Coyote in the Dining Room (Otherwise Untitled)
#11 of Short Stories
A coyote comes home with regret and hope, seeks forgiveness.
~ There was a lingering calm in the silence. He had vanished into the night years before, only to re-appear in his Sunday best looking otherwise like he'd been dragged through Hell and high water to get here. She wasn't clear on how to react; thankfully a quick offering of tea had bought time. The kitchen stove rapidly consumed the idle moment, water on its way to boiling.
~ "Um, er. Well.", he made another false start. They were both all nerves, and this attempt fluttered back to silence. She noticed the jagged chunk missing from his left ear, long since scarred over. The teakettle rattled for just a moment before screeching for attention. She rose, "Excuse me."
~ Transferring water from the kettle to the pot, followed by bags, was rote to her. Her courage was stronger now, when she had her hands in a task and her face to a wall. She decided to breach the subject. "So, what brings you here, after running away like a coward as soon as I pissed two blue lines?", recalling vividly the look of terror on his face the instant he saw the pregnancy test. Returning to the table with teapot and cups, she realized just how much younger that face was, just a few years ago.
~ He coughed slightly, with a hint of the rasps from desert dust. She wasn't wrong, he knew it, and he knew better than to disagree. While she sat down he seemed to puff up just slightly, as if he were storing up seconds worth of courage for one declaration. It followed. "I bought you a house. For you. For her.", his posture indicated he wasn't done, though his words had lost him for a moment, "For me, if you'll have me. For you two, if you won't." Over his muzzle she saw regret as he looked to her for some hint or answer.
~ She poured two cups of tea, setting one down infront of him. It wasn't quite done steeping, but they both needed something in their hands. His fur was softer in patches; he must've practically taken lye to himself to get oil stains out. He had worked hard to put his best self forward, a great deal more effort than she recalled from their carefree dating years. He allowed her time to think, to process. They both sipped their cups of hot not-quite-tea.
~ "Come back tomorrow, to meet her. Wear something she can't tear up; she's a ball of energy. You'll like her, she'll probably like you.", collecting the cups. He rose, nodding through tears, and saw himself out.