Peter skimmed a hand across the top of June’s head and met her eyes in the mirror. “Are you sure you’re not too tired for this? We could just have a quiet dinner instead.”
“It’s the first year Medina’s expressed any interest in staying up for New Year’s.” She stayed seated at the old-fashioned vanity she’d inherited and leaned against his comforting warmth. “I can’t toast with champagne. That doesn’t mean our daughter can’t have an event, even if I’m not sure what she wants exactly.”
He grinned and squeezed her shoulders. “Twins. Can’t wait to see the look on Da’s face.”
“Your mother already suspects.” She got to her feet softly and looked down at her still-flat belly. “Just tell me that you moved the clocks forward two hours like we planned.”
“And now,” Medina said in a dramatic voice three hours later, “At the stroke of midnight, the volcano erupted, and crowds cheered!”
The living room obliged, with Peter’s father George even drumming his hands on the edge of coffee table, in front of a papier-mâché lump that vaguely resembled a volcano.
June made a mental note to explain that New Year’s was typically celebrated with a ball drop, not an explosion.
“Hands off, please.” The six-year-old frowned. “Peanut? Barbeque.”
A small dragon, now the size of a pink pumpkin, waddled toward the group, planted its feet, and inhaled deeply.
“NooooooooOOOooo!” cheered the crowd, leaping to their feet as one. George scooped Peanut while Peter snagged Medina. Helen distracted her granddaughter’s distraught tears.
Left with nothing to do, and more overwhelmed than she’d wanted to admit, June sank back into the sofa and promptly burst into tears.
“I thought she meant vinegar and baking soda,” June murmured into his shoulder. It felt felt like hours later, but had only been ten minutes. Medina and Peanut had been promptly plonked into bed, where a fire extinguisher and smoke alarm were both mere feet away. “She was in the room with the books. The books, Peter!”
“I think we’re going to need a bigger home,” he answered. Over his shoulder, George practically sparkled at the reminder of additional grandchildren. “A fireproof one.”
***
This week’s prompt was from nother Mike: At the stroke of midnight, the volcano erupted, and crowds cheered!
Mine went to AC Young: “I must say,” the dragon began, and paused, awkwardly scratching the scales at the base of its horns. “This celebration of a ‘new year’ seems to generate a furor of quickly expended enthusiasm. Why continue such a failed tradition?”
Find more offerings – and join in the 2026 edition of the weekly prompt challenge, over at More Odds Than Ends!
