Dinner with the Hermans and the Roths Zoey had a boyfriend who wrote awful poetry once, so she married him. His name was Nestor and he was a good man, once she got him to quit that poetry thing. Even though Zoey never saw the traits in him she always thought she would have in the man she married, such as above average intelligence, above average strength, bravery, and overall manliness, Nestor attempted at so much, and Zoey could appreciate him attempting. She took his thinning brown hair with a premature bald spot, off-center, in her hands and agreed to marry him. Of course, when looking on the outside, it is hard to see who settled for who. The relationship of the Hermans—since they did eventually get married and becomeThe Hermans—is unique since not one of them settled, but two. Nestor Herman was quite happy in his parents' basement, playing video games with his raunchy friends all day or playing tennis in the park, but he was still lonely because he lacked an actual woman. No amount of game nights with friends, movies with friends, or porn and masturbation alone in his room could solve that, so he remembered a pretty, quiet girl he met at community college. His friend convinced Nestor to ask her out, but after backing down from self-consciousness, his friend stole his laptop and asked Zoey out via the most intimate way in the modern era—via Facebook. The pretty girl, trying to remember more about this Nestor than his teeny, tiny bald spot and his bunny nose, was too distracted to stop her friend from grabbing her laptop and accepting the date for her. So their first date was scheduled. It went okay, with talk about future career goals over Saturday night bowling, so they scheduled a second date, at a movie. A third at Zoey's parents' house, where she stayed while finishing school. This was where Zoey liked to test her men's intelligence by showing them one of her giant art books and first, testing to see if they have any taste in art, and then seeing if they could make an interesting observation about a piece. His lack of interest or thoughts on abstract art was disappointing, but at least he seemed to really like impressionist art. He liked these pieces more than the normal person pulled off the street would, so Zoey thought he was okay. And Nestor thought Zoey was okay because she was a pretty girl with clear goals of becoming a music video director, who was actually willing to fondle his penis while in the back of a movie theatre. The downfalls were that she didn't like video games, hiking, tennis, or some of his friends, but overall she was still a pretty girl who more-or-less treated him nicely. His only regret was that this fondling was during a children's film, but the movie had been out for awhile so there was really no one there. In the end, it became a funny story that they had. One of many somewhat-humorous anecdotes. Neither of them were religious, but they got married in a church, her in a white dress found at a secondhand store and him in a very itchy tuxedo with a tie that he had to keep adjusting. She did not become a music video director, and they both fell into administrative desk jobs. After their second miscarriage, Zoey began to think that their genes weren't compatible either. —We don't have much in common, do we? —We can name our kid whatever you want. You don't have to like Harry. —That's not what this is about. We don't have anything in common, do we? —What are you talking about? We have lots of things in common! —Like what? —Like your new last name. —That doesn't count. A lot of people are named Herman. —We have some friends in common? —That sounded like a question? —Why don't we have someone over for dinner? —Why don't we? So it was decided that Mrs. Nestor Herman would put on her pink, polka dot apron and play housewife. The apron was certainly not brand-new, but it was untouched, and Zoey finally felt a sense of wifely purpose while strapping it on. —See, I could feed a child. The only thing unique about Zoey Herman was how many times she touched her stomach in the day. She had brown hair, not light brown or dark brown, but brown, and she had slight freckling on her arm, but none of the adorable freckles found on some faces. She was about 5'5" with an average weight, and an average shoe size, but she touched her stomach 56 times a day, on average. And her husband touched her stomach 35 times a day, on average. This stayed the same post-pregnancy and pre-pregnancy, because they began to always think of Zoey as being in a state of pre-pregnancy. —Who did you invite over anyway? —The Roths. —The Roths? —Yes, that friend? You had from college? —I don't remember a Roth. I remember a Rodriguez. Could this be the Rods? —No, Roth is her married name. She was that friend who took credit for us getting together. —Oh, yes, her. I thought she moved to New York. —And now she is back with a husband. Do you not know about him? —No, nothing. Zoey Herman had resumed setting the table, and when the table was set, she unset it a bit. Rearranged the plates so they were slightly uneven, and then evened them up. Then she counted. One, two, three, four places at the table. —Wait. She counted again. Mistakenly, she had set a fifth place at the table. She was always doing this now, anticipating little Harold or Harrietta Herman. —Leave it. —Nes, why would I do that? —Maybe they have a kid? —Do you know they have a kid? Did you see him on Facebook? —Well, no, but remember before Frieda left? She said she would never post about her child on Facebook because it would be invading his right to privacy. Still, Zoey decided to un-set the fifth place at the table. —I'm sure she would've changed her mind once she had a cute baby. —Okay, Honey. —Okay, Honey. That's what he says when he doesn't believe me, or doesn't care. After shuffling the table around a few more times, the bell rang, and Mrs. Nestor Herman almost forgot to take off her apron. —Zah-oweeeeeeeeeeeeee! This exclamation came from Frieda and her outstretched arms. As Zoey hugged her, she paid special attention to Frieda's stomach, which seemed perfectly flat and sculpted. Then she counted heads. Two. She looked at their knees to make sure there wasn't a third head creeping about. No third head. —Zah-owee, this is my husband, Salvador. —Hello, it's nice to meet you. —Nice to meet you too. —He runs his own publishing company in New York. —Oh, then what are you doing here? —We are investing in a summer home. —Ah. Well, please, come in. Zoey collected their coats as she called Herman into the foyer. —Is this your summer home? —No, just our home-home. Nestor? —Popping the champagne, Honey. —Champagne? Is this a special occasion? —Yes, you and your new husband are over. Zoey then rushed the Roths into the kitchen and seated them, with their plates already full. And suddenly, Frieda began to fill the entire course by talking. She talked about her very first day in New York, and how scary but exhilarating it was, and about how the Hermans must try living there sometime. Then, she gave play-by-play details on her second day in New York, and how scary but exhilarating it was. Really, the Hermans must try living there someday, or at least visit, but visiting really isn't the same. Zoey was surprised that dinner was able to last through Frieda's first full month in New York, but somehow they made it, and still had room for desert. But the champagne was long gone. Eventually, Frieda met Salvador, who Zoey was surprised to realize that he had not talked once since greeting her. Come to think of it, Zoey and Nestor had said very little while Frieda just talked and talked and talked. —New York is really the best place in the world. It's a shame that people like you go their whole lives without ever being there. —Well, we are plenty busy here. —Yes, with what? —Well, our work, of course! —Your work? I thought you were just an administrative assistant? —No, I'm the Office Manager at the local police station. It keeps me very busy. —Yes, Zoey must keep the whole station running smoothly. This came from Salvador, who now had three empty wine glasses in front of him. He was pouring more alcohol into the glass that had actually been bestowed to him, while one empty glass was originally gifted to his wife and one was supposed to be Nestor's. —Well, thank you, Salvador. That is what they say. Sometimes. Zoey was grateful that her glass was left unsnatched as she took another big gulp. At dinner parties with other couples, Zoey wasn't sure why, but she always drank like a fish. —A really, really alchol-anonymous fish. —What about you, Nestor? Are you the administrative assistant then? —Marketing assistant, technically, but yes. My job is just to make sure everyone's marketing plans are in order. —And is that rewarding? —Well, we do only service non-profit organizations, so I do view my work as important. —That's great, but there must not be much money in that then? —No, not much, but enough for us. Nestor reached over and wrapped his arm around his wife, while Salvador reached over and took Nestor's wife's wine glass when the bottle on the table ran dry. —Sweetie, pace yourself. —What? I thought we were here celebrating! —What would we be celebrating? Zoey asked this as she returned to her seat, after getting herself a new bottle of wine and an empty glass. Qucikly, before Frieda could begin her spiel again, she took a gulp so loud and large that Nestor replied with a look of shock. When she finished, she could see Frieda take in a long, deep breath, preparing not to pause for some time. —I finally got my PhD! —What? —That's great, Frieda. —Zah-owee, you're not saying anything. —No, no, it's great, but how is that possible? We just finished school, and didn't you have a full-time job? —I know, it was a lot of work. I could only take classes and study at night, or early in the morning. And the papers! But in the end, I was able to pull through with two PhDs, actually, one in English and one in Spanish Literature. My advisors told me that I was able to complete two PhDs faster than any student they have ever had! It was really difficult, and it almost took a strain on our marriage, right Salvador? —No, baby, I was always supporting you. As Frieda continued her story, Zoey snapped in and out of attention. How could someone their age have two PhDs without being one of those freaky protigee kids? It just didn't make sense, and what hurt the most was that Zoey and Nestor were trying so hard at something that should be normal and natural, having a baby, while Frieda was off accomplishing-- —Zah-oweeeeee, why do you keep touching your stomach like that? —What? —Oh em gee, the fifth placement at the table! Like the sound of a thunder clap, Frieda slapped her husband out of his boozey, relaxed state and slammed her palms on the table. It shook their only set of fine china. —You're having a baby, aren't you? —Well, we are-- —I knew it! I am so happy for you. Salvador and I, we tried, before I decided to go back to school, but when it wasn't working, we went to see a specialist. Apparently, neither Salvador or I are likely to have children, but I am so happy for you! What are you going to name it? —Um, um-- —We don't know yet. Zoey felt Nestor's reassuring hand slide into hers' and give it a squeeze. —Can I make a suggestion? Ooooh, who are going to be the godparents? Have you bought any toys or clothes yet? May I make a suggestion about why you shouldn't buy too many pink items if it's a girl, and maybe buy some pink clothes for a boy. . . . Once Frieda was done, talking about Zoey and Nestor's imaginary child while Zoey and Nestor could do nothing but nod along, the Roths eventually paced up and left. Zoey wasn't even sure how it happened, but around midnight she found herself loading the dishes. —What are you thinking, Honey? —I want a baby. —I know-- —No, we have to try harder, I want a kid now! —Honey, just to beat them? —No, of course not! Zoey shook off her husband's accusations and they finished clearing the table. Lying in bed that night, more like early morning, after trying to make a baby twice, neither of them spoke again about why Zoey seemed more determined than ever. When they weren't trying to make a kid, Zoey hadn't stopped touching her stomach once. —You know, I have thought of an even better name. She was so wrapped up in her own thoughts, that she almost didn't hear her husband. —What? —Hermes. —Hm, Hermes Herman. —What do you think? —I think that could work for a boy or a girl. —I know, right? Nestor and Zoey fell asleep with both of their hands on Zoey's stomach, thinking like Hermes Herman would be the first baby ever born. Bio: J.K. Shawhan's a writer, blogger, and Editor-in-Chief of The Basil O' Flahertyliterary arts website. Her work has/is scheduled to be published with Centum Press, Eunoia Review, Mosaic Art & Literary Journal, Rat's Ass Review,Wordgathering, Silver Birch Press's My Sweet Words Series and Me, in Fiction Series, and more. You can read her blog of new adult humor athttp://funnyzombieblog.blogspot.com/.
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