Bottoms Up, Part 2 (Patreon)

Two: Hammy

Harper had an on-again, off-again relationship with smoking. It looked cool, she assumed, when she was a teenager. It kept her sane through college. She ditched it when she met Layne. She picked it back up again when they separated. She was vaping now. Not one of those enormous ‘rigs’ that men with large beards had. This was a dainty little stick she stowed away in her purse. And when she pulled it out and took a hit? She felt cool again - like she was smoking in the future.

Layne had been going on about something. There was a woman in a pantsuit with good hair, and she had been mean. Something about city council. He used the word ‘audacity’ more than once.

She took a few nice slow drags of the vape. She was thinking about whether or not she would watch a tutorial on how those big-bearded men did neat little smoke tricks. Like the one where they blew a smoke ring. That’d be a fun party trick.

“...and she called the store an abomination,” he said. “Seriously, who even uses that word? Religious women in a Stephen King story.”

“But you haven’t broken any laws, right?” she asked.

“Nah.”

“And you wouldn’t have been allowed to open this store in the first place if it was doing something fundamentally shady.”

“Yeah, I guess.”

“So what are you worried about? Let the windbag throw a little tantrum in front of the city. Then let the council tell her that you haven’t done anything wrong. End of story.”

“I don’t know,” he said. “People like that, they don’t just get together and get worked up for nothing, you know? We could do everything right - and I assume we have - and they could still be a problem. They become a gnat in the city council’s ear. Worse, they rile up a bunch of other people and now there’s a whole swarm of gnats in their ears. And nobody wants that many gnats in their ears, you know?”

Usually, that would’ve been enough nicotine, but she needed to take another long drag.

“So what are you going to do?” she asked.

“What can I do? Can you reason with gnats?”

“The gnat thing isn’t working,” she said. Then, just because she thought the answer would be amusing, she added: “Are you wearing sweatpants?”

“Don’t even start with me, Harpy.”

A ‘pet’ name she detested just as much as he detested public sweatpants. Touche.

This wasn’t the way she thought this conversation was going to go. She had already been nervous to talk to him tonight, and that was before she had inadvertently opened his can of personal worms.

He shook his head and muttered something to himself about Grace Vanderhoeffen. Then, remembering that she had come to him in the kitchen in the first place: “Oh, did you want to tell me something?”

She sighed. “Actually, yeah?”

“Okay.”

“So...this isn’t easy for me to say, but I’m hoping we can have an open and mature discussion about it - if any discussion is needed at all.”

“I’m probably not going to like this, am I?”

“Just listen,” she said. “I’m going on a date tonight.”

“A date? Tonight?”

“That’s what I just said.”

“With who?”

“You don’t know them.”

“That doesn’t really narrow things down for me.”

“It doesn’t matter who they are. But, I’ve been thinking about it a lot lately and I think that we - both of us - should start thinking about what we want next, you know? Living arrangements. Romance. I don’t know. We’re just stuck here in this house avoiding each other all the time and nothing is changing and sometimes I feel like…”

“It’s fine, it’s fine,” he said. “I can’t get mad about you dating some guy when it’s not like I'm over here trying to repair our marriage. I mean...I don’t think I’m about to go and date someone myself, but I guess I get where you’re coming from. So, I don’t know...have a good time with him?”

“Not him,” she said.

“I’m sorry?”

“Not him,” she said. “As in - I’m not going out with a...guy?”

“Oh.” He gave it another moment to sink further in. “Oh. A, uh, gal, then?”

“No.”

“I’m running out of options here.”

“They/them,” she said.

“Oh,” he said again.

“Don’t be weird about this.”

“Me? Me...weird?”

“Look,” she said. “It’s not a big deal. They’re just gender nonconforming, you know?”

“I can deal with that,” he said, waving his hands in front of him as if to signal that he didn’t want any trouble.

“And me going out on a date?”

“I mean...am I psyched? No, not especially. Am I…” his voice just kind of wandered off.

“Are you...what?”

“I didn’t think about what I wanted to say.”

“Well why don’t you think about it a little longer,” she said. “And we can talk about it later. Or tomorrow.”

--

He skipped the alcohol last night - he didn’t want to show up to the store in sweatpants again.

He was still late.

“Decided to finally show up?” Effie quipped from behind the counter.

“Someday, when you own your very own diaper store, you too can show up whenever you want.”

“So inspirational. Thank you, Dad.”

“You wish I was your father.”

“My father played bass in a punk band,” Effie said. “No offense, but you don’t have enough cool to qualify as the father I wish I had.”

“Damn,” he said. “That is pretty cool.” He grabbed a partially-stale donut from yesterday’s box, still sitting behind the front counter. “Did I miss anything? Any drama? Concerned citizens?”

“The Pope dropped by,” she said. “He wasn’t happy with you either.”

“Did you sell him any diapers?”

“I tried. He’s more of a chastity guy, though.”

This yielded a hearty chuckle from him. He always liked how proud of herself she looked when she made him laugh like that. Very cute.

“I have an assignment for you today,” he said.

“Oh yeah? What kind of assignment?”

“That woman who came in yesterday? Grace Vander-fart? I want to know more about her little club. CLAM? No...CALM. Could you do some internetting for me? Find out how big this thing is? When they meet up to talk about me? Where? See if they serve refreshments at their meetings?”

“Are you...actually planning on going to one of their meetings?”

He shrugged. “Wouldn’t it be funny if I did?”

She smirked, though she didn’t laugh.

He thought it was a lot funnier than that.

“Did, uh, Harper come by this morning?”

“Nah. I mean, I got here at 9 - you know, the time we open - so not unless she came earlier than that. Why so?”

“Ah, you don’t want to hear about it,” he said, swiping his hand in the air as if to wave away the conversation.

“You’re right,” Effie said, “I don’t. But if you’re going to bring it up, I feel obligated to ask for more information.”

“Well, fine, if you’re going to twist my arm…”

“I’m not.”

“Harper went on a date last night.”

Her face had fallen serious. “Oh shit. Really?”

He shrugged, attempting to play it off nonchalantly. “Yeah, I don’t know. Should I be mad about it?”

“Do you feel mad?”

“A little numb so far, that’s all. Relationship novacaine.”

She was torn. Being a good friend of Harper’s sister had gotten her pretty close to Harper over the last few years. But, spending 40 hours a week with him- give or take the hours Layne was missing from his own shop - wasn’t nothing.

She was happy for Harper. She was mad for Layne.

“Who was the lucky guy?”

“Well that’s just it. It wasn’t a guy.”

“Really? I didn’t know that she liked…”

“It wasn’t a girl either.”

He looked like wanted a reaction. Needed. She didn’t really have much of one to give him.

“Does that upset you?”

“I don’t think so. It shouldn’t, right?”

She shook her head.

“I live in a pretty simple world,” he said. “Gender stuff - it’s over my head.”

“It’s actually not that hard to grasp,” Effie said. “They say that they don’t conform to a specific gender and then you just say: Ok. That’s it.”

He waved his hand dismissively again. “Yeah, yeah. I get it. I’m just looking for things to pick at. You know, because she went on a date.”

“How did the date go?”

He shrugged. “I went to sleep before she came home. And she wasn’t home this morning. Or...she never came home.”

“Slutty,” Effie said to herself. The tone suggested that this was a positive thing.

“Alright, enough talk about my disaster of a marriage. Do your homework, young lady.”

“Fiiiiiiine, Dad.”

--

Come in late, and then leave early - such was the life of the boss.

She had found the information he was looking for in about 6 minutes, using Facebook alone. But she had stared at the computer for two hours, making it look as if she was doing some real Hackers-esque work. She provided him with the meeting place, time, and confirmed that refreshments were being served. He offered to kiss her on the forehead and she declined. Then he decided to go to the gym.

These were the moments she came to enjoy the most, working at Bottoms Up. She turned up the King Gizzard and scrolled on her phone, occasionally glancing up to confirm that the parking lot was still an empty void.

And then there was a new car. A minivan.

She turned the music down - just a smidge - and got her ‘customer service’ smile on. Layne hated it - he thought it made her look like, in his words, an ‘either homicidal or horny clown. Maybe both.’

A couple rolled into the store. She was straight out of the 1950s with her royal blue polka-dot dress and red hair pinned into an updo. He had that signature diaper-waddle that Effie had come to expect from male customers. She had no clue how to gauge their ages. The woman was either 20-something or 45. He was older - definitely older than Layne. Maybe just old? She’d guess he was in his 50s.

“Greetings. Can I help you two out with anything today?”

“Just...uh...looking around, thanks,” he said. The hem of his sports-team tee barely connected with the waistband of his drawstring shorts. With every step, they separated, and the ruffled plastic edge of a diaper poked out to say hello.

“Diapers, darling,” the woman said, though it wasn’t clear if she was talking to him or to Effie.

“Well,” Effie said, taking a chance on the possibility the woman was talking to her, “we have plenty of those.”

“I don’t want any of these plastic diapers,” she said. “Too wasteful. You know, for the environment? Hamish, here, he goes through so many diapers. The landfill probably expands an entire acre per year with just his dirty diapers.”

“Margaret,” he hissed. “You don’t have to do that here.”

“Don’t listen to him,” Margaret said. “He adores being humiliated. Have you ever seen such a pathetic thing?”

“Once or twice,” Effie said.

“It’s time we made a change,” Margaret said, glazing right over Effie’s remark. “And I do not mean another diaper change. Hamish just got his bottom cleaned up an hour ago.” She turned to the poor blushing man. “If I were to check your diaper now, it’d still be dry, yes?”

“Y-yes.”

“Yes…?” she said, clearly trying to elicit a specific answer.

“Yes...Mommy.”

“Well trained, is he not?”

Effie laughed. “Can he do any tricks?”

“He’ll do anything I tell him to. That’s a trick, yes?”

Effie nodded.

“Hamish. Pull down your shorts and show the nice woman your diaper.”

“Mommy…”

“Please don’t argue with me, Hammy. Or else I ask you to do something far worse.”

He sighed, giving in to her demand. Which, Effie thought, was a shame - she was curious to see what ‘far worse’ entailed. Hands on either side of his shorts, he pushed them down in one motion, revealing the plump white diaper between his legs. Baby animals pranced across the front of it. There was some yellow discoloration in the front. Just a little.

“Speaking of used diapers...” Effie said, pointing out the yellowed diaper with her finger.

“My word. Hamish! Did you piddle yourself yet again?”

“Just...just a little,” he said, shrugging.

“Ugh.” Margaret rolled her eyes as she tossed her hands up in the air. “Do you see what I’m working with?”

“They say it gets harder to potty train them as they get older,” Effie said.

Margaret laughed - a genuine chuckle. “Pull up your pants, baby.”

He did so.

“Look at all these cute diaper designs,” she said as she strolled through the salesfloor. “Princesses. Unicorns. Teddy bears. Koala bears. But it’s, like, ‘what’s the point,’ right? He’s just going to make a big poo in them eventually anyways. Sometimes I’m tempted to just tape a garbage bag to his ass and let him do his business in that.”

“Cost effective,” said Effie. “But probably not good for the neighborhood.”

“Then what would you recommend?”

“I’m hardly an expert…”

“No?”

“I mean, I just...work the counter. Put things in boxes. My boss, he’s the guy to talk to if you want actual advice. A genuinely enormous baby.”

“But I like you,” Margaret said. “Okay, fine. With the knowledge that you do have, point me in the right direction.”

“Well, I could show you these,” Effie said, walking around the counter and over to a rack against the far wall. She pulled a clear plastic package off the wall, holding a thick folded garment inside of it. “These are, like, pocket-diapers? Machine washable, and you just load cloth pads into them. But...as much as you want. So you’re essentially making them as absorbent as you’d like them to be. Then, after he, uh, does his business, you can wash the whole thing while you slip him into a new one.”

“And the diaper itself doesn’t leak?”

Effie quickly glanced at the packaging and spotted the bold WATERPROOF in a starburst. “It does not.”

“A higher upfront cost,” she mused to herself. “But probably worth it in the long run. I’ll try some. Well, Hammy will actually be trying them.”

Both women laughed, much to the dismay of the big baby. Effie gathered the selected pocket-diaper, in an adorable fuschia color, along with a package of cloth prefolds for use within it. A credit card swipe later and the transaction was complete. She had reached for the black bags and Margaret stopped her.

“No need, dear. We won’t need a bag. Hamish can just carry the diapers out to the car as is. Yes, dear?”

“Y-yes, Mommy.”

He gathered his new undergarment and accessories together, pinning them close to his chest and scrambled out the door. Margaret was still in the shop.

“Was...there something else I can help you with?”

“Not an expert on diapers?” Margaret asked.

“No...that’s not really my thing.”

“Would you like to know more?”

For the first time in quite a while, Effie was a little at a loss for words. “I’m sorry?”

“I’m just saying,” Margaret said with a shrug. “If you see yourself selling diapers for the foreseeable future, and you want to experience life on the other side of the counter, maybe I could help you with that.”

“Are you offering to put me in a diaper?”

“Do you want to be?”

“No? Maybe?” Her heart was beating like a jackhammer in her chest. She was aware of the curiosity that had been stirring in places she didn’t acknowledge all that often, and a bright floodlight had suddenly been shown on that corner.

“I wouldn’t make you play with Hammy,” Margaret said, glancing over her shoulder to confirm he had left the store. “He’s no fun at all. But you and I? We could have fun.”

“I…”

“Just think about it,” she said. “I’m in your system. You have my number.”

With no further words, Margaret spun around and briskly exited the store, returning to the minivan to chastise poor Baby Hamish for putting the diapers in the wrong place in the car.

Effie sighed as she turned the music back up again. “This fucking job.”