#Sorry for the delay I had a surprise weekend at my parents house. Five hours away.

[nomsfaultau]

Philza Malewife Competition Round 8

Previous rounds: Cleaning. Cooking. Decorating. Karens. Sick Day. Eggs. Hugs. Current points: The Lambs Wolves Wear (2), Lighting Lanterns (1), Weight in Gold (2), Fault (1), everyone else (0). And an honory point to qsmp for a guest appearance.

For a quick synopsis for the fics I’m referencing- those are here

Next round: Complaining

Where do BABIES come from?: His solution is ice cream! A central part of that fic is him connecting to kids via food. Philza is down for a rant session and will pull it more to the fun roast side away from more bitter anger. Buut he’s not particularly adept at the dad advice and solutions. He’ll do his best of course! But mans is like, mid twenties, and doesn’t have the experience or fatherly instincts of most other Phils. He’s more used to being an ear to complain to than a shoulder to lean on, and so probably defaults to assuming it’s a rant.

GOLDEN APPLES (Gilded Atrophy): He’s crying. Like sobbing. He hasn’t had kids ask him for help in years and now that he’s back are either dead or bitterly insist they don’t need him. Philza is sooo eager, and so will be assuming it’s wanting help. His fatherly expertise is for younger kids, but does have a few centuries of knowledge to back it up. 

Worth far more than your WEIGHT IN GOLD: bird. He’s a bird. Even if [Philza] does manage to understand the human cultural context behind the complaint, he has difficulty speaking unless it’s a very very lengthy rant. Combined with the different morality system, skill set, and values of Ravengence culture…yeah good luck if he decides to just ‘solve’ the problem. 

Mandatory Family Reunion: Very actionable solution plans tailored to suit your preferred level of violence. Has a lot of power and bases his entire self worth on being a good dad, and is 100% dedicated to fixing the problem…regardless of if it was just venting. He can get people fired, buy straight up anything ever including entire companies, rig legal systems, get bullies transferred permanently to ISS, and…less legal options too. 

LORD what fools these mortals be!: Verily, skilleth issue. Just use magic to fix it. Unless he somehow comes to the conclusion the splinter or whatever is life threatening to a squishy mortal, and then out come the magic bombs and panicked helicopter parent. Or might do non consensual surgery to improve you if he thinks it’s your flaws that are the issue. Also doesn’t have enough context to be useful for stuff outside the absurd Court. Phil doesn’t even know what a pb&j is like good luck. 

Lighting LANTERNS to bring you home: Absolutely the best Philza to just vent to. He’s just like ‘cheers I’ll drink to that mate’ and adds funny comments and knows which gods to blame for xyz. Plus drinking age hasn’t been invented yet, so you can also get drunk if you want. Philza loves complaining and is so down to spend all afternoon kvetching. But also slips in a lot of useful tips unnoticed, because he’s been around the block and through the wringer and knows a thing or two. 

The LAMBS wolves wear: Long winded parable that’s blotted and confusing with lots of side tangents and switching metaphor meanings. All he’s really saying is ‘don’t kill me plz’.

Fault: Can tell the difference between rants and wanting help. Has jokes to relieve tension either way, and insightful, great advice. Is very willing to help, but does also encourage age appropriate levels of independence since the purpose of a dad is to help someone grow up, not just to solve everything. 

Hi Nom!!

I have a prompt for the Malewife competition if you want.

My mom is the *best* at listening to me, and letting me rant if I need to or offering advice if I want it. (And *good* advice that I can use, she's the best!). So, what do each of the Philza's do when (if) their kids come to them to rant or ask for advice? Can they tell the difference between wanting to rant and wanting help?

Loving this competition btw 💚💚💚

.

[solastia]

The Intruder

ONE SHOT

Pairing: Namjoon X Reader

Word Count:  3,359

Genre & Warnings: Fluff & Smut, but not like, super crazy smut. Good ‘ole Missionary. But it’s sweet. 

Notes: SURPRISE! I needed something fluffy in my life. I wrote this fairly quickly, so I’ll go back and edit later. 

“It’s only going to be for the weekend, Namjoon. You’re making a huge fuss out of nothing.” 

Namjoon leaned against the counter with his head cradled in his hands, pouting as he watched you pack your small bag. He’d been like this all day, listing at least a hundred reasons why he thought you shouldn’t go. 

“Baby, I only have a couple more weeks before we have to leave again. Pleaseeeee....” You just stare at him, shaking your head in disbelief. 

“You’re such a whiny baby. Why your fans think you’re so,“Daddy” is beyond me. I promised Mom I’d go home for the weekend. I promised her a month ago, and she’s been calling to remind me twice a week. I have to go. I’ll be back Monday afternoon, and I’ll be all yours for two whole weeks before you have to leave again. You’ll be so sick of me that you’ll ask to leave earlier. I promise.” You peck him on the cheek as you pass by, and set your bag by the door. 

You watch amused as he sighs loudly and makes his way over to you to say goodbye. He backs you into the door and kisses you hard, trying to grind his obvious arousal into your stomach. 

“No way. I know what you’re doing, and we already did that twice today. Your delay tactics will no longer work. A kiss and a hug are all you’re allowed, mister.” 

You pull him down for a kiss and push him back away with a laugh when he once again tries to deepen it. 

“I love you, Joonie. I’ll call you when I get there, Ok?” 

“Love you too. Drive safe.” He replied, with a loud, overly dramatic sigh. 

You wave and shut the door on the once more pouting face.

The moment you enter your parent's house, you are bombarded by relatives, many of whom you have no memory of. It was your parents 30th anniversary, so everyone was making a huge deal of it, and the house was filled. They are all insisting on talking to you and sharing stories of when you were a toddler. Of course, the most common questions were about if you were dating and when you were getting married. You wished you could tell them all about your fantastic boyfriend, but you valued his privacy, which is why you didn’t let him tag along to this in the first place. The last thing he needed was for the twenty-something cousins that were here to hound him and spread gossip online. The best you could do was vaguely mention that, yes, you were dating. 

Finally, the night was coming to an end, and the guests were starting to leave. You suddenly realized that you hadn’t called or texted Namjoon to let him know you’d gotten here safely. You knew he’d probably sent you a million nagging texts about it, but you’d left your phone in your room at your Mother’s insistence. She wanted you to “mingle and not have your eyes attached to the screen.” You mumble that you are heading to the restroom and manage to wrench yourself away from the latest relative going on about the time she helped potty train you. 

You run up the stairs to your old childhood room and pick up your phone from your nightstand. As you’d suspected, Namjoon had called five times and left at least thirteen texts over the course of the seven hours you’d been gone. The first couple were cute. Just reminding you to let him know you got there OK and that he missed you already. These were followed by increasingly more worried sounding messages, hoping you were OK and wondering if you were mad at him. The last message had been sent a little over an hour ago, saying if you didn’t respond in the next twenty minutes, what happened next was your fault. 

You really didn’t like the sound of that. 

You quickly call him, but he doesn’t answer. You try twice more, only to be sent to the inbox again. So you decide to text. You tell him that you are sorry, that your Mom wanted a cell phone free zone and you weren’t able to get away. 

No answer. 

You send another text, asking if he’d eaten and telling him how much you loved him and would totally make this up to him on Monday. 

Half an hour goes by with no response. He must REALLY be mad at you. 

You sigh and decide there’s nothing else you can do for now. Hopefully, he’ll be done pouting in the morning. He usually liked to sit and talk things out whenever you argued, or if he was upset by something, but for now, there’s nothing else you can do but go to bed and hope for the best. 

You were having a beautiful dream. Namjoon had taken you to a picnic. You were sitting under the giant tree along the river that Namjoon always referred to as “Our Tree.” There was a lovely breeze, good food, and you were propped against his chest while he read to you.  As far as dreams go, this one ranked in your top three. The other two also featured him. One was a bit too racy to tell anyone else about, and the other...well, let’s just say there’s a white dress in it. You lean back and enjoy the dream, marveling that it was so detailed you could hear his voice perfectly next to your ear, and feel the rumbles in his chest against your back. 

And then the knocking sounds started. 

It was constant, and wouldn’t go away. You wanted to stay in the dream, but the knocking kept disturbing you. You felt yourself lose your grip on the dream, and it floated away as your eyes opened. You angrily stared at the ceiling as you tried to force yourself back asleep and hopefully back into that dream. 

Then you heard it again. In real life this time. 

Someone was knocking on your window. 

Biting your lip, you debate the wisdom of actually going to look out. If this were a horror movie, you know that would be a stupid move. You’d open the second story window, they’d pull you out, and let you fall. Then chop up whatever didn’t break. That would be a dumb thing to do.

The knocking started up again. 

With a sigh, you got out of the bed and shuffled to your closet. You still had your old softball bat in there and figured that would be better than nothing. Best case scenario, it was just the wind moving the tree branches too close to your window. Worse case, you’d have to clobber some intruder. At least it’s a polite intruder who knocked first. 

You creep to your window, bat in hand, and whip the curtains aside. It’s still too dark to see anything, but you swear you see a shadowy figure hanging onto the tree. You take a deep breath, grip the bat hard, and unlock the window. You swing the panes open and hold up the bat as you peer outside. 

“Finally.” the intruder says in an irritated, soft tone. 

You squeal and swing the bat as a long leg makes its way into your bedroom. 

“Baby, what the hell?!” He yells, grabbing the bat before you could hit him. 

“Namjoon? What are you doing? I thought you were a robber or something! I could have hurt you!” You drop the bat onto the floor, helping the rest of your boyfriend make its way through the window. 

“youdidntcallandipanickedandimissedyou.” He mumbles rapidly. 

You blink and stare, trying to process the situation in your still somewhat sleep-addled mind. Your boyfriend drove all the way out to the country, climbed up a tree to your second story bedroom...because he missed you.

“Joonie. Did you come all the way here because I didn’t call? I’m sorry. I didn’t have a chance earlier, but I did before I went to bed. You didn’t answer.” 

“I was driving. It’s not safe to drive and talk on the phone.” He was still sitting on the edge of your window pane, mumbling, and pouting. 

“I missed you too, Namjoon.”

He was so cute, and SUCH a big baby. You started to grin at him, and when he realized he wasn’t in trouble, he perked up and started silently exploring your room. He wandered around, picking up random objects and looking at them, staring at the pictures scattered. He found a picture of you with a date at a high school dance, and look over his shoulder at you with a raised eyebrow, before calmly throwing it in your trash bin. You silently laugh and remind yourself to take that out, and tape over your dates face at least. You looked good in it. You gesture to the light switch on the wall, and he shakes his head no, continuing his exploration with just the light of the moon. 

He’s finally made the full circle until he’s standing in front of your twin sized bed. If he actually plans on sleeping in here, he’s going to have to sleep on the floor to be somewhat comfortable. The bed was probably half his size in length, and there was no way the two of you would fit unless you slept on top of him and he let the bottom half of his legs dangle. 

When you saw the look on his face though, you knew it wasn’t the sleeping arrangements he was thinking about. 

“Joonie, no. My parents are literally down the hall. My Grandma is directly below us. There’s no way.”

He looked at you in surprise. “Are you saying you never brought any of your little boyfriends in here? Like, the dude in the trash?” 

You snort at him. “Of course not. I would never have gotten away with it. I have the worst luck. And, FYI, the dude in the trash has been gay since, like, preschool.” 

“Humph, well, I say this sounds like a great idea. I’ve missed you, and you’ve had experience trying to keep quiet when I sneak you into the dorms.” 

“And that never ends well, because towards the end it’s always, “Fuck it, baby, let em hear.” You roughly impersonate his deep growl, and he laughs.  

Namjoon picks you up by your waist and tosses you onto the bed, before crawling up on top of you and burying his face in your neck. He inhales loudly, slightly tickling you. 

“I really did miss you.” He whispers into your neck. “We were gone so long that time. I mean, the tour was fun, just so long. And we’ll have to leave again soon. Even though it’s not for long, we’ll have the come back right after that, then promotions start all over again. I just want to stay as close to you as long as I can. As close as I can get...” He adds the last part with a groan, and he lifts himself up and raises your nightshirt up past your breasts. 

You realize you’d left the window open when you felt the night air touch your exposed body, however, as his gaze raked over you, you forgot the cold. It always amazed you how he could look at you like it was the first time, every time, even though you’d been together for over a year now. 

You could tell by the way he was looking at you, that this was not going to be one of the times where he drew everything out and spent hours teasing you. 

Namjoon looks into your eyes for a moment, smiling softly, before he leans down and kisses you tenderly. He pulls away and throws off all of his clothes, not taking his stare away from you. You watch in awe as his nude body is finally revealed, the moonlight making this somehow more mysterious than usual. 

He leans back over you, his hand snaking down to your core, a pleased smile growing on his face when he found you already wet. 

“Remember to be quiet, Y/N. We don’t want to wake up Grandma.” He quietly teases, his fingers slowly stroking you. 

“Joonie, please don’t mention my Grandmother during sex.” You complain with a soft groan. You feel him laughing, his shoulders shaking as he positions himself over you. 

He places his forehead on yours, kissing you hard as he slides into you. He moans against your lips as he sheathes himself entirely, and you wind your legs around his back. He rocks into you slowly, the both of you paying attention to the amount of squeaking the little bed was making. 

You were trying so hard to keep quiet, but he felt so good. So thick and so deep in you. The little moans that snuck out of you just spurred him on, and he started to move faster. You throw your hands behind you to brace yourself against the wall, Namjoon’s pounding now enough to make you hit your head if you weren’t careful. He’s kissing everything he can reach; Your neck, face, lips, occasionally leaning his head down to suck a nipple into his mouth. You bite your lips, chewing on them to try to keep quiet. Namjoon reaches a hand down and rubs your clit, watching your face to see how close you were. You could tell he was close himself, with the sweating dripping down his face and his hips pounding furiously into you. 

He leans his face down and kisses you softly, mumbling “I love you.” You want to answer, but you feel the tension rising until, finally, you climax, turning your head into your pillow to quiet yourself. Namjoon groans as your walls tighten around him, and you feel as he empties himself into you. 

Namjoon drops himself on top of you, knowing you like the weight of him there, at least for a few minutes. You kiss his sweaty neck, and you both whisper sweet nonsense to each other as you catch your breath. 

“See,” he whispers, tickling your nose with the end of a lock of hair he’d started playing with. “No one heard a thing.” You giggle and open your mouth to say something cheeky about how loud he was when you heard it. 

A squeak? From...the bed? 

“What was that sound?” You ask, pushing Namjoon’s chest away so you could look over the edge. Maybe it was a mouse or something. You were never here, but you knew your Mom kept everything clean still. 

You heard it again. Only this time it was more of a clicking or creaking. 

You look at Namjoon in confusion, who is staring hard at the bed. His face suddenly looks horrified when you move, and another creaking sound is emitted. 

“Wait, don’t move, I think we...shi....” He was cut off when with one loud cracking sound, the bed you’d used until you were eighteen years old suddenly fell to pieces underneath the two of you. Namjoon tries to pull you closer and wrap you in a sheet as you both crash to the floor with a loud thud. You both manage to sit up against a wall, looking over each other for wounds. Finding nothing, you lean back against the wall and stare at the remnants of your bed. The frame was broken in at least three places, bars sticking out, springs scattered across the room. Your poor bed was deceased. 

“I know they call you the God of destruction and all that, but what did my poor bed ever do to you?” You tease him, laughing at his poor, resigned face. The smile on your face gradually slips away, however, as you realize there’s a new sound. Someone is running through the hallway. You barely manage to cover yourself adequately before your bedroom door is flung open and the light is turned on. 

The faces of your parents are filled with panic, no doubt having heard the sound of the bed crashing and thought someone was breaking in. You watch in horror as their eyes scan the room, taking in the broken bed before their eyes settle on the two of you. You see the panic slowly die out of their gazes, only to be replaced by confusion and disbelief. You can just imagine what they are thinking as they take in the sight of their daughter and the boyfriend that they’d only met once before, sitting there covered in nothing but a sheet. 

“Um, hey Mom, Dad. So, Namjoon came to visit, YAY. Um, yeah, the bed...was old? And, uh....we were trying to sleep...when just...CRASH! Ya know?” You were rambling anything that came to your head, panicking when your father’s gaze hardened and was focused on Namjoon. Your Mom had stopped looking at the two of you, patting your father on the shoulder, and blushing. 

“Is everyone unhurt?” She asked, trying to back your Dad back to the door. 

“Yup, we’re good. It’s all good. Everyone’s good. I’ll...uh...replace the bed later.” You mumble. Please leave, please leaavvvee...

“What’s going on in here?” 

Crap.

“Grandma, go back to bed. Everything’s fine. Just the old bed decided to retire.” You joke, hoping she’ll take the hint and go back to her room. 

Instead, she peeks her head in, quickly takes stock of the situation, and leans against the side of the door with a grin. 

“Oh, is this the boy you’ve been seeing? He’s a handsome devil, isn’t he? Can’t say I blame you. Good to see I can expect great grandbabies soon. You kids go to bed.” She ushers your parents out of the room, your dad spearing Namjoon with one last look that promised a talk later, and closes the door behind them. 

The two of you stare at each other, then fall back with a groan, making a little nest with the blankets on the floor. 

“That was humiliating. Embarrassing. I’m never going to get dad’s face out of my head.” You whine, only to look over at him in annoyance when you finally register that he’s laughing. 

“YAH! What is so funny, mister? You broke my bed and scarred my parents for life.” Namjoon pulls you closer to him and pecks your forehead. 

“Hey, at least your Grandma seems to like me.” 

“Ugg. You do realize my Dad is probably going to have a very uncomfortable talk with you tomorrow? I highly suggest running now while you have a chance.” 

“Why? What’s the worst he could do? Tell me to marry you? I’d already planned on that.”

“What?” You sit up and look at him, all sprawled out on the floor, resting his head on his arms. He looked utterly calm now. 

“Check my pants.” He responds with a soft smile. 

You look around for his jeans, finding them in a far corner. You wrap the sheet tighter around you and go pick them up, finding a lump in one of the pockets. You swallow hard, feeling like this was a dream. You reach in and pull out a box. 

A little black box. 

You pull back the lid and look at the ring nestled inside. It’s gorgeous. You turn and look at the man sitting there so smugly, and start to cry. 

“Really?” You sob, feeling ridiculous that you’re crying, but unable to help it. 

He holds out his arms, and you go and cuddle into them, still staring at the box. He wraps his hands around your waist and pulls you closer, kissing the side of your head. 

“Really. I love you. This was supposed to be more romantic, but I guess this is as good a time as any. Marry me?” He asks, and you nod yes, kissing him desperately. 

“Hey, at least now we can just tell them we were celebrating.” He chuckles, and you giggle as he slides on the ring, kissing your hand once it’s in place. 

“Congratulations!” Says a voice muffled by the door. 

“GO TO BED GRANDMA!” 

[mosylufanfic]

Ummm Killervibe and 40? How many of these au prompts can I request? Because I want all of them. For real.

40 exes meeting again after not speaking for years au

For the longest time, I couldn’t think of how to fill this prompt, and then this popped into my head over the weekend, and I wrote most of it in a day. My brain, how does it work?

Please excuse any medical inaccuracies, I was mostly going on guesswork and Google.

This is Where I Left You

Caitlin was four hours into a ten-hour shift and already dragging, but she forced herself to bite back a yawn and smile at the intake nurse. "Who's next?"

Eliza rattled off the case number and Caitlin plugged it into the patient program on the Star Health Group-issued laptop. She glanced over the intake notes, ignoring the name at the top. She hardly ever saw people more than once in this job. "Twenty-seven-year-old male with pain in his finger?"

"He applied an ice pack but no splint. He thinks it's broken."

"Well, we'll be the judge of that," she said, shutting her laptop and tucking it under her arm. "Thanks."

"He's pretty cute, too," the nurse called after her. Like Caitlin, she often picked up weekend shifts at urgent cares all around the Central City metropolitan area, so they knew each other well. She was always nagging about Caitlin's lack of a love life. "Just saying."

Caitlin rolled her eyes, waved over her shoulder and turned the corner to room three. She knocked briefly to warn the occupant she was coming in and twisted the knob. "Hi, I'm Dr. Snow, I - "

"Caitlin?"

Her head jerked up. "Cisco."

The last time she'd seen Cisco Ramon, he'd been sitting on the couch in their shared apartment, watching her move out with misery in his eyes. She'd been fighting tears, too, but even then, she'd known it was the right choice for both of them. She would be drowning in her studies three states away, and then drowning in the demands of residency. She wouldn’t have the leftover energy to tie her shoes, never mind maintaining a long-distance relationship.

It hadn't made it any easier, especially since Cisco had been convinced they could do it, and their last months together had been an endless cycle of him trying to talk her into staying together. He would move to Coast City, he said. They would Skype every day. What if they got engaged?

But at the time, he was still a year away from finishing his engineering degree, and he couldn't do it remotely. Her study schedule might permit a five-minute Skype session once a week. And she'd refused to accept the ring he tried to offer her. "An engagement isn't relationship glue," she'd told him, trying to ignore the staring eyes of all the people at their favorite restaurant. "Please don't do this."

By the time she left with her U-Haul, it was almost a relief to shut the door behind her and know she would never see him again. Almost.

Now, she stood frozen, her laptop clutched to her chest, staring at the one who . . . was it accurate to say he’d gotten away, when she’d been the one to leave?

He looked as astonished as she felt. "You work here? I thought you had a job at some fancy research hospital in the city."

His hair was longer, curling past his collar, and he'd lost some of the softness in his face, the way men did in their mid-twenties. His shoulders were broader. His geeky t-shirt wouldn't have been out of place in college, though, and his eyes were the same, dark brown and broadcasting every emotion he felt. Which at the moment, seemed to be utter consternation.

She ducked her head without thinking, and cursed at herself. He knew full well that was one of her nervous tells. "I do. I just pick up shifts at different Star Urgent Cares on my days off."

"This is your day off? When do you sleep?"

He sounded so much like he had in college, trying to make sure she took care of herself, that her eyes stung. She cleared her throat and made her voice brisk. "I'll sleep when I've paid off some of my hundreds of thousands of dollars in school loans. I didn't know you moved back here."

The way he'd talked back then, he couldn't wait to get the hell out of the suburbs and away from his older brother's magnificent shadow.

He blinked. "I didn't. My parents needed some help around the house, so I came out here for the weekend.” His eyes met hers. “Hell of a coincidence, isn't it?"

"It really is," she mumbled, cursing her choice to sign up for this shift at this location, this weekend. "Cisco, look. You can request to see someone else if this is too awkward. It wouldn't be at all out of line." Never mind that she was the only doctor on site all day, and the nurse practitioner who could provide treatment wouldn't be here for another fifteen minutes. She had to offer him the option.

But he said right away, "No, no, it's fine. We're adults, right? It's been five years since we - And all you have to do is, what? Splint this up?"

"We'll want to do a little more than that," she said. "But you should be out of here by noon."

"Okay," he said. "Let's get to it."

She nodded firmly, set her computer on the counter, and opened it up. "So, can you tell me what happened?"

He took the ice pack off his left hand and looked at it ruefully. The ring finger was red and swollen. "I was moving some boxes with my pop this morning, and I dropped one and kind of crunched my finger. I thought I could shake it off, but it kept hurting worse, and when I went online, it said it was probably broken."

She bit back her lecture on diagnosis via Dr. Google. He'd heard it before.

"So, anyway, I thought about taping it up and getting my usual doctor to look at it sometime this week, but it really freaking hurts and you guys accept my heath insurance, so I, you know, came over."

He was chattering at high speed - he was as nervous and off-balance as she was. She took a steadying breath. "That was smart. You really don't want to let these things go too long."

"Yeah, no, I like my hands in working condition. Um, so, what are you going to do?"

"Well, first a physical exam," she said in her calmest, most professional voice, and reached out to take his hand. It was cool and clammy from the ice pack, but it felt so familiar under hers that the last five years might as well not have happened. "Let me know where it hurts."

She made an effort to turn off her memories and turn on her doctor brain. When she pressed her fingers along the swelling at the base of his ring finger, he hissed, but she didn't feel any deformities that would mean the bone had snapped clean in two, or that anything had dislocated. "All right, done with that. We're going to test the range of motion, okay?"

"Yeah, okay." He winced as she gently moved it back and forth. The range of motion was definitely impacted - he could neither straighten it fully nor curl it into his palm.

"Okay," she said. "Just from my preliminary examination, I'm thinking hairline fracture in the proximal phalange, right here." She laid her finger lightly on the first section of his ring finger, closest to the palm. "But we're going to do an x-ray anyway."

"Got it."

She left the room to ask Eliza to get the machine set up, and sat down at the desk in the x-ray room to write her notes. When she was done with that, she rested her head in her palm for a moment.

"Caitlin?" Eliza said. "You okay?"

"Just tired," she said. "Anybody waiting?"

"Nah. Shawna and Tracy are catching up on filing. I'm hoping it'll be a quiet day. He is cute, isn't he? Room three."

"Yeah," she said. "I've always thought so."

"Huh?"

She looked up with a rueful smile. "He's my ex. We broke up when I left for med school in Coast City."

"Oh, no way." Eliza looked horrified. "What happened? He didn't want to do long distance?"

"Other way around. It was my choice." She drummed her fingers briefly on the desk top. "I wanted to focus on my studies, but as usual, I went overboard. I thought I'd just cast off all distractions, cocoon myself in my books for three or four years, and emerge as a beautiful board-certified butterfly."

"That doesn't sound healthy."

"My therapy bills and my Paxil prescription agree with you."

"You want to pass him off? Bette should be in soon. Five minutes, maybe. She can take over, right?"

Caitlin shook herself. "No, it's fine. It was years ago. It was just a shock. Let's not delay his care because of water under the bridge. All ready?"

Receiving an affirmative, she went and let Cisco know he could come get his x-ray. He hopped down and followed her to the x-ray room. They took the image and then had to wait a few minutes for it to process and get uploaded to the patient file system.

She brought him another ice pack wrapped in gauze to replace the soft, squishy, dripping one that he'd brought from home. He smiled his thanks. She tried to think of small talk to make and remembered something that had required an entire bottle of wine to process about a year ago.

"So, I heard you got married," she said brightly. He wasn't wearing a ring, but with the amount of swelling, leaving one on might have cut off his circulation. "Congratulations."

But instead of smiling and accepting them, he cringed. "Did you also hear I got divorced?"

"Oh," she said, her stomach trying to jump up in her throat and sink to her knees simultaneously. "No."

"Yep. But hey, we made it six whole months. Woooo." He managed a smile.

"I'm so sorry."

"Thanks," he said, and for a moment, his smile looked more genuine. "It was rough. I'm doing better now."

She badly wanted to know what had happened, but bit the question back. If there was one thing worse than having to explain how your marriage had failed, it was having to explain it to your ex-girlfriend. "I'm glad," she said. "Not about the divorce! About the . . . better."

"Me too."

They made stilted small talk about people they'd both known in college, who had broken up, who was working where, who was having kids. His best friend and her old roommate had gotten married - not a surprise really - and were having twins.

"Twins," he said again, goggling comically. "My brain shorts out even picturing it."

"If anyone can handle twin infants, it's Iris," Caitlin said, feeling a twinge of sadness. She hadn't talked to her in years. "I feel like I should get back on Facebook or something. I've lost track of so many people."

"Well, if you do, be really careful about it. After the election, I deleted Facebook off all my devices because I would just sit there and scroll through, feeling shitty. I check in maybe once a week now."

She cringed. "Probably wise."

Her computer pinged, and she brought his x-rays up on her screen, turning it so he could see. "Mmmm. Yep. Hairline fracture, no dislocation. You'll be uncomfortable for a little while, but you should have limited use of your finger in a month, and full use in six weeks."

"Not bad," he said. "I can live with that. At least I'm right-handed."

She added to her notes. "Okay. We'll splint this, I'll write you a prescription for some painkillers, and you can be out the door."

"Great," he said. "Thanks."

Splinting and giving him instructions for further care took up another twenty minutes, and then he was shrugging into his jacket - a rather stylish leather number with red and yellow highlights, not one of the disreputable hoodies he'd lived in at school.

"It was good to see you," he said, his voice all social nicety.

"Yeah," she said brightly. "You too. Tell your parents hi, and take care of that finger, okay?"

"Will do. Look after yourself, Caitlin."

She gave him her brightest smile and turned to her laptop. She took another few minutes to finish up her notes and close out his file, until she was sure he'd settled up at the front desk and was gone from the building. Then she went up front. "Anybody else waiting?"

"Nope," Eliza said. "Bette's here, she's with a patient. How are you doing?"

"Well, I survived."

"God, lady, you're a trouper. If my ex-girlfriend came in, I'd be in a ball under the desk."

The thought was tempting. But it would undoubtedly be more productive to text her therapist during her lunch hour. "It's been a long time, and it helped that I needed to stay professional."

"Still."

Caitlin shrugged, glanced out the window at the coffee chain on the corner, and pulled out her phone. "Hey, I'm going to put in a coffee order. You like green tea, right? Do you know what everyone else drinks?" She couldn't leave the building while she was the attending physician, but as long as it stayed quiet, she could order and pay on the app, and one of the admin staff could run over and pick it up.

"Hey, before you hit send - " Eliza nudged her, and she looked up see Cisco walking back across the parking lot with a carrying case of coffee drinks in either hand. His splinted finger stuck out awkwardly.

She dashed across the lobby and pulled the door open for him. "Cisco!"

"Caffeine delivery," he said brightly. "I saw you trying not to yawn, and I'm pretty sure I haven't gotten that boring in my old age."

She took the one from his bad hand and took it to the front counter. Eliza made a pleased sound and took the cup marked "Green Tea with Honey," then disappeared, presumably to tell everyone that caffeine and sugar were in the building.

"You didn't have to do this," Caitlin said as he set the other one down.

"It was no big. You guys were great and I was there already." He took a cold drink drizzled with chocolate syrup and piled high with whipped cream out of its slot. "I literally asked for the Urgent Care weekend crew's usual order. They were like, 'yep!' and started throwing it together before I swiped my card.  And I figured you probably took your coffee the same." He plucked an insulated cup from the case and handed it to her.

According to the label on the side, it was a latte with a shot of hazelnut and extra whipped cream - exactly right. He always used to ask for extra whip when he got her coffee for her, on the logic that she didn't treat herself enough. She took it, smiling at the warmth against her hands. She was always a little too cold here. "I do, yeah," she said. "Really, this was so nice. You could have left a Yelp review."

He shrugged. "It wasn't completely generous. It was a good excuse to come back here. Um, can I talk to you a minute?"

"Sure. Yeah. Do you have any further questions about taking care of your finger?"

"No, it's more of a personal thing. Is that okay? I know you're on duty."

She looked around the empty lobby. "I think I can take a few minutes."

"Ha. Yeah. I guess."

"Here, let's - " She pulled him over to one side of the desk, far enough away that the nurses and admin staff coming by for their coffee couldn't overhear. "So, what is it you wanted to say?"

"I - " He rubbed at his brow, the way he always used to when trying to work out something difficult he had to say. "I wanted to apologize for the way I acted, those last couple of months. I really made it a lot harder on both of us."

She bowed her head over her drink. "You wanted to stay together. Honestly, I did too, but you deserved someone who could be there for you. And for the next few years at least, I just wasn't going to be that person."

"I know," he said. "I know that now. It doesn't make either of us wrong for the things we wanted or needed, it's just the way it was. But I thought we could stick it out, because we loved each other. I thought that was all it took. I was wrong."

The sadness in his voice made her peer at him. This sounded like more than just mulling it over for the last five years. "Cisco? What happened?"

He looked away. "My ex had an incredibly absorbing job, one where she traveled. A lot. She loved it, she was good at it, it made her happy - but she was gone three weeks out of the month at least. And like you said, I need somebody who's going to be there, and I finally stopped pretending I could settle for less just to hold onto someone. We never stopped loving each other, but at the same time, our marriage never really worked."

"I'm sorry," she said, for what felt like the fourth or fifth time. What else was there to say to that? She'd been on the other end herself.

"Yeah, so am I. And obviously it gave me a hell of a lot to think about over the past year or so, and I've been telling myself I needed to look you up and tell you this for at least that long." He lifted his head and looked at her head-on. "I'm so, so sorry. You and I, we could have had a great last few months together and stayed friends after. Instead, I just made us miserable. So I wanted to apologize for that."

"Thank you," she said, feeling old, scabbed-over wounds start to heal. "And you know, no matter how it ended, I was really happy with you for a long time." Her throat knotted up. "And I-I hope you were happy being with me."

"Yeah," he said. "Yeah, I was. That's why I fought the end so hard."

"It's understandable. It really is. And you know what, you were right too, when you said I was overfocused on how hard I'd have to work."

"Oh, come on, you were in medical school! You totally had to prioritize that."

"My program was hard, it's true, but I really didn't need to draw such a hard line on no-contact, no visits, no nothing. It was tough enough without cutting myself off from everything that makes life worth living."

He looked up with a little smile. "You seem to be doing okay now."

"Yeah," she said. "I'm - better. I'm really working on that whole work/life balance thing."

"Says the lady picking up shifts on her day off."

"Well, I didn't say I'd mastered it just yet. And you? How are you doing? Really."

"Like I said, I'm doing better." He rubbed a hand over his hair. "I'm working for Palmer Industries, in their Central City R&D department."

Her mouth popped open. "That's great! Do you like it?"

His face lit. "Yeah! I love it. I get to do the coolest shit. You would not believe."

"I'm so glad. I always knew you'd be amazing."

He tilted his head a little. "Yeah. You always said that. Even when I was completely down in the dumps. 'You're going to be an amazing engineer, honey, and don't listen to anyone telling you different.'"

"Well, I was right."

He nodded. "And you know what, you're a great doctor."

She felt herself flush, and forced out a laugh. "Those are really good painkillers, aren’t they?”

"No, I mean it. You're calm and reassuring and you told me what was going on and - and this is what you were always meant to do. And even though it meant our relationship had to end, I - I'm glad you took this path. It's where you're supposed to be."

"Thank you," she said, swallowing. "Cisco. Thank you. That means - so much."

He ducked his head, tucking his hair behind his ear. "Uh, anyway, so.  I don't know which side of town you live on, and I know you're probably pretty busy what with your regular job and - " He waved a hand at the lobby. "Your moonlighting gig. But I'm on the west side. If you’d ever like to get drinks or dinner with an old friend and you know, catch up . . . “

"I'd like that," she said immediately.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah, absolutely."

"Okay, cool. Can I - ?"

She held out her phone and he programmed his number in. "I'll text you," she said. "As soon as I know my next schedule."

"Sure, we'll figure it out." He looked at her, a soft smile spreading over his face. It had been far too long since she'd seen that smile aimed at her. It made her heart thump in her chest, and her stomach go chocolate-melty. "It really was good to see you, Caitlin. Don't be a stranger."

"You too," she said, and watched him go, knowing she'd be seeing him again as soon as she could.

FINIS

[shefa]

When Will We Make the Time?

WHEN WILL WE MAKE THE TIME? SERMON YOM KIPPPUR YIZKOR 5778 – 2017 Rabbi Stephen Weiss, B’nai Jeshurun Congregation

One of my all-time favorite singers is Harry Chapin. It’s not that he had such a magnificent voice, or that his melodies were so rich, though they certainly are catchy and get stuck in my head. What makes Harry Chapin stand out above all the rest for me are his lyrics. Chapin had a magical way of using his songs to teach valuable life lessons. Okay, maybe not so much in his song “30,000 Pounds of Bananas,” though I love that song. But songs like “Flowers are Red,” which speaks to the importance of encouraging creativity and independent thought, manage to touch us deeply by uncovering every day truths that we too often overlook. Perhaps Chapin’s most famous song is “Cat’s Cradle.” It was in the top ten for 15 weeks back in 1974 and it was Chapin’s only number one hit, but 40 years later it remains a song almost everyone knows.

The song is about a father that is too busy to spend time with his son. As the son grows he asks his father to spend time with him, but the father always postpones the son’s request to the future. The son idolizes his father and wants to become like his father. At the end of the song, the father realizes his son has become like him. It is the son, now who has no time for his father. Throughout, the song is peppered with phrases of nursery rhymes to remind us how quickly this time is going by. Here are a few verses:

My child arrived just the other day. He came to the world in the usual way. But there were planes to catch and bills to pay. He learned to walk while I was away. He was talking before I knew it, and as he grew He said, “I’m going to be like you, Dad. You know I’m going to be like you.”

My son turned ten just the other day. He said, “Thanks for the ball, now come on let’s play. Can you teach me to throw?” I said, “Not today, I’ve got a lot to do.” He said, “That’s OK.” And he walked away and he smiled and he said “You know I’m going to be like you, Dad, You know I’m going to be like you.”

The final verse says:

I’ve long since retired and my son’s moved away. I called him up just the other day. I said, “I’d like to see you, if you don’t mind.” He said, “I’d love to, Dad, if I could find the time. You see, my new job’s a hassle and the kids have the flu, But it’s sure nice talking to you, Dad. It’s been real nice talking to you.”

And as I hung up the phone it occurred to me, He’d grown up just like me. My boy was just like me.

That’s the song. But there is more to the story. Harry Chapin’s wife, Sandy, was the one who actually wrote the words to that song. Her poem was inspired by watching her ex-husband try to reconnect with his absent father. Harry wasn’t really interested in the poem until after their son Josh was born. It was then that he put the words top music. But sadly, Harry Chapin himself became the father in the song.

When their son was seven, Harry was performing 200 concerts a year. Sandy asked him “When are you going to spend some time with our son?” Harry promised he would make some time at the end of that summer. But he never made it. That summer, on his way to a business meeting, his car was rear-ended by a truck. The car burst into flames. Harry died in that accident before he could fulfill his promise to Sandy to make time with their son.

Just as in the song, I’m sure if Harry Chapin had it to do all over again, he would have used his time differently. The question we should be asking ourselves today is “How well do we use our time?”

We tend to live as if we had all the time in the world. But the Psalmist reminds us that is not so. In Psalm 90, we our lives are compared to the fragile grass: “In the morning it sprouts afresh, by nightfall it fades and withers.” Our time on earth is limited, and what we do with that time matters. We only have a finite amount of time to do the things that really count.

And yet we squander that time and let it slip away from us. We don’t mean to. It’s just that our lives are so busy. We rush after so many things: trying to get that job or promotion, launching a new business or project. There is shopping to do, and laundry. The house doesn’t just take care of itself. So many demands press in on us every day and it seems like there just aren’t enough hours to get it all done. At the end of the day we are so exhausted that it is hard to find the energy to do much else. As a result, we put off the very things that most deserve our time. But postponing life’s true priorities comes at a cost.

Too often we are like the farm boy, Joe, who accidentally overturned his wagonload of corn in the road. The farmer who lived nearby came to investigate. He offered to help the boy but he said to him, "Hey, Joe, forget your troubles for a spell and come on in and have dinner with us. Then I'll help you get the wagon up."

"That's mighty nice of you," Joe answered, "But I don't think Pa would like me to."

"Aw, come on, son!" the farmer insisted.

"Well, okay," the boy finally agreed. "But Pa won't like it."

After a hearty dinner, Joe thanked his host. "I feel a lot better now, but I just know Pa is going to be real upset."

"Don't be foolish!" exclaimed the neighbor.

"By the way, where is he?"

"Under the wagon."

How many times have we left a family member or friend “under the wagon,” knowing they need us but not making the time to be present for them?

According to a 2013 Pew Study, parents – no surprise – say they feel increasingly stressed about juggling work and family life. 56% of working moms and 50% of working dads say they find it very or somewhat difficult to balance these responsibilities. Though time with our children is thankfully on the rise, half of all fathers and one out of every four mothers say they spend too little time with their children.

A 2010 study in the Great Britain revealed that one in ten of us spends more time talking to our other half on the phone or by email than in we do in person. Couples now spend on average less than an hour a day talking while together, with one in five of us spending just fifteen minutes a day chatting in person. Fifteen minutes. More than a quarter of couples said they did not get the chance to have a proper chat until the weekend. That’s six days without spending meaningful time together.

We all know in our hearts that there is no replacement for spending time being fully present with others. Just ask the ingenious teenager who, tired of reading bedtime stories to his little sister, decided to record several of her favorite stories on tape. He told her, "Now you can hear your stories anytime you want. Isn't that great?" The little sister looked at the machine for a moment and then replied, "No, not really. It hasn't got a lap."

What those we care about need most from us is not things. What they need most is us. They need us to be fully present in their lives. If we are absent from our relationships how can we expect those relationships to flourish? If we fail to be present in the lives of those we love, how can we expect to them to feel our love and be transformed by it?

The same can be said for our relationship with God. A 2007 study found that the average American spends a total of three minutes on religious or spiritual activities on a normal weekday. Three minutes. No wonder then that we struggle to feel a relationship with God in our lives, or even to feel God’s presence at all. The Kotzker Rebbe taught “Where is God? Wherever we let him in.” The problem is that we don’t let him in very often.

It is not that we do not know what is important. We do know. If I asked you to list your priorities in life, most of you would not list shopping, or commuting, your job or your home. The proof that we know what is truly important is that toward the end of our lives we suddenly start scrambling to attend to all those things that we have ignored.

A rabbi waited in line to have his car filled with gas just before a long holiday weekend. It was a full-service station and the attendant worked quickly, but there were many cars ahead of him. Finally, the attendant motioned to him to move forward to a vacant pump. Rabbi, said the man, I’m sorry about the delay. It seems as if everyone waits until the last minute to get ready for a long trip. The Rabbi chuckled. Oy. I know what you mean. It’s the same in my business!

That’s us isn’t it? Like the father in Harry Chapin’s song, suddenly, we get older, we realize what we are missing and we stand in line seeking to fill up on the love and good that we passed by so many times. We want to heal our broken relationships. We want to make up for lost time. The problem is, we can lose time but we can never restore it. Once it’s gone, it’s gone forever The rabbis of our Talmud tell us that when we stand before God in heaven for judgment of our lives, we will be asked five questions:

Did you conduct your business honestly? Did you set times to study Torah? Did you engage in procreation? Did you hope for deliverance? Did you seek wisdom and discern one thing from another?

I think there is one more question God will ask us: How do you explain those times when projects and things were more important to you than people? If we want to be prepared to answer that question, we need to ask ourselves now: Who do we need to spend more time with? What do we need to cut out of our schedule to make that possible? What sacrifices do we need to make?

The psalmist pleads with God: “Teach us to number all our days, so that we may gain a heart of wisdom.” But God has already provided the teaching. It’s up to us to heed it.

Let me close with a poem by Charles Hanson Towne:

Around the corner I have a friend In this great city that has no end; Yet days go by, and weeks rush on, And before I know it, a year is gone. I never see my old friend’s face, For life is a swift and terrible race. He knows I like him just as well As in the days when I rang his bell And he rang mine. We were younger then, And now we are busy, tired men; Tired: with trying to make a name. “Tomorrow,” I say, “I will call on Jim. Just to show that I’m thinking of him.” But tomorrow comes – and tomorrow goes… And the distance between grows and grows. Around the corner! Yet miles away… “Here’s a telegram sir… Jim died today.” And that’s what we get, and deserve in the end. Around the corner, a vanished friend.”

So be present – truly present – in the lives of those you love now, because you just do not know how long you will have the opportunity. Circumstances change. People die. Children grow up. You have no guarantee of tomorrow. If you want to express love, you had better do it now.