened. But he likes them open as well, doesn’t so we can count his numbers.” Doug chuckles. “You got numbers on your belly, Harry?”

The boy doesn’t respond, the question either misunderstood or just rejected.

“Yeah,” Doug continues, “Me neither. But he’s definitely a good puppy dog.”

After a few more minutes – it can’t be that long, although Doug really isn’t sure, the time passing slowly but pleasantly, as if they’re sitting on the deck as the sun goes down, listening to the crickets, feeling the warmth on their skin – Harry leaves Doug again to scurry into the kitchen and find his mother.

Doug is left on the couch, holding Puppy on his lap. He stares down at it, stroking the toy’s ears with tender fingers. Good puppy, Good boy.

The plush blue dog has an eternal expression of good-natured bemusement, sticking out the reddest of tongues and looking sideways, as if to say, “Don’t ask me what’s going on, I have no clue.”

At least, that’s what Doug imagines the dog is saying. Doug is good at pretending. That’s what Patricia clearly thinks, when she returns with a Minute Maid juice box and Doug shares his theory.

“What an imagination!” she exclaims, laughing. At first, Doug wonders if Patricia is laughing at him, not with him. But such uncertainty only lasts a moment. Because then Harry is back, clambering onto the couch beside him, snuggling against him, the game begins again and really there’s no space for Doug to wonder about Patricia’s feeling.

He has to think about the buckles. Yellow, blue, orange, green, and red.

“Red,” he says, out loud even though Harry isn’t there to hear it. Doug feels his face warm, matching the buckle color.

“That’s right,” says Patricia, using the tone she saves for her son. “Red!” She reaches down to tousle Doug’s hair, and his blush manages to deepen.

He coughs. “Got a little carried away,” he mutters.

“No,” Patricia says, “You’re doing exactly what you should do.” And as those enigmatic words hang in the air, she pokes a straw into the juice box and hands it to Doug. “Drink up,” she says, “buckling is thirsty work.” She winks, as if they’re both in on some sweet joke, and Doug smiles, although he’s not quite sure if he gets it.

And then she’s gone, and without Harry’s return – Where did the boy go? Doug drinks thirstily, draining the juice box in seconds, and then sitting the box down. He wonders faintly, with a little voice in his head suggesting that he should be jealous, that he should go find out where the others are, because what if Patricia and Harry are playing a game somewhere, what if they’re having more fun without him?

That’s silly, says the plush blue dog. Not really, only pretend. Although there’s some kind of voice, faint but clear, in Doug’s head. Reassuring him. Stroking him. Reminding him that there’s nothing to be jealous of. Because what could be more fun than playing with Puppy?

Doug fumbles at the buckles with his lazy, sleepy fingers, impatient to reveal the dog’s numbered belly. He points at the numbers with his finger, counting, from one to ten. Not for the first time, and surely not the last. Because Doug loves this game, even if he’s the only one playing it. His lips move as he counts, the numbers just a whisper, and it becomes like a mantra, a rhythmic reassurance, that while something strange is happening inside Doug’s head, it’s nothing bad.

When Patricia returns, she has Harry in tow, and the little boy is naked save for his underwear.

“I counted all the way to ten!” Doug blurts, and as soon as he does, he registers how foolish he sounds. Because they’re not big numbers after all, they’re really just baby numbers.

Still, Patricia is clearly impressed. “Clever boy,” she says brightly. She smiles. “Did Puppy help?”

Doug shakes his head, not eager to share the glory. “Puppy don’t count…he don’t know how.”

Is that right? Is any of this right? Doug’s head tingles with confusion, but Patricia isn’t confused. She nods with a satisfied expression and says, “That’s right, Puppy doesn’t know how to count, he’s just a sweet little doggie, isn’t he.”

She nods, inviting Doug to do the same. How reassuring it is, to be on the same page as Patricia, and it’s only when she mention’s Harry that Doug remembers the little boy is even in the room with them.

“Harry’s all ready to practice being a big boy,” says Patricia. Her son is too busy with his own juice box to voice his agreement, but after sucking on his straw, he says, “I got cars,” and Doug feels an echo of an earlier conversation, before he realizes that the boy is talking about his underwear.

“Cool,” Doug says, missing the point entirely, until Patricia says, “Those are Harry’s special big boy undies.” She crouches by her son and says to him, “You’re going to wear those between now and bedtime, aren’t you sweetie, and if you need to make a tinkle, you’re going to show Mommy how you tinkle in the potty!”

Harry nods. “Uh-huh, gonna do it in potty.”

“And if you do that,” says Patricia, “You’ll get a special prize.” She hugs the boy close, patting his rear, and then says, “How grown-up you look in your special undies. What a big boy you’re getting!”

Doug looks on, and it’s then that he understands the big picture. Harry gets special treatment. Harry gets spoiled. All because of some stupid pants. He looks at Harry’s underwear, sees their stupid thickness, sees the stupid car pattern. All those different colored cards. Yellow, blue, orange, green, and red. Doug thinks of Puppy’s buckles, and he feels light-headed.

He looks down at the plush blue dog. Stupid baby toy. He impulsively tosses it aside and gets to his feet. Only just managing to avoid stamping his feet, he looks Patricia in the eye and says forcefully, “I’m a big boy!”

And his blush returns. That was too much, that was silly. Patricia is going to think he’s bad, she’ll tell him to leave. Doug’s stomach flip-flops as he wonders; what on Earth would he do then?

He looks toward Puppy. Maybe he could hold the toy again, he could stroke it and count the numbers.

Patricia puts her arms around his waist. “I know, sweetie, you’re such a big boy.”

Doug sighs. Patricia isn’t mad with him. Of course she isn’t. He moans with relief, safe in the knowledge that Patricia is wonderful, that she will take care of everything.

“You’re a big boy,” Patricia confirms, “And I know just how you can prove it.” She winks at him. “Come through to the bedroom, I’ll show you.”

And what turn that is, for Patricia to be holding Doug’s hand this time as she walks, leaving Harry with the plush blue dog and the promise of mac and cheese for dinner.

“What is it?” Doug asks, his voice a hushed, excited whisper, as they walk along the hall. There’s a pressure between his legs, and it might be the promise of being a big boy, or it might just be a heavy bladder from the apple juice.

“You’ll see,” Patricia says, her voice rich and teasing.

She pushes open the bedroom door, and when Doug sees what’s waiting for him, he cries out in surprise, before the idea makes an abrupt, dizzying kind of sense.

To be continued...