When a Mermaid Meets a Castello

It was eight twenty. I woke up to the sound of a bird outside my window screaming like it was being evacuated from a fire.

Or maybe it was just my internal alarm, traumatized from standing too long in seven-inch heels last night and being unofficially married by capitalism and a tall man named Nicholas De Castello.

I pushed myself out of bed. My muscles felt like I'd been hit by a truck.

I cracked the bedroom door open and peeked at the room next door.

There she was. The Chubby Mermaid.

Sienna was still asleep, mouth slightly open, cheek smooshed into the pillow in a completely unglamorous sprawl. I’d taken her pacifier out last night after what could only be described as a bomb-defusing operation. Her mermaid costume was halfway off because she flat-out refused to take it off completely.

“If I sleep without my tail, I’ll dream I’m human!” she’d cried.

Yes, baby. That’s the point.

I closed the door gently and padded down to the kitchen.

Silence. The lights were still dim, morning air