Fiction
5 min
Cold Feet
Jarred Russell
The morning sun beams through windows, casting light on a coffee mug that reads "Stay Woke" above a rainbow. It rests atop a stack of overdue bills. Buddy, an African penguin, sits behind a plate of sardines, brie, and toast, reading the newspaper.
"Apparently, half of every human marriage ends in divorce," he says.
Pedro, his partner, sits on a nest, knitting the blanket he's worked on for weeks.
"Well, I'm glad we mate for life," Buddy continues. He gets up to refill his coffee and asks, "Would you like a cup?"
"Oh, I heard caffeine isn't good while incubating," Pedro replies.
"Right. Hey, maybe we should walk to the pier today," Buddy suggests.
The fog hasn't rolled in yet as the two penguins enjoy the ocean breeze. Buddy, pushing a stroller, says, "Feels unseasonably warm. Did you notice how little rain we've gotten this year?"
Watching sailboats drift in the distance, Pedro replies, "I think it's nice out."
A man snaps pictures. He wears a bright Hawaiian shirt, socks with sandals, and cargo shorts jingling with purchased memories. His wife, in a loud floral dress, peers over dinner-plate sunglasses beneath a sun hat that could shelter a village.
She leans toward him and says, "...you can always tell. They have a certain way about them."
Buddy stiffens, his flippers clenched.
"Maybe she meant that we're penguins," Pedro offers.
"Clearly she was commenting on us being gay," Buddy fumes. "What, we look or sound a certain way because we're gay?"
Pedro's flipper finds Buddy's shoulder, but there's no comfort. "I'm going to say something. Hey—"
The woman looks back, but before Buddy can finish, she interrupts, "What's with the rock in the stroller?"
Furious, Buddy blurts, "Good luck, fifty percent."
"I don't think she'll get it," Pedro says as they turn and continue on their way.
Buddy's tuxedo shop, Penguin Suits, is a quaint little place. Its hardwood floors and narrow aisles of hanging suits promise the perfect day.
Da-ding, ding. The bell rings as the door opens.
A man walks in and says, "I need a tux."
"You've come to the right place," Buddy replies.
As Buddy works with pins and chalk, the conversation flows.
"You married?" the groom asks.
"Yep."
"Can I ask you something?"
"Sure."
"How did you know she was the one?"
"He," Buddy corrects gently.
The groom flushes. "Oh, my bad."
"No worries. We made a connection. And since penguins mate for life, we're living happily ever after."
The groom slips into the jacket. "I wish it were that easy. My fiancée has two kids from a previous marriage, and I'm not sure I'm ready to be a dad. I love her and the kids are great, but I'm walking into a pre-built family..."
"You want to make sure it fits perfectly," Buddy says, adjusting the jacket.
The groom stares at his reflection. "You know what, I'm not sure. I've got some thinking to do."
"I meant the tux," Buddy replies.
That evening, Buddy pores over the paper. An article on rising sea levels sets him off. "What kind of world will we leave to our son?"
"Or daughter," Pedro adds, his needles clicking. "Besides, we need a calm house for our unhatched child. Don't get so angry."
Buddy isn't listening. "Heating the Earth. Hmph. I wish there were a way to get back at those humans."
"Which humans?"
"All of them, I guess," Buddy says. "Oh, I had a groom leave today. Don't think he's going through with his wedding."
Pedro pauses. "That's terrible. Why?"
"His fiancée has kids from a previous marriage. See? Right there, she's part of the 50% and at it again."
Pedro's needles stop. "Well, what are you going to do?"
The question hangs in the air.
That night, Buddy mumbles, "Climate change...divorce rate..." In his dreams, everything collides.
He jolts awake. "That's it," he whispers. "I'll use my tuxedo shop to stop marriages before they start."
Pedro stirs. "What's that?"
"Nothing, dear. Just had an idea."
"Tell me about it in the morning," Pedro murmurs. "This egg is going to hatch any day now, and you'll wish you could sleep more."
Buddy puts his plan into action the next day.
8:30. Da-ding, ding. A groom enters, phone in hand.
"You checking out your married friends' posts about their wild Saturday nights?" Buddy asks.
9:45. Da-ding, ding. The second groom.
"Why buy the cow, amiright?"
11:20. Da-ding, ding. The third groom.
"She just wants to change you."
Each seed of doubt is planted.
That evening, Buddy sits at the table reading. The stack of bills has grown into a tower.
Pedro sets down his needles. "Do you think you can build the crib tomorrow?"
"Uh-huh." Buddy doesn't look up. "Wait. What? Tomorrow?"
"Yes, I've been asking you to do this for weeks. The same with those unpaid bills."
"Yeah, yeah, I'm on it." Buddy lowers the paper. "Three more grooms left today, all before lunch."
Pedro glares.
"What?" Buddy says defensively, "There's a good chance they'd end up divorced. I'm saving them the hassle."
"You need grooms to rent tuxedos. No grooms, no money. No money, no store. What were you thinking?"
The accusation hits, but Buddy doubles down. "I'm already ten years old. How many years do I have left? Fifteen? Twenty? If I'm going to make an impact, I need to do it now."
"You can make an impact by helping me raise our chick."
"Our chick? Our chick! It's a rock, okay? A rock, and it will never hatch."
Silence.
"The bills are overdue," Pedro says. "You're going to lose the store. And if you're not careful, you'll lose me too."
Buddy wilts. "But penguins mate for life."
"Well," Pedro says, "there's a first time for everything."
That night, something miraculous happens, perhaps it's the Hand of God. As Pedro sleeps, he is gently lifted, and beneath him, the rock is replaced with an egg.
Da-ding, ding.
A seal named Cecil struts in like he owns the place. His flashy blazer screams new money, his gaudy tie questionable taste.
"Well, pal, you had a good run."
"It's Buddy, not pal." His heart isn't in it. "And yes, it was. Take good care of her."
"I'm shutting this place down," Cecil says, grinning, "Moving online. People don't want brick-and-mortar anymore."
He waves as he leaves. "You've got until the end of the day to pack up."
Buddy drags himself home. "Pedro, I'm sorry. I didn't mean—"
"Would you just look!"
There, in the nest where a rock had sat for months, a tiny chick chirps.
"I...how?" Buddy stammers.
"She's our little miracle," Pedro whispers.
Months later, the newspaper lies unread, the coffee maker is empty, and the overdue bills have been replaced by an acceptance letter from a publisher.
Pedro adjusts his tie. "Wish me luck on my first day as an editor!"
"You don't need luck, you'll be fine!" Buddy calls from the nursery.
"Come tell me goodbye."
Buddy appears, Tango cradled in his flipper. They share a kiss, and Pedro plants another on Tango's fuzzy head.
"I'll miss her today."
Once Pedro leaves, Buddy straps Tango into the carrier and grabs a protest sign:
"What's black and white and rainbow all over?"
He looks down at Tango. "Let's go change the world."
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