Page 7 of The Chosen Two

“What in god’s name…. Miranda, promise me you will not go near that thing! I know you think it’s cute, but no.” Jake’s eyes bounce between the fox and me frantically.

I roll my eyes. “Oh my god, Jake. This is totally different from that time with the feral kittens. Don’t worry.”

“Okay, but don’t you think we should call someone to take care of it?”

“I’ll try animal control, but I’m not really sure how much help they’ll be.”

Because of the distraction of our new four-legged friend, the kids are almost late for school, and the chaos around the front door becomes even more frenetic than usual as they gather everything they need and get their socks and shoes.

In the chaos, Jake almost forgets to kiss me good-bye before he leaves with them, only instead of carrying a backpack, he’s towing his luggage behind him. Because of open-ended trips like this one, I have no idea when he’ll get to kiss me next. Luckily, he returns, wrapping one arm around my waist and the other around my shoulders, and pulls me close.

“Ewwwwwwww! Are you serious? We’re all right here.”

“Hey Jessie, I am very much in love with your mother and not afraid to show it. Need I remind you, none of you would be here if I wasn’t?”

Groans from all of them. I have to admit, tormenting them at this stage of our lives is a little fun. Jake and I have been together for more than twenty-years, and the fact that we still have enough passion to make our kids sick is nice, in a way. But once upon a time, their sweet little faces would look up at us in awe when we showed each other affection; they would ask us to kiss over and over again, giggling every time. They’ve grown so much, so fast. One day, I’ll miss having them around to groan at our love.

“Sorry, guys. But he’s flying out as soon as he drops you off, and believe it or not, we still miss each other when we’re apart for a few days.” I don’t know why I feel the need to chime in as well. Maybe to show a united front. Maybe because part of me feels like if I don’t say anything, I’m letting my man speak for me.

And then, once again, they are out the door and onto their own adventures for the day. I pour myself my first cup of coffee for the morning and glance out the window. The mutated fox is gone, and I try to remember what Phoebe called it. I pull out my phone, open a browser, and type “fox k” in the search bar, but I don’t see anything that is even close to what I’m trying to learn about. But knowing something like this is in the world somewhere, I try being more direct: “Japanese fox with three tails.”

Bingo. First, I scroll past images of sketches and cartoons, and then I see: “People also ask: What is a fox with three tails called?”

Am I not the only one to have seen such a creature? I click on a link to a website about folklore and consume everything the page can tell me about my backyard visitor.

The more tails a kitsune has - they may have as many as nine - the older, wiser, and more powerful it is.

More powerful? I wonder what kinds of powers we are talking about here.

Certain mental disorders have been attributed to possession by kitsune.

Yeah, I can see that happening…

Kitsune often have powerful magic, and are known for their charm, illusions, possession, and mind manipulation.

Sounds like a blast. So glad one has decided to frequent my yard. Really. I wonder if a normal exterminator or wildlife expert know how to get rid of them. I assume not, because kitsune aren’t indigenous. Do I need someone Japanese? Or a priest? Do I need a Japanese priest? I shake my head. It’s gone for now. I won’t worry…too much.

It’s hard to go through your day knowing a mythical beast may be chilling in your yard. It’s pretty distracting, like not knowing if you left the oven on, only times a billion. But I can’t ignore my life to stare out the window all day, especially if I’m not going to do anything about it even if I do see the furball return. Besides, I can’t ask Eliza for another raincheck two days in a row, and she’s probably the only person I could disclose my new psychoses to who would not only defend me from being committed but also shrug and say, “Okay. So how do I help?” She is a professional author, so no matter how weird my life is right now, she’s guaranteed to have written weirder shit.

Eliza, or Aunt Eliza as my kids know her, is my ultimate bestie. She is almost a decade younger than I am, but that just makes our friendship stronger. I can give her parental like advice, and she can help me relate to my kids a little better. Now she’s a mom herself, and I get to be Auntie to her little squish.

When I walk into our favorite little coffee shop, I spy Eliza and hear Tabitha’s happy squeals. I don’t even place my order before I walk over to tickle her chunky little toes. I don’t have to order anyway. The barista brings a honey caramel latte over to me a couple of minutes later. We’re here a lot.

Eliza is dressed to impress as usual. Her hair has a magenta hue and a gentle curl to it, reminiscent of 1930’s Hollywood glamour. Only someone who has been her best friend for over a decade would recognize the slight dull to her made-up eyes that indicates her new mom exhaustion.

“How are you doing, Lize?”

“Oh, we’re great! I did have a couple questions about her poop though. When I babysat your kiddos, I sort of remember their poop changing when they started solids, but does this look normal?” She flips through photos on her phone before tilting her head and squinting her eyes, nodding, and handing it to me. I zoom in, squint even with the closer crop, then nod as I hand the phone back.

“Yup. Looks normal to me.”

“Okay, but can we talk about the smell? It’s much worse now.”

“Yep, because she’s eating actual food and not just milk.”

“I know that, but my god! I swear my next villain is going to be my daughter’s digestive tract!”

In her stroller, Tabitha lets out a full belly laugh. I smile at her and coochie-coo her toes again. We often bond over teasing Eliza.

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