Grey Hearts and Flowers

If I Could Walk On Water

Thank you for your love and patience! I had put a lot of focus on my Darker story with the movie out. Here's the first of a couple new updates to come. xox

Get the boat back to shore!" I call out to Taylor, holding to Ana on stage as she buckles over in the throes of a contraction. "It's okay, baby," I say to her. "I have you."

"I'll alert the captain, sir." Taylor takes off, his branches catching on everything in his way, including Tilly's mother's hairpiece. But, he doesn't stop. That purple tinted skunk clings to his cherries all the way to the wheel of the yacht.

"What happened?" Kavanagh asks, swishing that Betsy Ross skirt of hers our way. She's supposed to have sewn the flag, not worn the flag.

"Her water broke," I say as Ana clutches down on my arm. Hard.

"Her what?" Elliot asks. Is he really that much of an idiot?

"Her water! It broke!" I say, louder and with more pained frustration than I intended. Of course, that's probably also because Ana's nails are digging into the flesh of my arm. And when she does all the lights on my jacket start flashing again.

"There's a hole in the ship and we're all gonna drownded down the ocean drain in the big flush to the poop bottom!" Fritzy yells out. Whatever the hell he's saying. Him and the toilet water of the sea again.

"Nobody's drowning!" I say. "She's having the babies! Now!"

"Yay! My brothers is coming! My brothers is coming!" Phoebe claps. Better than yelling Brit-shits again. 

"Plot twist! Did Whipple really knock Dolly Madison up?" I can hear my grandfather ask from out in the audience.

"No, your grandson did," my grandmother says, giving the old man a swat.

I look out and realize everyone has turned their attention from the explosions of Irish glory in the sky to us on the stage. They think this is part of the play. How can they think this is part of the play? Oh right, open bar.

"The show is over!" I say, waving a hand in announcement and two mothers in the back wave back at me. "Thanks for coming, but America has its independence and everyone can go."

There are gasps and protests from the crowd. General disarray. Mostly around the bar and the nearly pillaged shellfish tower. You throw free vodka and a few crab legs and lobster tails around and these idiots would trade you their first born. That thing is massive—and disgusting, and I won't let Ana or any of the children within ten feet of it. Kavanagh always insists on having a raw bar at these things. She says it's classy. It's probably because she's really a shark and she likes to eat fresh and local.

"But, we're in the middle of the ocean," a horrified Tilly says. She's scanning the audience, I'm sure in search of that phony theatre critic.

"And I haven't had my sex on the beach," some mother calls out, holding up her cocktail. What a disaster.

Bang bang bang.

More green explosions popping off in the Seattle sky. How many Irish fireworks have to die for this celebration to?

"We're only a little ways out and we're sailing back to shore," I say. "We need to get Ana to the hospital."

Damn, I knew Ana shouldn't have been up and acting on the boat today. We had this all planned. A C-section on a common Thursday. Nothing bad happens on a Thursday.

More and more people are swirling around. How many fucking people did we invite today? I'm wondering where the red coats put those super soakers they used in the show, so I can spray bystanders away.