Page 2 of Mink Hijinks
“Not everyone,” I say, which is true enough. While I design some of the most premier plushies anyone can find, there are bigger names out there.
I run my fingers along Plumpkin’s body. He’s still as bright as the day I made him. I’d holed up in the corner of the room I shared with my three other brothers. It was cramped, but Plumpkin became a star.
“Enough people know who you are,” Misty sighs. “We’re going to miss yousomuch.”
“I know, but I’m not going to miss Mom and the lot of you trying to hook me up with random Omegas.”
Misty giggles. “We’re just trying to help, you know. You’re the only single one left. We want Mom and Dad’s entire house filled with babies during the holidays, and you’re holding out on us.”
I laugh again. “There are alreadyso manykids at their house it’s hard to move. It’s a sea of kids! Don’t worry. I’ll find my mate. But I’m not going to rush Fate. You know how I am.” I pull out the next stuffie, a mink that’s almost a match of my animal form. It’s smaller than I am, but the color is still perfectly the same chestnut brown I chose a decade ago.
“I know.I know.” Misty huffs. “We’re gonna miss you so much.”
I pause, rearranging my plushies on the bed. “This sounds insensitive, but everyone is going to get over it. Especially when I show up with stuffies for all the kids when I come over after New Year’s.”
Misty squeals, and I’m sure she’s bouncing on her toes.
“And yes, I have one just for you, too.” I grin, knowing she’s got one to match mine.
“Oh, my gosh! Oh, my gosh! I can’t wait!”
“Anyway, not to change the subject, but do you know if you and Heather are having a single or multiples?” I ask. Minks have a lot of babies in one go, especially if their partner is also a mink.
Misty’s voice takes on a dreamy quality when she answers my question. “Five babies! Heather is due in July.”
“Congrats! I knew you were wanting a lot of kits.”
“We are over the moon.” I imagine her twirling in the kitchen like she did when we were kids. We liked to act as if we were ice skating. We’d each steal a pair of Mom’s nylon socks since they slid the best on the linoleum.
I pull out more and more stuffies and line them up against the pillows.
“How’s the cabin you abandoned us for?” There’s a playful tone in her voice, like always.
“It’s lovely. I’m gonna beall overthis king-sized bed.” Gotta get the stuffiesjust rightto make a tunnel with the pillows.
“Don’t you have one at home?”
“Nah, got a queen-sized at home, but I’m probably going to upgrade after this vacation.” This much space to starfish would be amazing.
Someone hollers in the background of the call, and Misty squeals. “Gotta go, we’ll see you, eventually. Love ya!”
“Love you and everyone!”
We end the call, and I smooth my hand over the quilt. It’s homey and makes me think of my great-grandma, who’s always making something. I think she’s where I got my creative spark from. None of my four siblings care much for crafty things.
A yawn makes my jaw pop. It was a long,longdrive out here, but it was worth it.
“Nap time,” I say to the empty room.
I undress and lift the quilt enough that I can get my head and shoulders under, then I shift into my mink and run up to find a cozy spot under the stuffies above me.
PAX
Why do plane rides suck? I’m burning up next to someone, and we’re not even touching. Sweat beads on my forehead. Maybe it’s PHS that sucks. It always hits me so hard. I don’t know why I thought it would be a good idea to fly when I’m dealing with pre-Heat syndrome.
“Dear, are you in Heat?” The flight attendant who’s been taking care of us leans over my sleeping seatmate to ask.
“PHS,” I mumble.
