SPRING 2008 SHORT FICTION CONTEST

FIRST PLACE WINNER

A Slip of the Spoon
by Kimberly A. Zook

I knew what I was supposed to be doing, but my desires distracted me as the aroma of red wine delicately danced upon my face with silky taps of ballerina slippers. Enveloped in sensual notes from the piano and glowing flames from candles on our dinner table, I closed my eyes in pleasure. Tonight is the night. No longer must I be satisfied with the teasing tastes of vintage grapes. My daughter was finally weaned from my breasts, and I was free to drink as much wine as our waiter could pour.

Claiming the night for celebration, my husband swept my daughter and me out the door and into The Keg, a local steak restaurant. Once we were seated, I pulled out my Mary Poppins carpetbag and began rummaging around inside for our daughter’s distractions: toy keys, foam book (chewable, although “Not Intended for Teething”), bottle of milk, and a container of yogurt. Our daughter’s impeccable palate at 15 months preferred the soft, sweet taste of yogurt, cheese, and milk over breast milk. And so I could savor the wine list, knowing that tonight would be the first night I could drink an endless cup.

“The largest glass of Merlot you have,” I told the waiter as I stuffed my purse under the table, hearing a forgotten toy squeak in protest at not being chosen.
           
As the tingle of wine began to sweep across my scalp and numb my constantly-in-motion fingers, I sighed and sat back in my chair. My husband smiled at me. I smiled at him. I took another sip of my wine, swirling the delectable sweetness on my tongue. Tonight my desire to rekindle my vintage-self as a woman would be fulfilled. Oh, the sweet promise of wine.
           
“She looks hungry,” my husband said, placing our daughter’s bib around her neck.
           
As I pried open the yogurt container, she eyed the basket of bread and butter the waiter had placed on our table. I dipped the baby spoon into the yogurt and began to sing, “Eat. Eat. Eat your food. Eat your food I say.” Our daughter looked down at the yogurt and opened her mouth.
           
“A toast,” my husband claimed. “To nursing our daughter for so long and to fulfilling your desire to drink wine again.”
           
I prepared a piece of buttered bread for myself while eyeing my glass of red wine. I recalled the weekend down in Napa Valley where my husband and I biked from vineyard to vineyard, sampling reds, whites, cheese, and chocolate. It was the best weekend of my life. It was the weekend we created our daughter.
           
Like any multi-tasking mom, I sipped my wine, smiled enticingly at my husband, and fed my daughter another bite of food. Deprived of wine for so long, it didn’t take long before my kneecaps went numb. Maybe I won’t get past the first glass, and here I was hoping to finish with a Riesling tonight.

My husband laughed. “It won’t be too much longer until the rest of your body gets all tingly.”

Meanwhile, our voracious eater kept smacking her lips. She swatted my arm with her tiny hand and opened her mouth. I swept another spoonful into her mouth and took a deep swig of wine.

“Gosh,” I said, “She’s really hungry tonight. Usually she stops after a few bites and wants her bottle.”

My husband smiled at me as he poured more wine into our glasses.

“Would you like some bread, honey?” I asked as I fed another spoonful of food into our daughter’s little mouth.

Taking the bread basket from me, my husband asked, “Where’s the butter?”

My eyes scrutinized the table: toy keys – check, foam book – check, bottle of milk – check, container of yogurt – check.

“That’s funny,” I said, “Our daughter’s jar of yogurt is completely full.”

A little hand suddenly wrapped around my fingers that held our daughter’s spoon in front of her face. She shoved it into her mouth and licked her lips. Her eyes widened with pleasure and she squealed with joy.

My eyes narrowed in on the container of food that I had been serving her. One small smear of butter remained inside. Our daughter reached forward and swiped up the last smudge of butter out of the container. Smiling, she held out her finger to offer me her food.

My husband chuckled. “I guess I’ll take some yogurt with my bread tonight.”

I sighed, looking at my distracted, flushed face contorted in the belly of the empty wine glass in front of me. Perhaps I wasn’t ready to be that sophisticated woman again. My husband and daughter smiled at me, a multi-tasking mommy who maybe doesn’t need the magic of vintage grapes to feel desirable.

Although Kimberly Zook has lived in a hut in a Costa Rican rainforest, a high-rise in a Japanese city, and a cottage on a Canadian island, none of these adventures compares to the experience of motherhood. As a writer, Kimberly integrates her experiences as a scientist, naturalist, educator, and mother. She is currently living in British Columbia with her husband and daughter, where she maintains an online journal about her discoveries as a new mom while writing children's books.