"I can't speak for all men," I said, slipping a piece of pastrami between her lips, "but I think it's not uncommon. I think better than half of all men have this fear."

She watched me, half-lidded but unblinking, while she chewed. "Really? More than getting shot?"

"I think that's a fear for, you know, parts of the country where education isn't an emphasis."

"More than... getting hit by a car?"

I shrugged. "I haven't heard people talk about that like it's a constant concern of theirs."

"More than getting stepped on or chewed in half?" Her off-white teeth glinted in the candlelight, her lips parted in a striking smile that sent a tingle up my spine to my cheeks.

"My fears aren't in the same context as most guys's fears, I think." I sliced off another piece of pastrami, dragged it from the bamboo cutting board to where her jaw rested on the edge of the table.

Her huge eyes crossed to focus on me as I walked up to her broad face, until she closed them and opened her mouth wide. I hurled the thin-sliced, cured meat like a Frisbee into her pink and glistening cavern. It landed on her tongue, which twitched and swayed with micro-muscles, despite her attempt to hold it still and display the pink and puce flesh resting on it. She grinned and politely closed her mouth to mash it up. I could smell smoked beef wafting from her nostrils, and I dared to rest my palm upon her massive upper lip: the impact of her molars rumbled through her flesh and up my arm. Just amazing.

"Are you afraid I'll get rid of you for... what did you call it?"

"An upgrade." I pulled a large sheet of provolone from the pile. "Men have an unshakable fear of being discarded for someone better, and the reason it sits so well in them is because they can relate to it. They understand upgrading, they value it, they look forward to it."

She stuck out her tongue, gushing out over her incisors and lip like a flood of ocean... pink, soft, textured ocean... or lava. I hustled the dense chunk of salt and dairy over to her, upending it upon the tip of her tongue. I saw a thin rivulet of saliva slip out over the edge of her lower lip, and she must've felt it immediately because she sucked the cheese into her mouth, reared her massive head back and wiped her mouth on her wrist, thoughtlessly, gracelessly. Her vast and towering façade darkened when she withdrew from the candles on the table, imbuing her with a cinematic glower that, out of context, would have looked threatening. To reassure myself, I laughed at her blush affectionately, and she wrinkled her nose at me.

"Not all women think like that," she said, stroking her cheek.

I laughed again and sat on the edge of the cutting board. "Men have long conflated women's motivations with their own. That's why there's dick-pics: men want women to send them pictures of their tits, so they believe women will become aroused if they send them pictures of their penis."

"That's disgusting. That's the last thing I want to see."

"And that's why you get other tiny men begging to worship women like you."

Her brow furrowed. "Because they want to be worshiped?"

I paused. "Huh, that didn't work out. It's what they think women want, because they don't ask or even wonder what women really want... And that... comes from how poorly we're taught to communicate as children and teens, which is related to conflating our motivations..." My head felt knotted, suddenly. I was talking too fast, trying too hard, getting distracted.

Her huge arm swung through darkened space. Her index finger unfurled, and her fingertip thudded me in the center of my chest. No more than a centimeter's gesture to her, but enough to send me sprawling into the provolone. Her sharp smile shone in the dark, and her fingers splayed to grip the sides of the cheese, wrapping it snugly around my chest, and she slowly lifted me off the cutting board.

I called her by name, as the living room's warm and smoky air drifted lazily over my body. "There's more pastrami down there if you're looking for meat."

She shook her head, sending her long, looping waves of hair sliding over her shoulders. "You sure have a lot of opinions in that tiny little head of yours, especially for someone who doesn't get out so much."

I shrugged, my nonchalance hampered by cheese. "Audible and iTunes University. I can still work a touchscreen and I've got nothing else to do when you're at work." My heart started pounding in its chest, the closer I floated toward her lovely grin. My pulse nudged insistently in my neck and thighs. The candlelight reflected as mottled pinpricks in the corners of her eyes.

"Do you think I'll absorb your knowledge?" Her tongue throbbed with laughter as her incisors spread. Her thumb and index finger released me, and the provolone unpeeled and fell to her blouse. I, however, took the short tumble directly into her mouth. I may have sworn. I just remember going spread-eagled, trying to catch myself on her lips, but taking a bad spin and falling in sideways, like so much pastrami, and scrambling to bear-hug her tongue.

Her lips closed over me promptly. In the perfect darkness I felt her throat seal up below my feet, at least. Gravity slowly rolled until I was lying upon the mattress of her tongue, so I supposed she was sitting up on the couch and leveling her head out to...

Yes. Through the dense flesh of her lips I heard Hulu come up, and then the ukulele intro to Bob's Burgers. I sighed and tried to calm my heart down while she hummed along and massaged my chest with the thick, blunt tip of her tongue.

Over the years, I've learned this subtle cue meant the conversation was over.

After a minute, she even parted her lips a little so I could watch TV too. Deposited the cheese slice that had missed the mark earlier. My jeans were soaked through, but at least I had a snack. Such largess.

Every Act of Creation

Her nose told Janine the dish was ready. She stuck her right hand in a quilted oven mitt and wadded a toile dishtowel for her left, then opened the oven with steely groans. Twin ramekins bubbled contentedly in the glow of the heating elements, resting on a scarred and well-loved cookie tray. She carefully extracted the tray, set it on the stove, kneed the oven partially closed and shut it off. It would continue to warm the kitchen pleasantly, this muzzy November night.

Slipping one ramekin onto a plate, Janine took up a small spoon and a napkin, then danced around the corner, through the dining room, to where the elaborate Victorian dollhouse stood prominently in the living room. She grinned to feel the dense pile carpet crush under her bare feet. Slowly she raised one shiny shin to break the light beam around the model house. Through the tiny windows she could see the cheery yellow lighting momentarily dim to a warmer nectarine, could hear the tiny speakers inside resonate with a soothing AUM-MM-mm...

When the white LED porch light blinked green, she unlocked the latches on the side wall and pulled the facade open, halving the Victorian house neatly as if for an architectural diagram. There he was, in his little study, seated at a meticulously crafted escritoire, still holding the snipped-off tip of a microfine pen. Shaun's tiny face turned up to her and grinned smartly: Janine marveled at how, after all this time, that expression still shot a thrill throughout her entire body, an effect undiminished from the first moment she spotted him.

"I made you something," she said softly.

"I wrote you something," he called up to her.

She screwed up her grin, trying not to cry. "Why don't you read it to me over French onion soup?" Behind the dollhouse, the cream sheers glowed with flickering yellow and orange.

Shaun's grin widened, and he hopped onto her plate with his miniature blank book. She settled carefully on the couch, nestling the round bottom he loved so much in the firm cushions. Janine reclined, situating her head comfortably in a pile of throw pillows, resting the plate upon her belly; he picked his way off the smooth plate and up her black Cuddl Duds top, perching himself upon her right breast. He ran one tiny hand over the microfiber fabric, his fine face beaming up at her like a candle. She licked her upper lip, raising one eyebrow, and scooped out a titch of molten cheese to cool for him.

When he'd had his fill—almost immediately—he opened his book. It was a cheap prop in a pack of eight from the craft store, but they were both stunned to discover how much work actually went into it: the binding was shit, but the paper quality was not bad at all, and his minuscule script could fit quite a lot of sentences on the little pages. He'd feverishly set to filling these empty books up from the moment she presented them to him.

Not only did it give Shaun something to do, he took great pride in developing his writing, and he was as eager to show off his work to her as she was to hear it. He lay now on his front, his body draped to hug the curve of her breast, and turned to the page he wanted.

"Now that she has me, where should I wander?
Now that she owns me, why should I stray?
When her soft fingers greet every day
And with each day I only grow fonder..."

With well-learned sensitivity she stroked his tiny back, from his shoulders to his butt, trailing her finger down this thigh or that. His little clothes tugged beneath her fingertip until it dried enough to run over him smoothly. Regardless, he never paused in his recitation. Janine closed her eyes and focused on his voice, the awkward, embarrassing rhymes, the unquestionable adoration in each line. He was exploring sonnets currently: his passion for learning and personal development was charming.

Outside, a fire truck and EMT chased away a flatbed of angry rednecks. Celebratory, but angry: the neighbors hadn't taken down their election signs, and now they paid for their dissent. The rednecks roared off, firing Parthian shots at the emergency vehicles that strove to put out two houses across the street and rescue their occupants. A glass bottle shattered on the street or the sidewalk, and mocking laughter receded into the night. Get used to it, they'd screamed. This is how it is now.

A bead of saline squeezed from between her lids, but she kept her breathing steady so he'd keep reading.

Sharing the Chores

Shaun stumbled into the hallway, where Janine happened to be walking up. Or he heard her and he sprinted to the threshold as she neared.

“I did it,” he gasped.

She peered down the considerable length of her self at him. “Did what?” So much drama from such a little man.

“I cleaned the bathroom.”

Janine steamed a little. “No, I cleaned the bathroom this afternoon. I scoured the tub and sink and scrubbed out the toilet while you were asleep on my pillow. In my panties,” she added pointedly.

He jutted his jaw high overhead, at her knee. “Yeah, but I did the floors.”

His giantess folded her arms. “No, I swept the floors.”

“I scrubbed between the sink cabinet and the bathtub,” he insisted. “I scoured all the lint and dust, and I hauled your long hairs out.”

“Huh. Thanks.”

“And,” he said, taking a strong stance, “I went behind the radiator, where you always miss. I wiped down half a year of lint, body oil, and mildew. I found a chicken bone behind the radiator.” The tiny man leaned against the door jamb, arms crossed. “A chicken bone. Behind the radiator.”

Janine had the decency to blush. “Wonder where that came from…”

He spoke up even louder, calling up into the sepulchral recesses of the hallway. “And I scrubbed the trim behind the toilet, where you never reach. All the lint. All your long hairs. All the scraps of Kleenex and toilet paper.” The tiny man paused significantly. “All the splatter from  your male friends.”

“The, uh…”

“Toxic masculinity includes the belief that it’s feminine—and therefore deleterious—to sit down while pissing. That it’s manly to make a fucking mess for someone else to clean up.” Shaun drew a deep breath and let it out in a snort. “And all your male friends seem to subscribe to toxic masculinity.”

Janine wanted to stand up for her few visiting friends, but personally she found their habits disgusting as well.

“So I cleaned up all the scummiest reaches of our bathroom, and now it’s your turn.”

His audacity shook her out of her sympathetic coma. “Excuse me? My turn for what?”

“Now you,” he purred, “must clean me.”

Her knees nearly gave out as she scooped up her tiny little hero, tugged his miniaturized clothes off with her teeth, and set the sink basin to run a comfortable temperature.

The last words she remembered were: “And do a thorough job. I’m filthy.“

Daylight streamed through the window, casting Shaun in a large square of light. Still asleep, he rolled over and buried his face in the sheets, then in his forearm, but it was no good: he was awake. Smiling, he reached over for his lover, Janine.

Without obstruction, his arm flopped to the mattress.

He moaned petulantly, playfully. How far had he wandered in the course of the night? He called out, "Janine... comin' ta get ya," and crawled on all fours across the mattress. As he was only a few inches tall, this would've taken a lot of time even if he would have stretched up to his full height and taken a brisk walk. Crawling lazily at his height, of course, protracted the duration of his trek considerably.

But when he kept crawling and crawling and not running into his normal-sized girlfriend's side, he bothered to rub his eyes and look around. Their mattress was a desert of rumpled white linen sheets, with the foothills of fluffy pillows not far behind him, but he was entirely alone in this vast tract of land.

"Janine?" He stood up shakily and cast his gaze around their tremendous bedroom. There was the dent in her pillow where her massive and beautiful head lay all night; there was her sweater from the night before, hanging on the back of a chair (I told her that would stretch it out wrong, he thought). The closet door hung open, the dresser drawers were closed. He ran to the edge of her side and found her shoes still on the floor.

He cupped his hands around his mouth. "Janine! Y'in the bathroom?" There were no noises coming from there, no bare footsteps on cold tile, no running water, no flushing, no squeaky medicine cabinet and toothbrushes rattling around on its glass shelves. There were no creaky hallway floorboards, no pans rattling around in the kitchen, no water coming to a boil. Shaun's eyes widened as he raced through their morning weekend rituals, but it all came down to the fact that there were no noises coming from anywhere in their apartment.

As he trained his hearing outside, he became aware of a passenger jet disappearing into the distance, its bellow dying away to the ambient noise of the boulevard before their building. Kids were playing two houses away; traffic sounded light; someone drove by with a loud car stereo, awful music rising and falling. He thought he heard a woman's laughter... was it a laugh? Was it a scream? And then a van door, sliding with a roar to a slam, an engine revving and tires squealing. Gone.

"Janine!" Shaun threw himself from the mattress. At his size his mass could take the impact of much larger falls, and he'd conditioned himself to anticipate this leap. In his haste, he accidentally dropped himself right into his girlfriend's tennis shoe. Rough fabric slapped him in the chest, and the sour, salty odor of her jogging regimen surrounded him. He gagged, dragging himself to the terrycloth ankle of her shoe and dumped himself to the floor.

She'd insisted upon a large rag rug at her bedside, and he laid upon the chaotic woven fabrics, catching his breath. He'd suggested that she take those insoles out and air them out every couple of weeks, maybe use an antifungal spray... He cut himself off. This wasn't the time to be criticizing his girlfriend, and he felt badly about this thoughts. Shaking his head, he scrambled to his feet and picked his way across the lumpy, hazardous terrain of the rag rug until he could leap from its edge to sprint across the hardwood floor.

The slap of his tiny bare soles against the wood reminded him he was completely naked. There was nothing to do about that: his miniature outfit was on Janine's nightstand, inaccessible right now. And anyway, if he came face-to-face with a kidnapper or a burglar, his nudity would be the least of his problems.

He rounded the mattress too quickly and plowed straight into one of his girlfriend's socks. No, not the ones from last night: another pair from last week she hadn't picked up and thrown in the laundry− ...Goddamn it, Shaun. Quit being so critical. The sight of her low-cut socks, however, touched his heart. Even though he could've used it for a sleeping bag, it was still a small garment and it reminded him of the frailty of his lovely girlfriend. Yes, she was monstrously huge, compared to him, but still. He paused for a moment, picking up the sock and hugging it. Her cute foot goes in here, or it used to.

Shaking his head, he snapped out of his reverie and flung the sock aside to race across the floor. The floorboards ran perpendicular to him, and if he really stretched out his stride, he could fit five strides across four floorboards, or 1.25 steps on each board. Goddamn it, Shaun! Is this the time for math? He tended to fixate on the strangest things, especially when he was working on something larger. Was it a function of wanting everything to be correct and in place before moving on? Was it a distraction from concern and worry?

He leaped over a fallen pencil and danced nimbly through a tangle of earbud cord, then left the bedroom and plunged into the hallway.

The bathroom door was open on his right: the white tile glowed with late morning, but there was no one in there. No wall of steam coming from the room, no dripping sink, no refilling cistern on the toilet. No one had been in there since last night. Shaun cut it out of his perception and turned to the hallway before him.

It stretched interminably into the distance, this gargantuan corridor designed for his girlfriend or for a hundred thousand of himself. His heart fell momentarily: precious minutes would tick away before he could reach the end of it. But this was no time to stop, and on he charged, controlling his breathing and executing perfect posture: this would be a very long run, one he'd done several times before. Exercising down this hall, he knew nothing less than a controlled effort would get him to the end of it: put too much into it, scramble too hard, legs flailing, lungs gasping, and he'd collapsed shortly after halfway, and that wouldn't help anyone. With a little self-pride Shaun let his mind relax and his body take over. The muscle memory would get him through.

But he used to make this run for his lover's amusement, too. Almost immediately he was transported back to playful afternoons, where Janine's huge, clumsy feet would pound the floor just behind him as he tore down the hall. She actually had slender, well-sculpted feet, a size or two shorter than women her size, but his size forced everything into a conflict of perspective. Her dainty little paws were vast, weighty slabs of flesh that flung up into the air like... like... an 18-wheeler in an explosion, in a Hollywood blockbuster. That was the only convenient analogy. And then it would crash to the ground right behind him, closer and closer each time, rocking the floorboards with thunder, sometimes throwing him off balance. Her voice, her high and sweet voice would peal with laughter from far above, echoing tightly within the narrow hallway, and his heart rate would skyrocket. She had a beautiful voice that turned him on, especially when she was delighted, but it was also a booming cacophony that blasted into him with physical impact, and more often than not he'd collapse to the floor, skidding a short distance along the polished wood. And Janine's laughter would increase to deafening proportions, and her sole would drift overhead, descend, and block out the world...

Shaun ran faster. The combination of arousal from the memory and intense fear and concern for Janine got the better of him... but he kept pace with this. He breathed a little harder, he found a new rhythm, and his diminutive legs pumped down the hall as hard as they could.

There was an empty cardboard box on the left, from where Janine had been rooting around in the closet for something. He skirted it easily. There was another one behind it, a small white box, a mailer: with his momentum and a burst of adrenaline, he threw himself into the side of it, and it spun dramatically out of the way. Grinning, he recovered, but then his bare feet bit into pieces of grit. Organic wheat kitty litter, tracked across the floor.

An icicle of terror stabbed at his heart. He'd forgotten all about Fluffernoodle, Janine's 12-year-old Persian. Mostly she was very mellow, getting up there in years, but he'd seen her spring into kitten-like agitation when Janine played with her. Fluffernoodle was clearly Janine's pet: Shaun was in no hurry to get on close, physical terms with the huge, plush animal. She was familiar with him, knew his scent: Janine protected Shaun in a small cage while holding him near her pet, which he'd loudly protested right up until the cat's powerful forelegs batted him out of his girlfriend's grip. The cage tumbled to the floor and the door swung open, and Janine stared at him in horror while Fluffernoodle hopped down from her perch and began pawing inside the cage for her tasty treat.

It took Janine far too long to come to her senses and rescue him, and from that point on he insisted that she not tempt Fate any further and keep him as far from the aging Persian as possible. But here he was, running past her catbox, naked and unprotected, going into the heart of Fluffernoodle territory.

So be it. She was an old cat, anyway, so odds were she was sleeping somewhere else in the apartment. He ran on, listening to the pit-pit-pit of his footsteps, quiet even to himself. Either Fluffernoodle couldn't hear him over the street noise, or she was used to his sound and tuned it out, wherever she was...

It looked good. The cat didn't make an appearance, and Shaun plunged under the dining table to weave between chair legs and the solid support of the oak table. This was very dramatic to him, dodging, ducking, spinning and sprinting off again. If only Janine could have seen him, maybe filmed it with her smartphone, it would've made a great action sequence.

Janine! His lungs were burning with the prolonged effort, as he headed from the dining area into the living room. The orange wood floors glowed with sunbeams (yes, Fluffernoodle would definitely be pinned beneath one of those), the air was slightly cool, which meant it would be nice and cozy a few feet above him...

And there was his girlfriend, resting on the couch, hazy with the morning light. Her long, bare legs were stretched out to rest her heels on the coffee table. She had a book in her right hand and a steaming mug of coffee in her left. Sunlight glinted on her glasses, perched at the end of her button nose, and she pinned her bed-mussed hair out of the way for reading.

"Janine!" His yelling voice was far too small to carry, and he could only manage a much slower jog to the run around the coffee table. Standing at the leg of the table, he looked up to the underside of her slender calves and crossed ankles. She was wearing a men's dress shirt, a little too big on her. It wasn't his, he'd never been normal-sized, but she shopped for one that he liked and wore it in intimate moments, as though it were his. She even spritzed it with a little cologne he liked. The hem of the shirt hung down the sides of her deliciously round thighs, sticking out from the couch cushions.

Looking around, he was lucky to find another pencil. It must've rolled off the coffee table the last time they'd done a crossword puzzle together. With a little effort he was able to heft it up in the middle and laboriously swing the metal eraser ring against the metal leg of the coffee table. After a few rounds of this, Janine noticed him.

Her thighs raised, her calves tensed, and her bare feet descended from heaven to gently land on either side of him. Between her knees her hazel eyes blinked at him cutely. "What're you doing down there? I thought you were still in bed!"

Hurling the pencil aside, he climbed upon the bridge of her foot and held on as she raised her leg back to the coffee table. Straddling her ankle Shaun told her the epic saga of coming to rescue her from kidnappers.

Her pretty eyes went huge and she cupped her mouth in her palm, her novel beside her (the coffee mug would never leave her grasp, don't be ridiculous), and she giggled into her hand. "Shaun! Were you locked up in one of your... passions of imagination?" she said, using a phrase he'd come up with.

"Yes, a pretty intense one," he said, crawling on all fours up her shin. She'd shaved the day before, so there wasn't any stubble to pick at his skin. "My heart rate got up there."

"Oh, Shaun..." She tilted her head and crumpled her lips sympathetically. "My poor little man. You get so excited."

He nodded and crawled over her knee. She flexed it a couple times, just to mess with him. He was expecting that and inched his way along until he was safely mid-thigh. Before he could slide down between her legs, however, she gently pinched his shoulder and lifted him up to her face. She covered his bare body in a few warm kisses before dropping him into the pocket of her shirt. Which rested him against her boob, so that was fine with him.

She clicked her teeth. "You're lucky Fluffernoodle didn't find you first."

"Where is she?"

"She was sniffing around the bed while you were sleeping, so I locked her in the guest bedroom with a bowl of wet food. She's probably sleeping now."

Shaun sniffed at her dark roast coffee. "How come I didn't hear the kettle or the microwave?"

She laughed, and her breast bounced joyously against his entire body. "Dude, you were out like a light! I'm surprised you didn't hear me getting out of bed."

He thought of Janine waking up nude, rolling over. Spying her round little butt as she sat up, stretched, and hauled herself off the mattress... Shaun was disappointed he missed that. "What are you reading?"

He saw her jaw spin slowly through space, far overhead. "Nothing good. Why don't you tell me again about the kidnappers?" So he settled against the curve of her flesh, calming his agitated heart with the soothing heat of her lovely body, and began again with greater detail and more flourish.

“Sorry I couldn’t help carry anything in,” Shaun said, nestled in Janine’s infinity scarf.

She nudged his head with her chin. “I don’t expect you to! Don’t be ridiculous, I got this.”

“At least let me get the door for you.”

She laughed and picked her way up the icy steps, arms laden with a stack of Tupperware filled with food. She pried the screen door away and kicked the front door until a bleary teenager stomped up and answered it. “Michelle! Happy Thanksgiving! How nice to see you!”

Michelle gave a half-grin and limply hugged her aunt with one arm. “Hi, Auntie Janine, c’mon in,” she said in a tired sing-song. She held the door for her aunt and closed it behind her.

A young man bustled past her and energetically assisted with whisking her dishes into the kitchen. “Hi, Aunt Janine! Bye, Aunt Janine!”

She shouted at his back, “You be careful with that, Fred! The deviled eggs are balanced on the green bean casserole!”

Michelle helped her off with her coat. “So, uh, did you bring your boyfriend with you?” There was a note of life in her niece’s voice, abruptly, and she twirled a lock of glossy black hair.

Shaun heard, to his horror, “Sure did! Would you like to see him?” Silently he begged her not to do this. The niece nodded eagerly, crackling with animation, and he felt his girlfriend shift and twist somehow.

“Here you go!” she said, jangling her car keys in front of the teen’s disappointed face.

“Not. Funny. Auntie Janine.”

Relief flooded through Shaun’s tiny body as Janine laughed at the girl. “You seriously think I’m that stupid, Michelle? After what you and your friend tried to do to him last Independence Day?” He could see Michelle roll her eyes, a broad, goofy smile of braces betraying her self-satisfaction.

“Anyway, the cousins are here tonight, they’ll want to see him.” With that, Michelle turned and thundered up the hallway in an over-sized plaid shirt and skinny jeans.

“That was a close one, eh?” she whispered into her scarf.

Shaun took on a serious tone. “I can’t stress this enough: You need to keep a close eye on me every second!” He didn’t mean to bark at his girlfriend but his heart was pounding. “She’s going to do everything she can to steal me away from you! Please don’t underestimate her!”

She laughed. “Listen to you! So paranoid.” She surreptitiously patted her scarf.

“Sweetie, if you don’t take this seriously−” But his words were drowned out by the roar of families: his own family drove in from the ‘burbs to where Janine’s lived, and they liked each other well enough to share the occasional holiday. Thanksgiving was a cacophony of sound, a blur of activity, and a myriad of smells. They both loved food-oriented holidays, and so many people in their families loved to cook.

A shrill voice broke through the crowd. “Hi-i-i-i-i-i! How are you, sweetie? How was your flight?” This was Evelyn McCoy, his mother, hugging his girlfriend. He saw the graying curls and festive bauble earrings through the scarf as the women hugged. “And did you bring my little ma-a-a-an?” His mom tended to sing her vowels longer than necessary. Her painted fingernails dug through Janine’s scarf, and aging fingertips winnowed Shaun out. “Aw-w-w-w-w! Look at your little suit! Is that velvet?” She raised her son to her lips and pasted garish lipstick all over his face, before handing him back to his girlfriend.

Janine daubed at his face with a tissue for just such an occasion, laughing. “Aw, she loves you! She loves her little man! Well, I do too,” she said, licking his cheek like a hug.

“Please don’t do that right after my mother kisses me,” he said, wiping his face on his sleeve. “I’m not in the right mindset.”

“Well, if you’re going to be Mr. Grumpypants…”

“Hello! Happy Thanksgiving!” Her father, Dennis Galvan, shouldered his way through the women in the kitchen. His domestic beer was on his breath, and his whiskers scraped her cheek with pleasant nostalgia. She hugged him tightly. “And did you, uh, bring the little guy?”

She lifted her hands before him. Shaun waved, sitting cross-legged in her cupped palms. “Hi, Dennis,” he called out.

“Oh, there he is.” Dennis furrowed his dense, wiry white eyebrows and nodded. “Can I get you a beer?”

“Thanks, three’s my limit.”

Dennis was taken by surprised and guffawed, turning slightly to sneak a slice of white meat from the carving platter behind him. An arc of silver warned his hand away. “Not until dinner, you snuffling old boar!” His wife, Judy, set down her knife and turned from the carcass to hug her daughter quickly. “So glad you could make it, dear. Keep an eye out for Michelle and the cousins: your boyfriend is all they can talk about tonight.”

“Thank you, Judy!” Shaun waved enthusiastically. He had always admired his girlfriend’s mother, a stern, no-nonsense frontierswoman if ever there was one. Judy wrinkled her nose cutely at him and went back to preparations.

On and on they went, reacquainting themselves with grandparents, aunts and uncles, in-laws, and friends of the family. How was it possible they were related to so many people? Shaun and Janine wouldn’t even see them if they didn’t fly in for the holidays.

The elderly family members lounged in the living room, while the more able-bodied socialized in the kitchen, milling and churning in cramped space to the chagrin of the people actually doing work in there. The teenage siblings, cousins, and friends lounged in the living room, faces blue and jaws slack as they commiserated over text messages with other friends about not being at some hypothetical other place. Occasionally one of them would show an expression, briefly, part of a goofy Snapchat photo.

Eventually dinner was served and people claimed their places at the tables—the kids had their own table, and two large tables had to be pushed together for all the adults. According to some mystical and unspoken system, they took turns bringing their plates into the kitchen to load themselves up with food. Janine, of course, shared her food with her boyfriend, and that was what they simultaneously looked forward to and dreaded. Obviously he was no secret to the family, he’d met them all before at other holidays and they’d all seen pictures. Yet they could count on awkward questions and gaping at each event, as though some people just couldn’t reconcile with the facts of their world. Amusingly, it wasn’t the older people who struggled with the idea of Janine falling for a tiny man. They shrugged their shoulders and rolled with it, while the next two generations still treated them as something like a freak show…

After he filled himself on a few shreds of dark turkey meat and smeared his stuffing in her mashed potatoes and gravy, it was time for Shaun to make the rounds. Janine watched him proudly, strutting around the adults table in his tailored velvet suit. He had to march right up to any adult he was speaking with, and they had to lean over to hear him over the sociable din, but everyone was more or less amenable. Granted, her family was a little freaked out at first by his physical anomaly—”How the hell’d ya pull that off?” Dennis bluntly asked Evelyn one Easter brunch, receiving Judy’s hand upside the back of his head for his curiosity.

“Well, his grandfather, my father, Sidney McCoy, from Rhode Island, he was a tiny man too.” Evelyn built up her momentum, once again telling this story to the Galvans and Yeagers and everyone else. “Sidney is no longer with us.”

Dennis had been stunned beyond tact. “So… your father was tiny, but you’re normal-sized? How about your mother?” Judy would’ve admonished him but, honestly, Janine’s family was fascinated to learn about this recessive genetic condition from someone with experience, and Evelyn did not mind an audience at all.

“Oh no, my mother, Elena, she’s our size. I mean, a little smaller, she’s nearly 80, but you know, that’s normal.” Shaun’s grandmother never made it out to these family occasions, as she had been declining with dementia before he dated Janine and was residing in a facility. “Sidney had come back from surveillance work in WWII, two years before the war ended, this experimental program that recruited tiny people and sent them overseas on very dangerous missions.”

“Sidney was a spy!” Janine’s father, a huge WWII buff, was very impressed and regarded Evelyn and her son with extra favor from then on.

“How’s your freelance work going, Shaun?” Dennis asked him. Shaun explained loudly to that end of the table—Judy and Dennis, their parents Geneva and Clayton Galvan, Janine’s sister Lena and her husband, also named Shawn (to everyone’s tame amusement)—that there was quite a lot of work for him, size wasn’t an issue, and he was able to manage his projects and turn them around all in the office suite on his smartphone.

“Those phones these days, they can do anything.” Dennis whistled. “That’s gotta be pretty expensive, though, huh? A nice phone and a good connection?”

He assured Dennis that his work more than financed the phone: he was nearly supporting half the household expenses. Dennis thought that was swell, just swell, even if there was some doubt in his face. “As a matter of fact, the company I’m working for right now has a couple BigSuits on hand, one of which isn’t being used, so there’s a chance that−”

Evelyn cut in, “It’s just amazing what these phones can do!” and she basically repeated everything Shaun had stated, but hearing it from another parent somehow made the message more digestible to old boys like Dennis and Clayton. She couldn’t stop singing his praises: since the last Thanksgiving he’d started charging more for his work and it hadn’t cost him any business at all. Judy thought that was marvelous, grinning at the little man in his little velvet jacket, standing before the edge of her plate. He waved up at her, she simpered cutely at him, and he moved on.

“Tell us another piece of bullshit about WWII,” challenged his girlfriend’s uncle, Billy Yeager, well into his cups. This was a two-pronged attack: he wanted to stump the little guy, whose job included fact-checking on a broad range of topics; failing that, Billy was always looking for something with which to needle his brother-in-law, Dennis. “Tell us something about the Greatest Generation.” Judy glared icily at her brother, seated at the other end of the table, and patted Dennis’s hand.

Shaun cleared his throat and recalled that, despite all the hoopla about soldiers doing their nationalistic duty, “two-thirds of them were drafted into war, while two-thirds of the soldiers in ‘Nam were volunteers. More men dodged the draft in WWII than in ‘Nam and WWI combined.”

Billy grinned winningly at Dennis, who pretended to be otherwise engaged with shoving white meat around in gravy. The little man was never sure what personal battle he would be dragged into, at these occasions. He wove his way between water and wine glasses to say hello to Lena and Shawn. Once again, Shaun’s work situation was summarized, and he asked about their children. “Michelle would never admit it,” Lena said—her huge gold hoop earrings swayed with her golden layered bob as she glanced at her daughter at the next table—”but she’s very into choir and musicals. She’s really good, too! I don’t know why she hides it.” Shaun stared straight up her nose while she litanized all the classes Michelle and Fred were taking in school and how well they were doing in each. Shawn only caught the tiny man’s glance with a raised eyebrow, subtly toasting him with a wineglass, as though to say “this is my life now.” Shaun sent him up a sympathetic grin, then trotted over to Allen and Rosa Barrett, friends of the family, beside them.

“Michelle! Put your damn phone down and set a good example for your cousins!” Lena hollered at her daughter.

“Courtney? Chelsey? Sit up straight, honeys.” Allen followed with less enthusiasm. Two identical girls at the next table glanced at him and stiffened their posture… for a few moments.

“Hi, I’m Rosa,” his wife offered, reaching her large hand directly into Shaun’s personal space. She started to say how nice it was to meet him until he ducked behind a water glass. Rosa looked at Allen and Shawn in confusion.

Janine, across from her, spoke up. “It’s okay, Rosa, you didn’t do anything wrong!” (Shaun’s expression to her showed he felt otherwise.) “It’s just that we’re very, very huge to him, so if you want to shake his hand, just remember to move a little more slowly. And you just need one finger.”

Rosa looked at her, unsure, but nodded. “Can we try again, Shaun?”

He stepped out from behind the glass, a little red in the face. “I’m sorry, it’s just reflexes. I wasn’t ready for that. It’s very nice to meet you, Rosa.” He held out his hand and this time she more gently extended her index finger. He placed one palm on her painted nail and the other on her fingertip. She let her finger go limp as he raised and lowered her thick digit as well as he was able, grinning up at her. She could only stare at him with the fascinated expression he was accustomed to from most women, especially at first contact: her eyes were huge and unblinking, and her mouth opened slightly with a dreamy grin. He released her fingertip and she only retracted her hand slowly, blushing a little when Allen asked if she were okay.

“He’s so… tiny…” She giggled at her husband, never taking her eyes off Shaun.

“Yeah. Yeah, he is,” Allen said, kind of smiling, confused by his wife’s reaction. The tiny man waved up at him and trotted around a bread basket to greet Janine’s aunt, Jo, and her husband, Stanley.

To do this, however, he had to skirt around Billy’s plate, but Billy found it amusing to take up his dinner knife (dull enough but still menacing) and pretend to jab at Shaun with “hi-yahh!” noises. Ready for something like this, Shaun leaped away from each strike, ducked behind a salt shaker, and waved to his girlfriend when he had a chance. Janine, however, was straining to hear a long and drawn-out story that Grandma Geneva was attempting to recall, with prompts from her husband. Not for the last time, Shaun wished he had a buzzer in his pocket that could send an electrical shock to his easily distracted girlfriend’s wrist or something.

Jo elbowed Stanley, who pointedly slid Billy’s wineglass out of his reach. “What gives?” the single uncle complained, but Stanley only shook his head gently at him. “Aww, we’re just kidding around. Aren’t we, Shaun?” Leering playfully, Billy pretended to bump the edge of his plate with his elbow. The plate shot forward, catching Shaun in the knees, and the tiny man pitched forward and landed in a pool of gravy and mashed potatoes on Billy’s plate. This set the uncle off braying with laughter, which finally caught Janine’s attention.

“Goddamn it, Uncle Billy!” she yelped across the table. But Stanley was on it: he knocked the tablespoon out of Billy’s hand, before he could scoop the tiny man out of his own food (and God only knows what he’d do next, in the name of comedy), and plucked Shaun away as respectfully as he could, setting him between Jo and her mother, Charisse.

“When are you gonna get tired of disgracing yourself, Billy?” asked his father, Earlie. Humiliated, Billy threw down his napkin, loudly kicked his chair back into a flatware cabinet, and stormed out of the room.

Jo watched him sadly. “Guess it wouldn’t be a Thanksgiving without one of his displays.” Down the hall a door slammed. Stanley slipped an arm around his wife’s shoulders and gave her a squeeze.

Shaun had shucked his velvet jacket, and Grandma Yeager was dunking it in her drinking water. “Oh, honey, hold on, you’ve got some gravy on your shirt,” Jo said, thoughtlessly reaching for him. “Let me get that.” Before Stanley could respond and faster than Shaun could duck, his girlfriend’s aunt caught him up in a fist and hauled him up to her face.

Shaun gasped in surprise, watching Jo’s expression—matronly and concerned—racing at him. Her fleshy fingers wrapped around him tenderly, but firmly, and he struggled against her mere thumb. Stanley could only clear his throat and murmur “uh, dear?” before Jo had mashed her diminutive nephew into the soft, hot bedding of her lips. Her warm breath gusted over his face and chest from her large slitted nostrils, and then her broad, pink lips puckered and covered his chest and belly entirely. Shaun’s tiny hands pushed away at her upper lip, his minuscule fingers laced between fine, dark hairs. She began to suck at him, locking onto his chest, air hissing around her lips as the tip of her tongue nudged into the gravy that ran down the front of his shirt.

“Jo! My God!” Shaun’s voice seemed to disappear up her nostrils. Her lips pulsed into his body as though she couldn’t hear him over the noise. All he could do was brace his arms against her upper lip and nose, while her overwhelmingly strong hand kept him jammed against her face.

Stanley’s voice, rumbling not far from his wife’s palm, was heavy with meaning: “Is that really the best way to clean him up, dear?”

This seemed to break the spell Jo was under. “Oh my God, Shaun!” She pulled back her palm, leaving the tiny man sprawled in it. “I’m so sorry! I’m just used to… kid’s clothes, they get so many stains… don’t know what I was thinking…” She dumped him hastily to the tablecloth and covered her face in her hands, prompting Charisse to inquire as to what was the matter; Jo only shook her head and leaned on her husband.

Shaun smoothed his hair back. “Hey, uh, thanks for helping out with Billy, Stan,” he called up. “I know he didn’t mean anything by it. It’s just really awkward for everyone.”

“Don’t think anything of it.” Stanley nodded, patted his wife’s shoulder. She wouldn’t even look up. “How’s work going?” And Shaun launched into it all—by now a very lean and meaning-dense elevator speech—for this end of the table: Charisse and Earlie, Jo and Stanley, and across from them Janine’s older brother Cody and his wife, Alma. She came to the family with a daughter, Audrey, seated on her right; their kids, Chelsey and Courtney, were at the next table.

“What exactly is a BigSuit?” Alma wanted to know. She looked down upon Shaun skeptically, as though he were somehow a trick. Tiny people were a fact of life and had been for decades, but some people still managed to go their entire lives without seeing them except for in tragic news stories.

Audrey, for her part, pretended to not be interested in the conversation. With Billy’s empty chair before her—signifying an end to the dramedy—she could only field Janine’s questions around Evelyn’s head throughout the dinner. But now that tiny little Shaun was standing before her mother’s plate, she couldn’t keep from gawking unabashedly.

“BigSuits are like these cyber-bodies people like me can wear,” Shaun said. He hated the slang term Tinies and refused to use it, even when it made for easier conversation. “You’ve seen them around town, usually on cops or firefighters. We ride in the helmet, a screen enlarges our face for conversation, and the suit’s built to look just like one of you, but with all sorts of tools and software embedded in it.”

“Oh yeah, I’ve seen those,” said Cody, a little too quickly. “Firefighters and police use those. They’re very handy, I bet.” Alma smacked his shoulder, and then smacked Audrey’s hand away: she’d slowly been snaking her hand around her mother’s plate, one finger extended. Shaun saw it and had braced himself for a poke in the tummy, not an uncommon reaction from younger women. Older women tended to stare and ask lots of questions, while children simply lashed out with the quickness of a snake, seized him in a fist, and ran away as fast as their little legs could carry them. Shaun thanked Alma for her vigilance and shot a dark glance at his girlfriend, who was locked in a conversation about teenagers with Rosa across from her.

“So yeah, Software Dance, the magazine I’m contracting with, has a couple of these, and we’ve been talking about how it’d be useful for these meetings they want me to attend.” Without his jacket, Shaun felt his miniature white shirt looked stiff and blocky. He untucked it from his pants and struggled to find a casual standing position, without staring at Alma’s low-cut top.

The wife of his girlfriend’s older brother (Shaun labored to recall these relationships) had quite large breasts that rested heavily on the table before her, piling just a little over the edge of her plate. The last thing he wanted was for Cody to catch him ogling her. “I’ve had meetings with them before. It’s easier when I’m telecommuting, my phone’s camera has great resolution, but the in-person meetings are a little awkward, what with me standing on the table, surrounded by…” He trailed off: Alma was very intrigued by everything he was saying, leaning forward on her elbows, her medium-length black hair swaying in space above her plate.

Her cleavage now was positively abyssal, one thin gold necklace glinting before voluptuous tan boobs and plunging darkness. She seemed to be self-unconscious of how she looked, heavy-lidded eyes peering down her nose at him, her thick lips hanging in a graceless, if sensual, gape. Shaun’s heart pounded in his chest: he glanced at his girlfriend, who still wasn’t paying attention to him, but now he noticed Audrey leaning forward on one elbow, blocking his path to his mother and resembling Alma in their reverie. He glanced at Alma’s wineglass, noticing it was down to the bottom, but was that at the end of one glass of wine… or three?

Now Audrey was licking her lips. Alarmed, Shaun looked at her place setting, and there was also a freshly empty glass of wine. Audrey didn’t look quite old enough to drink, but doubtlessly someone poured her a glass for the family celebration. Shaun wondered what her tolerance was, gleaning answers from her lazy posture as she leaned on one arm, the rose tint to her cheeks, and the guileless display of emotions on her face as she gawked at the little man, expressions of fascination… and intent.

“Hey Cody,” Shaun screamed above the ambient din of table chat, “have you met my mother?”

Evelyn’s radar picked up on her mention like an electric shock to her spine. She spun away from chatting with Janine’s parents, picked out Shaun behind Audrey’s elbow, and politely shouldered the young woman away as she introduced herself to Alma and Cody with irresistible force.

The abrupt activity shook Janine’s senses and she too glanced over at her brother’s family. Seeing Shaun on his own, seemingly with nothing to do, she cheerily waved him over to her plate. He hustled to respond, which Alma began to protest but was swiftly overridden by the force of nature that was Evelyn, proudly extolling the virtues of her son and inquiring deeply as to their own children.

“See? There was nothing to worry about,” chided Janine to her little boyfriend. There was a tap on her right shoulder: Courtney was at her elbow.

“Can we get some of your cranberry sauce, please? Ours is all gone.” Her niece looked up at her with bright eyes, frizzy hair, and missing two front teeth.

Janine bent to kiss the girl’s forehead. “How’re you guys doing over there?” she asked, reaching for the sauce in front of Lena. The girl gave no response—she just received the cranberry dish, stared up at Janine, then slowly turned and walked back to the kids’ table.

“That was weird,” Janine muttered, turning back to discover her boyfriend missing. Her brow furrowed. “Shaun? Where’d you get off to?” She glanced around the table: everyone seemed to be locked in conversations with everyone else, but there was no little man slipping between the dishes and glasses anywhere.

“‘Scuse me,” slurred Audrey, struggling out of her chair between her mother and Shaun’s. “Gotta go lie down.”

Narrowing her eyes, Janine likewise excused herself and followed the young woman at some distance. She noticed the kids’ table was nearly cleared but for the Galvan twins picking at the cranberry sauce with their fingers, bright scarlet dribbles running up their pretty peach dresses.

Janine took a quick inventory of the kids: beyond their table Jack and Fred lounged on the floor, scrutinizing their phones and going on about sports scores. That left Michelle and… Jack’s sister… who…

“Jack! What’s your sister’s name?”

His voice little more than a grunt, he said, “Lorene.”

“Where is she?”

Jack only shrugged and returned to commenting about the Detroit Lions this season.

Janine stomped over to him and placed her shoe in the center of his chest. The boy’s eyes went wide as he stared up her stockinged leg, up her sweater, and into hell at a low boil. “Where is she, Jack?”

“I dunno, she went off with Michelle somewhere.” His eyes drifted down to her knee and Janine realized what kind of skirt she was wearing, withdrew her leg. The Barretts were only friends of the family, but still, who knew if she just gave this kid a complex? Cursing, she ducked back into the hallway to see where Audrey was sneaking off to.

Dead end: Audrey hung a left to the guest bedroom and collapsed upon the twin bed covered in coats. Janine only distantly wondered who gave her that much wine as she pulled the dozing girl’s boots off and switched off the light on her way out. She went back up the hallway, taking another left and a short flight of stairs to the kids’ rooms. Uncle Billy was snoring on Fred’s bed, and Michelle’s light was out. A frosty panic began to spread through her chest as she very clearly recalled her boyfriend’s urgent tone of voice at the beginning of the evening. But this was her family! She couldn’t accept that they’d let this happen, nor that no one had noticed anything.

Yet when she returned to the dining room and asked Lena where Shaun was—and after her husband lamely raised his hand with a chortle—she realized that no, everyone was wrapped up in their own little chats and desserts and coffees, and no one had seen a thing. Janine tagged her sister and her aunt to begin to scour the house; Alma volunteered as well, to Janine’s surprise.

After Janine turned out the light and closed the door solidly, Michelle and Lorene waited another 20 seconds before peeking out of the guest room closet.

The room was dark, with only as much light as came in off the nighttime street: two distant streetlights, and the overcast sky hid the stars and moon. Outside the bedroom door their families roared and laughed and ate some more. Closer, some gentle snoring came from the pile of coats: Michelle noted her cousin was pretty well passed out and wouldn’t cause them any trouble.

“Michelle,” Shaun said steadily, “take me back to Janine right now, and I’ll make sure you don’t get in any trouble.”

The raven-haired girl looked at the tiny man clamped in her two small fists. “Just shut the fuck up right now, little man,” she hissed. “You’re not even family. You can’t tell me what to do.” Lorene’s eyes were huge, watching the two of them, but she wasn’t about to scream or tattle or anything. She had that glint in her eye that… well, Shaun had seen that glint many times before.

“Don’t be scared,” said Michelle to her friend.

“I’m not. What do we do now?”

Michelle grinned. “We should get pictures. No one’ll believe this.” The girls opened up their camera apps. “My friends are gonna be so jealous.”

They made Shaun stand on Michelle’s shoulder, where she tucked her hair behind her ear, with Lorene hovering on his other side. He jumped down only once: Michelle immediately caught him and dumped him into her cousin’s boot, covering the cuff with her hand. Shaun could hold his breath for a long time, but not when the teen started shaking the boot violently. Stunned, he tumbled into her palm when she upended the footgear, and she easily extracted a promise from him to behave.

He stood carefully on the wicked young woman’s shoulder, one hand gripping her earlobe to steady himself. Lorene panted with excitement right next to him, smelling of bubble gum, as Michelle lined up the shots. The flashes were powerful and disorienting, but eventually they were done.

Lorene laughed goofily. “Now what?”

“Well, we gotta Snapchat this.” Michelle turned her head toward Shaun. “I wonder if facial recognition will even pick you up!” She laughed, and her friend laughed, but Shaun’s stomach was sinking.

“Can I hold him?” Lorene asked, and Shaun nearly fell off when Michelle shrugged. Lorene had no experience with handling a tiny person, but his cries of pain and fright were ignored by the other conscious person in the room. The girls only grinned over him, Michelle’s braces sparkling in the dim light from the streetlights outside. Lorene laid Shaun down in one palm and spread out his arms and legs, examining him with all the senselessness and entitlement as though he were a toy and not a person. “Cool,” she breathed.

Shaun stared up into her face: huge round and clear eyes, pale skin without a pore or a flaw, and a cartoonish gaping mouth with uneven teeth. His heart pounded fearfully as her face hovered just above him, with darkness all around. Lorene’s hair, a frizzy mane, fell about her hand like a shroud. “Take me back to Janine, please,” he said to her. Her fine, thin eyebrows furrowed for only a second, and then her grin widened as she shook her head. Her frizzy hair blurred around him in the darkness and it was very disorienting. He could only close his eyes to block it out, but then his senses focused on her clammy and sweaty palm.

Michelle’s palm slammed upon him and yanked him out of the grove of the girl’s hair. The air whooshed out of his chest and he groaned. Michelle felt no compunction to limit her strength when she clutched him. She rolled him around between her fingertips and held him against her cheek: her huge face and his tiny body showed up in the display screen of her smartphone, where a green square struggled to recognize anything about him. Her face was hideous with delight and smugness. When his legs swung by the corner of her mouth, she lined up a shot and stuck her tongue out to lap at his miniature shoes.

“If you post these pictures,” he said suddenly, “even if you just share them with friends, you’re distributing evidence of kidnapping and abuse of a vulnerable adult.”

That wiped the grin off Michelle’s face. “Fuck,” she sighed, lowering her hand and resting him briefly in her lap.

Lorene wasn’t smiling either. “Is he serious? Are we gonna go to jail?”

People stomped around outside. The tone of conversation had changed from laughter to loud conversation… serious conversation. Michelle recognized her mother’s voice yelling at someone.

Shaun pounced on their hesitation. “Seriously, Michelle, just return me to Janine and I’ll tell her to go easy on you. You know, we’re going to be married someday. I will be related to you. Not to boss you around, but… this is pretty creepy, what you’re doing.”

The black-haired girl glowered at him. “We’re not doing anything, just taking pictures.”

“I don’t want to get in trouble, Michelle.” Lorene started to rise. “Maybe we should−”

“Hold on a second.” Michelle seized the younger girl by the wrist. “Just a few more pictures. It’ll be awesome.” Lorene sank to sitting on the floor once more. “What would be the most hilarious picture we could take?”

Lorene’s huge eyes flickered from the tiny man to the teenager. “What if you kissed him?”

In one voice, Michelle and Shaun both shot that down. She looked down at the little man. “What’re you acting grossed out about? I’d never want to kiss you.”

Shaun grimaced. “And I don’t want to kiss you, so we agree.”

“I wouldn’t want to be kissed by you!”

“Believe me, I was never going to do that.”

“I didn’t want you to!”

“Then stop hinting at it!”

Michelle looked like he (or a larger version) slapped her. “I’m not hinting at anything! Gross!”

“You’re trying your lame-ass teenage reverse psychology on me!” Shaun folded his arms, resting his elbows on the thumb that pinned him to her palm. “If you don’t want it, why are you talking about it so much?”

“You’re talking about it! Maybe you’re reverse psyching me!”

Shaun scoffed. “Don’t even dare to dream. Janine’s the only one I want. You wouldn’t even know what to do with me.”

“I don’t want to do anything with you!”

“Then how come you won’t let me go, huh? How come you snatched me away from your friend like that? Jealous much?”

Michelle thought her head would explode. She struggled to come up with the next twist in this tortuous argument until she heard someone thumping down the basement stairs. She shook her head sharply and narrowed her eyes at the tiny man in her grip. “You’re stalling. Lorene, we need to think of some pictures to do with this little asshole.”

Shaun sighed. The girl somehow saw right through him. Impressive… and dangerous.

“Maybe if you sat on him,” Michelle ventured, “I could get a picture of that. You do it and I’ll do it.”

“I don’t want to hurt him,” her friend said. “I don’t know how much he can take. I don’t want you to hurt him either.”

Great-Grandma Yeager was calling to someone from the dining room, asking for the twins.

“What about our feet?” Michelle said. “Pull off your socks, make him smell your toes, I’ll get a picture of that.”

Lorene winced. “That’s gross. I’m not doing that, you do it. What do you want a picture of that for anyway?” Shaun informed her she was a very smart young woman.

Michelle frowned and started to peel off her socks with one hand, when Audrey gasped for air and started to snore. The girls started with surprise. Then Michelle slowly grinned at Lorene and told her to turn the flash on her camera.

“What are you doing, Michelle,” Shaun asked darkly. “If you do something stupid, Janine’s going to kill you.”

“Then I’d better make this good while I’m alive, right?” She laughed to herself, rising to her knees and crawling over to the pile of coats in which the young woman had passed out. She adjusted her grip on the tiny man, pinching his lower leg and letting him dangle freely in the air.

Her friend came up with her camera. “Okay, it’s set. What are you gonna do?”

“Watch this.” Michelle leaned against the side of the mattress by Audrey’s shoulder, stretched her arm up dramatically, and held Shaun directly above the woman’s sleeping face. Her eyes looked sad, closed in slumber, but her mouth was gaping wide open with snoring.

“Oh, fuck. Michelle, don’t do this.” Shaun wanted to kick and flail, but he forced himself to hold still, completely unconfident in his future niece’s coordination.

The raven-haired teen only grinned, slowly bringing her hand down. “Uh! Uh! Down you go,” she chirped. Though Shaun held still, Michelle still waggled him above the unconscious woman’s face. Lorene watched the whole thing through her smartphone, then the room flashed in white.

“Dammit, Lorene! Warn me when you’re gonna take a picture!” Michelle rubbed her eyes with her other hand. Shaun covered his face only briefly, more worried about his predicament.

“Sorry. Lower him down some more, I want to get a shot of him and Audrey’s face together.”

Michelle found no problem with this. In the darkness of the guest bedroom, she crouched beside her cousin’s head. Her brown hair spilled all over the pillow in a silken mess. It was a little exciting for the teen, to be so close to her and undetected. Audrey’s teeth glowed dimly in the ambient light, and Michelle lowered the tiny man between the two sets of incisors.

That’s when he lost his cool. Shaun swore at Michelle, flailing, grasping at the sleeping woman’s teeth. Both his hands gripped her upper incisors and he briefly halted his descent, but Michelle easily saw what was happening and tugged him off her upper jaw. She swung him back and forth, preventing him from getting a grip.

Shaun could smell the Thanksgiving spices and red wine on Audrey’s breath. So far she seemed motionless, snoring like a hellbeast but otherwise not stirring. When Michelle swung him closer to her mouth, he reached for anything he could to block himself from going in. Inches below, Audrey’s wet tongue roiled and pulsed, flexing when she gasped for air. He had to wonder whether she’d wake up if this idiot teen dropped him in there, or if she’d just swallow him by reflex. When he screamed at the girls, his own voice echoed sharply within Audrey’s gaping jaws.

“Okay, cover your eyes,” Lorene murmured.

Michelle did so but Shaun was taken by surprise, distracted by the threat of his own death. He looked at the younger girl just as the flash glowed to line up the shot, then went off a second time. Dazzled, he couldn’t see anything that was going on. His shoulder brushed against something hard, probably Audrey’s upper incisors, so he curled himself in half and strained to clutch his knees. He heard Michelle’s laughter and then Lorene’s advisory of another impending flash. His eyelids strobed red as he clenched them shut this time.

“Should we get another one or should I just drop him in?” Michelle asked her friend.

“Fuck! Don’t drop me, Michelle! Your mom’s gonna kill you! You’ll… you’ll choke Audrey!”

Michelle laughed. “She’ll figure it out in time. She probably won’t eat you. And if she does… oh, well.”

The doorknob clicked and the guest bedroom flooded with light. Activity still roared outside, but a woman’s voice quietly asked, “What’s going on in here?”

Janine kicked some empty cardboard boxes around in the basement, moving them out of the way of rough wooden shelving.

Lena asked, “Are we looking for the girls, or are you searching for Shaun by himself somewhere?”

“I don’t know.” Janine held her forehead. “Does Michelle smoke?”

“Oh, she’d better not.”

“No, I mean… does she go out for walks around the block? Should we be looking outside for them?”

Lena stiffened. “Goddamn it, this neighborhood… After we tear this house apart, we’ll go driving around and look for them. Separate cars.”

“I don’t know this place like you do.”

“Then let’s not think about that now.” Lena went over to her little sister, burying her face in her hands. “Hey, come on, we’ll find him. I’ll twist her head off and ground her for three lifetimes.”

“Were we ever this bad as teenagers?”

Lena laughed sharply. “I was much worse. You were a fucking brat, though.” She dodged Janine’s punch and suggested they check the garage. They trotted up the stairs and nearly ran into Alma, hurrying toward the stairs for the second level.

“We already checked my bedroom,” Lena told her, but Alma muttered something about needing the other bathroom and barreled past them. “Wow, how much did she have to drink?”

Janine narrowed her eyes, watching her sister-in-law hustle up the carpeted steps, but the cry of “Found ’em!” snapped her head around. Sprinting down the hall, she found her mother hauling the two teens out of the guest bedroom totally old-school: their ears firmly clamped between thumbs and forefingers. Judy released them only when Lena and Janine flanked them.

“Where the hell were you two? Where’s Shaun?”

Lorene stared up with huge, watery eyes but Michelle refused to make eye contact. “No idea,” she said, rubbing her ear. “We were just messing with Audrey. She’s drunk,” she added, smiling at the women, hoping for a deflection of attention. “She’s only 20.”

Judy’s face was cast iron. Her brass-lined throat rang out across the house: “Cody Galvan! Do you know what your daughter’s been up to?” With this she stormed off, rattling the house with each step.

Lorene tried to slip past but Lena stepped up and blocked her. Before she could complain she saw something over Lena’s shoulder that terrified her. “What’s happening over here?” asked Rosa, coming in from the living room. “Lorene, are you causing trouble at our friends’ house?”

The blood drained from the girl’s face. “No, I wasn’t, I swear! I… what’s the Wi-Fi password here?”

It was Michelle’s turn to pale, and she smacked her friend in the chest. Quicker than lightning, Janine seized the teens and confiscated their phones. “What’s your password?” she asked Michelle.

“None of your business!” The teen’s indignation was sincere.

Lena’s arm snaked around her head, and her fist knotted tightly in all that glossy black hair. Michelle yelped and cried out some numbers; Lorene’s phone was unsecured. The two sisters looked in the Photos folders, and Janine gave a little cry. Out of love for her sister she didn’t strike out at the teen, but Lena saw she was struggling mightily to restrain herself.

“Oh, my God…” Lena never relinquished the hold on her daughter’s head. “What have you done with that poor little man? And if you say you were just playing with him, I’ll hold you down in the bathtub with my own two hands.”

“I just want to see,” murmured Alma, slurring slightly. “I just want to see what this is like.”

Shaun backed away from her on the vanity, edging around the sink basin, but the larger woman only scooped him back into her cleavage. Her hand was too tall for him to hurdle over, and drunk as she was, she was still quick enough to catch him when he dodged.

“Alma, please just take me to Janine. She’s looking for me, I can hear her.”

She chuckled, and her enormous boobs shook around the tiny man. She knelt on a step-stool in front of the sink, with her shirt pulled up and her breasts hauled out of their capacious bra cups, resting on the chilly vanity.

“Come on, I just want to see what this feels like.” With Shaun in place, she cupped the outsides of her breasts in her palms and slowly mashed them together. The tiny man stared up at her (angry or scared, she couldn’t see clearly) until her smooth, tan globes covered up his chest, then his shoulders, then rose up and swallowed his little head. She laughed again and jostled her boobs back and forth. The little mass between them was solid and warm and unmoving.

“You okay in there? You ain’t dead already, are you?” She looked at herself in the mirror: grinning, semi-undressed, her flaws lost in eyes that wouldn’t focus precisely. She looked like she remembered herself from years ago… just with much larger breasts. “Don’t you men all love huge tits? You must be in heaven right now.” She laughed and watched herself heave her bosom back and forth, the tiny man all but disappeared between them.

Finally he began to squirm. All at once, his tiny arms and legs kicked and poked at her boobs. Alma laughed and squeezed her breasts tighter, diminishing his range of motion. “There you go! Show me what you got!” She relented, and his tiny hands poked up between her narrow cleavage. She heard a little gasp and some panting. “You ain’t jacking off in there, are you? That costs extra.” She laughed harder and sealed him up between her breasts again, slowly climbing off the stool and standing above the sink. She wanted to see if she could pinch him in there securely, without thinking about what it would mean if he fell.

Again his arms poked out and his tiny hands seized her thin gold necklace. Slowly Shaun pulled his head out of her cleavage and gasped for air again, his tiny face reddened and furious.

“Oh, you can’t breathe!” Alma found this hilarious as well. “Time for some CPR!” So saying, her thick fingers reached beneath her tremendous breasts and lifted the sloppy masses up to her face. Shaun’s eyes widened as Alma’s thick, red lips puckered twice, then parted. Her mouth descended upon him, her fat tongue pouring out of her mouth and leading the way into her own devouring cleavage.

The bathroom door, a hollow-core interior job, blasted open in a flurry of splinters. “I’ll pay for that!” Janine shouted over her shoulder. With fluid coordination her right fist ran through Alma’s jaw and her left hand jabbed into the woman’s solar plexus, catching Shaun deftly when the tremendous breasts flopped aside. Janine clutched Shaun protectively to her own chest, then bent away sideways and delivered a solid kick to Alma’s gut.

The intoxicated and lascivious woman staggered back and collapsed over the toilet. Moaning, she reached to touch the back of her head, where it struck the toilet paper holder, then collapsed into uncontrolled sobbing. Janine leaned back against the vanity and wept over her boyfriend. “I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry,” she kept repeating, but as much as he wanted to, Shaun didn’t feel much generosity to reassure her just then. He only buried his face in her familiar-smelling sweater and tried to control his breathing.

“All things considered, that wasn’t one of our worst Thanksgivings,” Dennis offered weakly. At Judy’s glance he shrugged and shuffled off to say goodbyes to Geneva and Clayton and the Yeagers.

“I’m so sorry this happened, sweetie.” Judy embraced her daughter by the front door. “Shaun, I’m so ashamed. The Barretts are talking to their daughter. Lorene’s easily led, I guess, but that Michelle’s a little hellion.” She clucked her tongue. “Lena and Shawn have their work cut out for them with that one. But I just can’t apologize enough to you.”

A tiny arm poked out of the infinity scarf and waved up at her.

“He’s a little touchy right now,” Janine said, adding hastily, “and I don’t blame him. I really let him down in the worst way tonight.” Her face screwed up. “He tried to warn me and I wouldn’t listen. Those little…”

Judy hugged her tightly again. She asked her daughter if she was okay to drive; Janine assured her she was, then hefted her empty Tupperware under one arm and made her way down the front walk.

The Galvan twins were already strapped in to their minivan, leaving Cody to wrangle his drunk daughter and drunk wife. He looked up as Janine walked by, leaving them dazedly struggling with seat belts for the moment. “I’m so sorry about tonight, sis,” he said, backing off at Janine’s glare. “I don’t know how it got so out of control.”

“Just… put a fucking leash on them or something.” She grudgingly accepted a light hug from her brother. “Be sure to let them enjoy their hangovers tomorrow, at least.” Cody laughed, apologized again, and returned to his labors.

The Lasters happened to be parked in front of Janine. They weren’t leaving their own home: Shawn was using the car for some very harsh words with his daughter, who from Janine’s angle appeared to give little indication of listening. Not far away, Fred and Jack leaned against a large oak, their faces glowing blue above their phones, until Allen and Rosa walked up with their sobbing daughter and collected their son.

Lena stepped away from the driver’s side door and hurried up to her sister. “I am so, so sorry about this, Janine. I can’t even tell you. I’m sick to death over it.” Lena looked as though she’d been crying, herself. “I haven’t even told you about what she’s getting into at school. Later, when we have time. Coffee next week.” She glanced at her car. “Still… she’s giving me a break, compared to what I used to do to Judy.”

The sisters laughed and hugged. Janine kissed her sister’s cheek. “Kill her for me, would you?” Lena promised she would and stalked back to the car of pain.

“Janine?” From the front door of the house, Evelyn’s voice called out into the night.

Janine had forgotten all about Shaun’s mother. “Oh, my God!” She ran up the yard and unfolded her scarf before the woman. Evelyn’s hands fluttered around her son, wanting to embrace him but not wanting to make anything worse. Ultimately she kissed her fingertip and brushed him gently across the forehead with it.

“You’re sure you’re okay? Oh, my poor little boy!” Evelyn scowled at Cody’s minivan and the Lasters’s car. “Teenagers these days, I just don’t know what their parents−”

“I’m okay, Mom. I’m just gonna need some time alone.” He sighed but put on a brave smile for his mother. “We’ll get plenty of that on the plane tomorrow. It was good to see you again. I’ll call when we get home.”

Evelyn looked far from appeased but nodded. She looked Janine in the eyes, mournfully, with a little fire. “Take better care of my little boy,” she said quietly. “His grandfather was a tiny little person, too, you know, rest his soul, and… I couldn’t take it if…”

Janine promised repeatedly that she’d protect Shaun and apologized repeatedly to her. After sufficient time had passed she was permitted to retire to her own vehicle, Evelyn quietly sobbing in the background.

Janine slumped into the driver’s seat of their rental car, exhaling slowly, then tossed the Tupperware in the back seat and started the car to warm up. “Shaun, I’m so sorry, and I’m so mad at myself. I really hate myself right now. I don’t know why I didn’t take you seriously.”

Her little boyfriend stirred in her scarf until his head peeked from within the folds. “Well, Janine, sometimes when you really want something to go a certain way, it’s like you don’t think anything else can happen. You saw a festive celebration in your head, and…” Shaun sighed and shook his head. “But what you want doesn’t have much effect on reality. I begged you to protect me against those kids. You knew they were going to try something.”

“They’re fucking sneaky! I didn’t expect them to get the twins in on the act!”

There was a long pause. “I need you to expect everything, Janine. I need to feel safe with you when we go out. And maybe that means we can’t go out to family dinners anymore.”

“Or maybe I could wear you in a little cage, on my necklace?” She smiled apologetically.

“This wasn’t my fault! I didn’t do anything wrong! I was talking to your family like you wanted me to!”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, Shaun, I didn’t mean it like that…”

Another long pause. “I’m sorry for snapping. I know this was an accident. I’m just really volatile right now.”

“I understand that. Can I touch you?” Janine gently placed her hand over Shaun, covering him in her scarf, sharing her heat. “I would have died if anything happened to you… little guy.” The affectation was a test; Shaun didn’t seem to mind. “I love you more than anything, and right now I’m ready to kill those girls. But I hate myself for being so stupid around them. I will never let anything like this happen ever again, Shaun. I promise you I’ll always protect you.”

Long pause.

“Hold me close to you?” he asked quietly.

She pressed him through the yarn against her breast, where her heart pounded.

“Keep me forever?”

She would, demonstrably.

They drove off and slept in their hotel, kissing and making up and healing. They woke up bright and early, they shared a seat on the plane, and got drunk while doing crossword puzzles. When they got home, she left their bags in the living room and took him straight to bed, where they watched videos and cuddled and snacked and shut the world out.

Then there was that one time when Uncle Billy Yeager was left alone with Shaun Chastain. It was another eating holiday, and Janine Galvan was helping her mother and Aunt Jo in the kitchen... helping themselves to a bottle of Lost Angel, that is, while the boys chatted in the living room.

"So. A little guy, huh?"

"Yeah, compared to some."

"What's it like?"

"What's what like?"

"Being a widdle shrimpy."

"I dunno, Billy. What's it like being the drunken pariah of the family?"

Long sigh. "I could flick you right off that fucking ottoman."

"Of course. Janine would hear all about it, and then Judy."

"You... look. Just watch your smart mouth, okay?"

"Sorry. It's just a sore spot of mine."

"What, like you haven't always been tiny? It's not like... like you just came down with it, like polio or something."

"You're right, Billy. Being tiny is not like contracting polio. I can agree with that."

"I mean, it's not like you were something else, and then one day you were shrunken. You've always been tiny, right?"

"So I guess that answers your first question."

"Hm?"

"I don't have anything to compare it to. All the people, all the furniture has always been huge to me. If anything's changed, I guess it's that there are more tiny-accessible furnishings than when I was a kid."

"Oh yeah, I remember that. Clinton, right? Ramps and those, like, protective Habitrails?"

"If you hung out with more tiny people, Billy, you'd know how offensive that term is."

Groan. "Awright, fuck, I'm sorry−"

"I'm just messing with you. They're literally Habitrails, scaled up a little to accommodate people my size."

Pause, relieved laughter. "Hey, you got me, li'l guy. You're pretty good."

"Sorry about that. I had to take my shot."

"It was a good one. So, uh... what are the women like?"

"What, tiny women? I've honestly never met one but I've seen them on the news."

"No, no. I mean like normal women. Like you see every day."

"What's your question?"

"Whaddya, you know, think of them?"

Long stare. "Are you inviting me to discuss third-wave feminism with you, Unca Billy? What did you think of bell hooks' Feminist Theory: From Margin to Center?"

"Naw, no, no! I'm talking about," conspiratorial lean forward, "you know. When a woman walks by and you're, you know, down there, and you have to look up at her. What do you think of that?"

"The first thing I think of is not getting stepped on by her foot. The sheer tonnage could crush me without her even noticing."

"Shit. Yeah, that's right, isn't it? I didn't think of that."

"It's something you'd think of if you were me."

"Well, what's the next thing you think about?"

"Staying clear of her other foot. Unless she's on crutches, then I watch out for those."

"Come on, quit messing with me! You know what I mean!"

"Why don't you spell it out for me, Billiam."

Eyes darting left and right. "You know, you're like... down there..."

"Yes, I follow you."

"And a chick walks by... I dunno, early 20s..."

"I know the type."

"And say she's wearing a short skirt. You tellin' me you wouldn't look up there to see what you could see?"

Sigh. "No, Billy, I don't. You're talking about looking up a woman's skirt without her consent, to get a peek at her panties−"

"Or maybe she's not wearing any!"

"Again, without her knowledge or consent. Do you know what that sounds like?"

"Oh, here comes the feminist." Leaning back in chair.

"If you think being a decent person is being a feminist... fuck, I don't know why you'd work so hard to be anything else, honestly."

"I'm a decent guy. I donate and shit. Pick up trash."

"TMI."

"Fuck, you're a real pill. I don't know what my niece sees in you."

"I have no problem believing that."

"Are you trying to pick a fight with me? Because I get it, you're little and helpless, and you're relying on the good nature of others to not hurt you, but you keep shooting your mouth off like a little jerk, and what do you think's gonna happen?"

"Well, you'll probably lift up that big meaty arm of yours, bring your fist down like a wrecking ball, and smash tiny little ol' me into a hundred pieces. A contest of strength like that would really make you feel like a man, wouldn't it? Picking on little, helpless things. Is that what makes you feel like a big guy?"

Stands up, looming over the ottoman. "I don't have to pound you into dust to feel like a big guy, little guy. I fucking am one."

"Compared to some."

"The fuck is your problem with me, man!"

"Do you really want to know? Are you really asking?"

Sits back down. "Yeah! I'm really fucking asking!"

"It's going to sound like I'm judging you."

"You have no right to judge me!"

"Assholes always say that, like it's some kind of loophole to let them get away with shit."

"There you go calling me an asshole again! If you're just gonna fucking insult me, I'm gonna go get a beer."

"Billy, listen."

"I'm listening! Christ!"

"Calm down. I don't really hate you, Billy. I don't like you, I think it's super-weird you're over 50 and still calling yourself 'Billy,' but I don't hate you. I don't even think you're... that bad of a person."

"Oh, fucking thank you, prick."

"You've got a lot of wrong ideas."

"Name one!"

"Your jokes are blatantly racist and misogynist and homophobic−"

"They're funny!"

"You keep giving Dennis shit for no reason−"

"Aw, he likes it."

"You get shitfaced at every family occasion because after 25 years of drinking you still don't know where your limits are."

"Hey, you don't know what I'm dealing with."

"Yeah, you lost your job because you showed up drunk, and your girlfriend broke up with you because you got drunk and treated her like shit."

"My fucking world's falling apart around me, man. I just need a fuckin'... drink or two to take the edge off."

"This little chronicle of yours has been playing itself out repeatedly for the last two decades, hasn't it?"

"Goddamn it, my family's just a bunch of goddamn gossips."

"Billy! What I dislike most about you is that you can see all your problems right in front of your goddamned face, and you never learn from them! You just enact them over and over, and you're surprised as shit when it all blows up in your face, every time!"

"I don't need this from you."

"You asked me, idiot."

"The fuck do you know? You're just a little goddamned pipsqueak, living in Janine's pocket... like a pervert! I wasn't gonna say anything to her, but if you wanna talk shit−"

"I did not ask you."

"Fine, here you go. I think you're a sick fuck, you know that? You're just a scummy little perv, crawling all into Janine's holes and shit."

"You're crossing a line, Billy."

"That's what you do, right? Janine has to lie back and hold real still, so she doesn't crush you? And then you, like, peel her pussy open. I saw it on YouTube. You spread her pussy apart and you crawl inside like... I don't even know what. I don't even know what else in the fucking animal kingdom does that."

"Blanket octopus."

"What?"

"Triplewart seadevil."

"The fuck are you talking about?"

"It's a fish. Giant golden orb weaver, the spider."

"Oh, the know-it-all fact-checker. Right, I forgot. Well, fact-check this." Stands, unzips pants.

"And here comes the cavalry. Hey, sweetie."

"What? Aw, fuck. This isn't what it looks like."

"It's exactly what it looks like. She knows, she's been standing there for five minutes."

"You haven't..."

"It looks like we're going to the kitchen to start serving ourselves dinner. I think you should call a cab."

"Fuck you. I'm having dinner with my family."

"Don't make this worse. Call a cab."

"Whatever. I'll drive myself home."

"I'm calling you a cab, and I'll cover it, but don't you embarrass Charisse and Earlie by making them answer the door and figuring out what the hell's going on here. Just slip on out like a mensch for once in your life."

"Your boyfriend's an asshole, Janine."

“How’s it going, little man?” Janine whispered, turning the blinds shut. She had long ago made a game of memorizing the creaky spots in the floorboards and could pad through the apartment nearly silently.

Shaun surely appreciated this skill today, as his head was pounding. “You can’t let me drink that much, oh my lover,” he moaned. He didn’t even make a dent in his girlfriend’s pillow.

She spun gracefully upon the ball of her bare foot, and the mattress sighed heavily as her hips sank into its edge. “It’s impossible for me to tell how much you’re getting, buddy. Sometimes you can handle one full drop from the eye dropper, sometimes that’s too much.” She leaned over her tiny boyfriend with tender care, her forearms framing him on the pillow. “Did you have enough to eat beforehand?”

“Fats and proteins… like always… A crumb of sharp cheddar and a shred of beef stick. I don’t know what went wrong.” One spindly arm rested dramatically across his brow; otherwise he was motionless.

Janine tsk-tsked at the crumpled little guy. Sunlight struck the nightstand in thin beams, sharing enough ambient light to cast him and the bed in a rosy glow. But even with this hue, he managed to look sickly and wan. She asked if he needed an aspirin or ibuprofen; he assured her that he could use a coffee, once the room stopped spinning.

She leaned on her elbows and lowered her head down, sniffing at him gently to see if he’d puked in the night. “What was the occasion, anyway?”

Slowly his head and forearm rolled back and forth. “No reason. Just… wanted to cut loose. I had a little and it felt good, and I wanted more to feel better.” His tiny chest rose with a long inhale, which he held for half a minute before letting it hiss out. “I can’t do that, it’s too unpredictable… If I’d known…”

Her long fingers ran so gently over his pajama bottoms, sensing his kneecaps and shins beneath the soft fabric. “Do you remember what you said to me last night?”

There was a long pause, then Shaun’s arm fell to his side. “Oh, fuck,” he groaned. His eyes were wide as they stared at the ceiling. “Please, no, no, no…”

She grinned gently at him. “It’s okay, I knew you were drunk. I didn’t take it seriously.”

His eyes rolled to hers, so dryly she could almost hear them grinding in their sockets. “Oh, Janine, I’m so sorry. Whatever I said, it wasn’t true, please believe that. If I was offensive and stupid, please, it doesn’t reflect how I really feel. I need you to trust that. Booze doesn’t unlock any doors in me.”

“So you don’t really love me?”

“Did I say I loved you?”

The tip of her tongue briefly stroked her upper lip. “It’s all you could talk about for, like, an hour. I kept trying to change the subject and you’d bring it right back.” The fingertip of her index finger smoothed out his superfine hair. “You were even belligerent! You yelled at me for not letting you adequately express your love for me,” she said, giggling.

His tiny chest rose and fell slowly. “Well, at least that’s true.”

“You made up a song, do you remember it?”

“A song?” His face strained with recollection.

“I have a video of it. Do you want to see it?”

He moaned. “I absolutely do not.”

“Good, here you go.” Janine shifted to one hip and dug out her smartphone, unlocked it, and called up the video file. Shaun tried to turn away, but at hearing himself he was compelled to witness the spectacle as she held the phone on the pillow.

In the video, Shaun was standing on the dining room table, on an over-sized postcard of junk mail. He was jabbing his finger with wide gestures at something just above the camera. “−who’d fuckin’ die for the kinda love I’m givin’ you! You know that? They’d fuckin’ die for it!” He ran his palms over his starchy dress shirt. “All this love, so much fuckin’ love in this tiny li’l body… all for you… an’ you don’ even wanna hear about it.”

“I know you love me,” said Janine’s off-camera voice. The treble in her tone indicated she was smiling broadly. “I just wanted to know if you had anything else to say.”

Drunken Shaun partially lost his balance, the slick postcard for lawn care skidding beneath his stance, but he recovered. He glared in exaggerated disbelief at the wielder of the camera. “Other than how much I fuckin’ love you? Yer a piece o’ work. I don’ ba-leeve this. I got so much love for you, and you’re all… pfft! Pfft!” His hands flew up sharply in a show of dismissal.

On the pillow, Shaun’s minuscule fingers covered his tiny mouth in horror. “I am… so sorry,” he started to say, but real-life Janine hushed him.

“Why don’t you show me how much you love me, then?” Digital Janine’s voice was playfully challenging. She was curious to see where this could go, if he wanted to embarrass himself so badly.

The tiny little sot took a moment to focus on her, off-camera, then to stare at the phone itself. “Okay, I will. Easy!” he shouted. “Whaddya wan’ me to do?”

“Uh-uh, my sweet pet. You have to come up with something on your own.”

“Fine!” He folded his arms and wobbled slightly for a few moments. When he spoke up again, he burst into the tune of Violent Femmes’s “Blister in the Sun.”

I love Janine / She’s super keen / And she’s fuckin’ tall
I’m tall as her foot / I’m super cute / And that is not all

Lemme go cra-a-a-awl like a mouse between your tits
Lemme go cra-a-a-awl, I promise you won’t feel it

When she sits down / She sits around / And she covers me
I’m stuck in her crack / Wedged in the back / Her butt is all I can see

Lemme go cra-a-a-awl like a mouse between your tits
Lemme go cra-a-a-awl, I swear you won’t feel it

The Shaun on the smartphone screen then vocalized a guitar solo and launched into some dance moves: timed kicks, shimmying shoulders, low-swinging hands and finger snapping. As ferocious as he’d been a minute before, his face was positively radiant with hilarity now. The view zoomed in as he bit his bottom lip and ducked his head in time to his own music, before digital Janine exploded in laughter and the camera zagged awry.

Real-life Janine was also cracking up, trying to stifle it for her hungover lover’s sake. She let the phone slide to the bed and leaned back, palms clasped over her mouth as she shook. Diminutive Shaun only rocked with the pillow, his face as livid as though he were ready to die on the spot.

“Oh, my sweet little lover-man,” Janine said after recovering a bit. She scooped him up gently in her palms and cradled him against her chest. “Oh, my sweet little rockstar! No, don’t be embarrassed! You were wonderful! I wish you’d do that more often!”

Shaun only allowed himself to tumble in her clasping hands, suffering to slump against her warm shirt. “Lemme go play with the dog next door,” he mewled. “The yappy one that chews on everything.”

“Oh, no, no, no! I can’t let my little rockstar get away from me!” She grinned down at him, her torso slowly turning back and forth. “You belong to nobody but me! Nothing but private concerts and limited engagements.”

“You want me to dance for nickels?” His voice was muffled in her shirt.

“You’ll dance for kisses, my sweet song-and-dance man.” She lifted the tiny man up to her face, in front of her broad smile. “And then afterward… you have to deal with your horny, overly enthusiastic groupie. Got it?”

Propping himself up on one elbow, one bare shoulder peeking from the neck of his pajama shirt, Shaun grinned up at her from her palm. “Your, uh, rockstar needs a little downtime, but that sounds−” He was interrupted by a chime from her phone.

Janine turned her phone over, tapped out her code, and smiled at the message. “Looks like Kristi liked−” She cut herself off. Her smile disappeared and her eyes went huge.

Shaun blanched. “You… did not… show that… to your friends. Tell me you didn’t.”

“Only Kristi, I swear.”

Then her phone went off again. And again.