Friday's Whims of the Time Traveler 32.1: May 9th, 2010
"Caramel Kisses" is an unfinished novel I began to write back in 2009 and stopped working on in 2010. The two main characters - Adriana Maguire Reynard and Emma Burking - would ultimately be revised for my later completed novella, "The Liffey Is Half-Asleep," in 2011. Several elements of "Liffey" can be found in their original forms in "Caramel Kisses," such as the characters' names, the haiku scene, and Adriana's penchant for writing.
Because of its influence on my later writing, I figured that this story, though incomplete, was worth sharing.
Caramel Kisses: Chapter Eighteen
by Belinda Roddie
“Emma?”
“Hmmm?”
“What do you really want the most out of life?”
She smirked. “That’s a stupid question.”
“Why?”
“Because you should already know.”
“Then I’ll say I want to be sure.”
I smelled the hot chocolate that Emma had been heating in the microwave. I heard the whirring of the tired appliance as it quieted down, whining and whimpering that it was far too late at night to work it and that its night shift had ended an hour ago. She set the mug on a saucer, the old-fashioned way to drink anything remotely related to something you’d get during a coffee outing, and headed back over to me as I sat on the couch, my back stiff as Milo purred on my crossed legs and tucked his paws under his stomach like he were a couch cushion.
“Here you go.”
“Thanks. So are you going to answer my question or what?”
“Adriana, I want you.”
“I know that, but there’s got to be something else.”
“Well, what do you expect me to want?”
I shrug. “I don’t know. Something more.”
“Like what?”
“Like a family.”
I offered Emma some of my cocoa. She accepted it gladly, taking a prolonged sip like she was whistling through her teeth. She was noticeably disoriented by the question, as if she didn’t expect me to ask it like I wasn’t much of an interrogator. But she couldn’t deny how much I wanted her to answer it, and honestly.
“I haven’t thought about it too much.”
“But you’ve thought about it.”
“Well, sure. I occasionally think about that kind of stuff. About having a child.”
“Mmhmm.”
She hesitated. “…We’d have to adopt, you know.”
“I’m fine with it.”
“Or find a donor.”
“I’m okay with that, too.”
“And you’d…”
“Oh, no you don’t. I’m not going to be the one suffering nine months of that.”
She hit me smartly on the knee and Milo stiffened and gave her a warning glance. I laughed and uttered a small exclamation of pain as I rubbed the sore spot and the cat mewed loudly, as if complaining that I was too fidgety to be a suitable resting spot.
We sat there for a while, thinking. The hot chocolate became lukewarm in my hands, and I started drinking it because lukewarm was when I enjoyed it the most. Emma was balancing her chin on her knuckles and I could see the edges of her fingers being tinged with white as if she was locking the bones in place purposefully. I offered her my cup again, as if it would relax her.
“No, thanks. I’m good.”
“You sure?”
“Yeah. It’s fine.”
“So…”
“I would honestly love to be a mother, Adriana.”
I blinked. “The truth comes out.”
“I told you I’ve thought about it.”
“And you’d want me to be the father?”
“You’re not a man, though. …Are you a man? Please tell me you’re not a man.”
“Nice, Emma.”
“Thanks, I try.”
We held each other’s hands. I set the now empty mug and saucer on the coffee table. The chocolate was beginning to crust around the bottom like a ring of ash.
“I’d just like to be the father figure, you know? That kind of responsibility’s always appealed to me. Our kid could call me ‘Papa.’ I like it. It’s endearing.”
“He wouldn’t be your child, though.”
“Or she.”
“Or she. Either way…”
“Well, if we adopted, the kid wouldn’t be either of ours.”
“But if I gave birth…”
“So that’s the way it works biologically.” I chuckled. “Of course the kid needs a real father around somehow. Even if he may not be appearing in his child’s life every day of the week.”
“But are you sure…”
“Emma, any child you have is my child. And I would be honored to be its parent.”
She silently thought this over. Squeezed my hand tightly. I felt the blood drain away.
“Really?”
“Really.”
“Promise?”
“I promise.”
Milo let out a high-pitched yawn to kill the mood, and we laughed and I gave Emma a good old-fashioned hug. The kind with a pat on the back and a stroke of the hair and followed by a simple peck on the lips. We were already acting like an older couple, a pair who had known each other for so long in the physical spectrum of one year. Then I felt her head propped against my shoulder, a comforting weight on me, the only burden I was grateful to have.
“That’s good enough for me,” she whispered.
Because of its influence on my later writing, I figured that this story, though incomplete, was worth sharing.
Caramel Kisses: Chapter Eighteen
by Belinda Roddie
“Hmmm?”
“What do you really want the most out of life?”
She smirked. “That’s a stupid question.”
“Why?”
“Because you should already know.”
“Then I’ll say I want to be sure.”
I smelled the hot chocolate that Emma had been heating in the microwave. I heard the whirring of the tired appliance as it quieted down, whining and whimpering that it was far too late at night to work it and that its night shift had ended an hour ago. She set the mug on a saucer, the old-fashioned way to drink anything remotely related to something you’d get during a coffee outing, and headed back over to me as I sat on the couch, my back stiff as Milo purred on my crossed legs and tucked his paws under his stomach like he were a couch cushion.
“Here you go.”
“Thanks. So are you going to answer my question or what?”
“Adriana, I want you.”
“I know that, but there’s got to be something else.”
“Well, what do you expect me to want?”
I shrug. “I don’t know. Something more.”
“Like what?”
“Like a family.”
I offered Emma some of my cocoa. She accepted it gladly, taking a prolonged sip like she was whistling through her teeth. She was noticeably disoriented by the question, as if she didn’t expect me to ask it like I wasn’t much of an interrogator. But she couldn’t deny how much I wanted her to answer it, and honestly.
“I haven’t thought about it too much.”
“But you’ve thought about it.”
“Well, sure. I occasionally think about that kind of stuff. About having a child.”
“Mmhmm.”
She hesitated. “…We’d have to adopt, you know.”
“I’m fine with it.”
“Or find a donor.”
“I’m okay with that, too.”
“And you’d…”
“Oh, no you don’t. I’m not going to be the one suffering nine months of that.”
She hit me smartly on the knee and Milo stiffened and gave her a warning glance. I laughed and uttered a small exclamation of pain as I rubbed the sore spot and the cat mewed loudly, as if complaining that I was too fidgety to be a suitable resting spot.
We sat there for a while, thinking. The hot chocolate became lukewarm in my hands, and I started drinking it because lukewarm was when I enjoyed it the most. Emma was balancing her chin on her knuckles and I could see the edges of her fingers being tinged with white as if she was locking the bones in place purposefully. I offered her my cup again, as if it would relax her.
“No, thanks. I’m good.”
“You sure?”
“Yeah. It’s fine.”
“So…”
“I would honestly love to be a mother, Adriana.”
I blinked. “The truth comes out.”
“I told you I’ve thought about it.”
“And you’d want me to be the father?”
“You’re not a man, though. …Are you a man? Please tell me you’re not a man.”
“Nice, Emma.”
“Thanks, I try.”
We held each other’s hands. I set the now empty mug and saucer on the coffee table. The chocolate was beginning to crust around the bottom like a ring of ash.
“I’d just like to be the father figure, you know? That kind of responsibility’s always appealed to me. Our kid could call me ‘Papa.’ I like it. It’s endearing.”
“He wouldn’t be your child, though.”
“Or she.”
“Or she. Either way…”
“Well, if we adopted, the kid wouldn’t be either of ours.”
“But if I gave birth…”
“So that’s the way it works biologically.” I chuckled. “Of course the kid needs a real father around somehow. Even if he may not be appearing in his child’s life every day of the week.”
“But are you sure…”
“Emma, any child you have is my child. And I would be honored to be its parent.”
She silently thought this over. Squeezed my hand tightly. I felt the blood drain away.
“Really?”
“Really.”
“Promise?”
“I promise.”
Milo let out a high-pitched yawn to kill the mood, and we laughed and I gave Emma a good old-fashioned hug. The kind with a pat on the back and a stroke of the hair and followed by a simple peck on the lips. We were already acting like an older couple, a pair who had known each other for so long in the physical spectrum of one year. Then I felt her head propped against my shoulder, a comforting weight on me, the only burden I was grateful to have.
“That’s good enough for me,” she whispered.
The work you see here has not been edited nor altered since May 9th, 2010.
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