Brenda and Howard: Labor Day

Note to the Reader:  I hadn't realized that the next installation of the Brenda and Howard series has just been sitting in my blog folder waiting to be edited. Huzzah!  I have done just that.  If I had my way and in an alternate reality where I was a writer of sorts, I'd frame the Brenda and Howard series to track the entire pregnancy of Brenda.  As it stands, I decided to skip ahead.

If you haven't read the previous Brenda and Howard bits here are the links.

1.  Pabst Blue Ribbon and Smiling Mustard

2.  Meet Brenda Part 1

3.  Meet Brenda Part 2

4.  I hear you breathing when you sleep

Labor Day

There were enough mylar balloons at Brenda and Howard's baby shower to stock a clown convention.  None of them were blue or pink.  Brenda had decided that she didn't want to find out the gender of the baby.  She didn't want to fill the soon-to-be nursery with a gender polarized color scheme.  The wrapping paper that protruded from the recycling bin at Howard's in-laws were all neutral yellows, greens, and purples. 

As Howard walked the bin to the curb, he sighed in relief that the shower was long over and that they had one more night left with Brenda's family.  The trees that lined the sidewalk were clinging to the vibrancy of summer, but the creeping hands of autumn leeched out the green.  The leaves weren't quite crunchy yet, but the chill of Labor Day evening was enough to raise the hairs on Howard's arm. 

The close proximity to Brenda's parents brought on another chill.

Upon their arrival days earlier, it seemed that her father was finally able to put away his disproval of Howard.  Despite Howard's success as an attorney, and his well-dressed, well-mannered ways, her father radiated a subtle dislike or irritability toward Howard.  The man's lips always pinched into a severe line of neutrality whenever Howard was around.  The severity of line deepened when Howard and he were alone.  This hidden-apparent disdain made Howard pucker for fear that this man could see through him.  Howard feared that Brenda's father knew that their relationship was a bullshit farce for a man too chicken shit to out himself.  The man's own stoic attitude toward his own marriage brought on Howard's suspicions. 

That could be me in a few decades. 

However, when he saw Howard flit around like a nervous hummingbird at Brenda's beck and call, the tension between the two men eased.  The subversively irate nature with which he addressed Howard appeared to have dissipated.  The noose Howard felt around his neck finally loosened.

Luckily enough, Brenda's mother begged off from joining the expecting couple for dinner.  Naturally, her father followed suit.  The excuse to do the whole visiting not visiting thing relieved a knot between Howard's shoulder blades.  It was bad enough pantomiming a romantic relationship with Brenda without an audience.  They left on foot into town for dinner.

"Just like when we first started dating."

"Hrm?" Howard was lost in his own thoughts when Brenda broke the comfortable silence.

"We used to walk everywhere when we started going out."  She smiled up at him as she said this.  Reflexively he smiled and wrapped his arm around her.

"Well, I couldn't help but want to show you off," Howard admonished.  It was the damned truth.  He hid his frown behind her as he shrugged out of his coat and draped it over her shoulders.  Howard did this without prompting thinking as he had on all the walks to the dates they had in that town.

It's what boyfriends do.

***

They had dinner at a diner.  Red vinyl booths and that greasy spoon smell filled the place.  Brenda's cheeks were blushed from the cold and pregnant vitality.  A grin split her face when a kid ran over to pop quarters into the archaic juke box by the bar, where it had always been since she started going there.  This was where Howard first took her out to dinner.  This was where Howard first kissed her.  This was the diner where Howard proposed and where she promptly choked on Coke and gurgled yes.

"Don't you-" her question was cut off by an angry buzzing in Howard's coat pocket.

He held out his hand to have her pass the phone.

"Don't I?..."  His eyes were for the phone's screen, but hers were trained on his face. 

"Don't you remember all of the memories we have here?"

"Of course, darling."  His fingers moved deftly over the tiny screen, texting. Howard threw a radiant smile her way. 

Brenda rubbed her foot leisurely on Howard's calf.  Her lips curved lovingly as he worked on his phone.  She understood that his job was demanding in regard to the constant communication with clients and coworkers. 

Absentminded you may be, Mr. Howard, I adore you.

Unbeknownst to Brenda, Howard was managing his affair.  Ten texts into the baby shower earlier made him decide to end things with SPIN CLASS. 

By the time his unsweetened ice tea and her Sprite came, the torrid affair was ended. 

Brenda and Howard: I hear you breathing when you sleep

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Brenda and Howard Series: Meet Brenda Part 2

Hello Readers!

What do you mean you have no idea what the devil you're doing at my blog?  Surely you're here to read the next installation of my Brenda and Howard series!  If you have no bloody clue who Brenda or Howard is, do yourself a favor and read the beginning of the series here.  If you want to read the part 1 to this part 2, by all means click this sweet fucker.

So for those of you who have been on board since Howard killed Brenda (that was a misdirect for the new readers), I've tweaked the last entry's last paragraph a wee bit.  Nothing too crazy, but you may want to catch up as I have in my neglect to thoroughly edit that last paragraph.  Here is photograph of your smug blogger to make up for it.

Iron Man all day.

Enjoy the blog!
Hermia

Meet Brenda Part 2

Relief.  That was all Brenda felt when Howard pulled into the driveway.  She resisted the urge to call him all day as anticipation gnawed at her gut.  Around six her resolve broke and she phoned his office.  His secretary told her that he had left the office a bit early, vomited in the a.m. she said.  This was no comfort.  Concern polluted Brenda's anticipation, but didn't dim it.  However as the light faded, worry and night darkened her mood.

Although they had discussed ad nauseam to stop her birth control months ago, the actualization of their dreams would certain require adjustment.  She hadn't slept the evening before save for semi-conscious tossing and turning as light began to silhouette the curtains.  After hours of contemplation she decided to break the news coyly by making the mundane into a miraculous message

We are indeed pregnant! was the original words.  The indeed was cut to curb theatricality.  The we are joined in a conjunction that cut the message to two succinct words.  

We're pregnant 

She had covertly scrawled the words while Howard showered that morning.  Brenda knew that Howard would appreciate the execution.  Well, had Howard not fallen ill so suddenly, he would have appreciated it, schemed all day as he does to execute a wonderfully romantic dinner with lots of wine. 

By eight o' six on the fast kitchen clock, Brenda realized either one of two things occurred:  Howard got into an automotive accident and was occupied, or Howard was stubborn stupid and went to his spin class in spite of his early cookie tossage.

Her relief eclipsed her excitement when her arms were able to verify her husband was in one piece, albeit severely pale and clammy.  Poor love.  Brenda voiced the obvious from years of caring for sick Howards--he hadn't even looked at lunch, as even the sight of food would have risen a wave of nausea.  Thus, she thought to herself, he still doesn't know.

The game is on. 

Brenda had yet another opportunity to sharpen her coyness to tell Howard the news.  She smiled secretly to herself after nudging her naked husband into the shower.  News could wait, Brenda resolved to reschedule the talk until after his recuperation.

 First, soup.

Brenda and Howard: Meet Brenda Part 1

*Updated on January 22, 2014 because I failed to edit the original last paragraph that probably read as random...I mean, there was no mention of going out to dinner.  In the next installation they're staying in.  Whoops.  Spoiler alert.*

Hey there readers,

I hope that those of you that celebrated the holidays had a fabulous time and didn't have too many regretful New Years Eve trysts.  If you did, I hope it was worth it.  For the last twoish weeks I've been contemplating the direction of the Brenda and Howard series.  Am I just going to write through Howard's perspective?  Whose story is this really?  How is Brenda going to fit into this story?

I'm still tackling many questions, but that's part of the fun in writing.  I have a general direction, so it's time that I wrote that way and see where it goes.  For those of you who comment, please let me know what you think of Howard and the story so far.  There isn't too much yet on Brenda, however I promise you will see more in the pieces to follow.

Best regards,
Hermia

P.S. Enjoy!


Note:  Please read the first installation of the Brenda and Howard series here.

Meet Brenda Part 1

Luckily the break room at Howard's work had an usual variety of Cliff bars, a Keurig, and some left over celebratory whiskey in the freezer.  His lunch tasted like a blueberry hangover.  The Cliff bar and Irish coffee he had were dancing a pagan ritual to god of Saturn deep in his abdomen.  Each pulsing drumbeat matched the throbbing over Howard's right temple, which was neatly framed by his immaculate hairline.  With fumbling hands, he dug in his briefcase for anything minty.  His endeavors encounter stray wrappers of long consumed cough drops, adventurous paper clips, and a tin mints Brenda snuck into that particular pocket.  The mints were as stale as his marriage.

Apparently the time they had spent together really melted the boundaries of personal space and ownership of briefcases to a point of intimacy.  The color of the post its in his desk drawer were chosen by her.  The vast majority of her flats were chosen by him.  They had met at a pep rally in Brenda's senior year in high school.  She had a vague, post-romantic relationship to the remnants of his old clique.  He was a freshman in a far away college visiting his alma mater.  Although he told himself he would never visit home, he found himself looking for something familiar as a reprieve from collegiate experimentation.  She was a go-getting star senior already accepted into her reach schools and looking for an adult romance.

Sitting at his desk rather unproductively, he flung rubber bands at a framed photograph that stood sentinel by his computer monitor.  Brenda and Howard were dancing closely in the shot from a college friend's wedding.  He recalled being genuinely happy playing at an ingenuine relationship.  Anger and nausea rose like waves while he reminisced on his secret trysts, his missed opportunities, and his relationship with Brenda.  One of his rubber ring missiles knocked it's adversary to the ground.  A call from his secretary distracted him from replacing it. 

Due to a strangely awkward spin class, Howard didn't get home until 8pm.  As he pulled into the driveway, the front door of their raised ranch house flew open.  When he saw Brenda standing in the front doorway silhouetted against the lights from within, he realized that he hadn't called or texted her to confirm and celebrate their new situation.  In truth he left his cell in his car all day, still plugged in and currently playing Moby.

Fuuuuuuuck

Brenda launch herself from the stoop at Howard.  From the lack of light to perceive her facial expression, he tensed as her robe clad arms snaked their way around him.  He registered this as affection and not an attempt to squeeze him in contempt.

"I thought there was an accident," Howard heard from the wavy bob smothered against his chest.  A long rambling lost itself in muffled expressions of distress and explanations that his secretary told her he had been sick.  Just when he was starting to believe that her head couldn't get further buried from worry into his chest, Brenda looked up.  Her arms were still belted around his waist.

"If you were sick, I'm assuming you didn't eat lunch.  I know how food upsets your tummy when you're unwell." Howard's ears perked at the all too ready alibi for his lack of celebratory flowers and enthusiasm for the news he allegedly hadn't received.  How best to twist this turn of luck?  With a pseudo contemplative kiss to her fringed forehead, he conveniently and romantically suggested a dinner out because the night was too beautiful to not enjoy.  Luckily the sky was clear enough to kinda-sorta see the stars.

Brenda didn't bring up the pregnancy as she flitted between the kitchen, where she was working on soup for him, and the bedroom, where he semi collapsed on the bed still in his gym clothes.  She rambled on about the end of the year faculty meeting and proposed goals to improve next year as she ushered him into the bathroom to coax him into the shower.  He smiled as she walked away on silent feet clad in flats he chose for her.  There was no mention of maternity leave or plans.  Surely she would drop that news soon enough? Her uterus bomb won't go off for at least another seven months.  Seven months was plenty of time for Howard to evacuate ground zero.

Brenda and Howard: Pabst Blue Ribbon and Smiling Mustard

Note to the Reader:  I've been struck with a great idea for a 7 part serial following two characters and their married life.  Trust me, it'll be a bit more interesting than that description.  Enjoy!

Pabst Blue Ribbon and Smiling Mustard

            There's a day in a man's life when his wife's usage of two simple words cause an internal apocalypse.  On a June Tuesday morning after 5 years of marital bliss, Howard's wife Brenda handed him his lunch with the usual good bye kiss on the cheek.  What was unusual was the extra weight in a usually light sandwich ladened bag due to the celebratory beer she had packed for him.  A beer celebrating the two words she had scrawled on a neatly folded paper towel.  Two words that oozed the scent of Sharpie, mustard, and turkey--"We're pregnant". 

            In Brenda's excitement hours earlier, she squeezed yellow lines of mustard into a smiling face before layering on lettuce and lunchmeat.  She subscribed to the belief that love made sandwiches better.  Howard's face was anything but happy sitting behind his glass desk behind glass partitions.  In fact for the last four months of their trying to have a baby, it was really a one sided venture.  Sure sheets were grasped, the appropriate cum faces and cuddles were done, but Howard was dreading the fateful day Brenda's urine would become potent with baby indicating hormones. 

            The sandwich was dumped and the PBR can drained.  Howard, who was unaccustomed to drinking Pabst Blue Ribbon at 11:30 in the morning, promptly speed-walked to the office bathroom to vomit.  He got as far as the ladies room sink.  With the taste of alcohol and half digested oatmeal fermenting in his mouth, he stared at his exceptionally groomed face in the mirror.  The furrow between his well maintained eyebrows belied the waves of self loathing and anger.  Anger at his life long cowardice.  You see, dear reader, Howard was a closeted homosexual.