Unfair- A Diaper Dimension Novel

Chapter 1
Chapter 105: Jefe

Chapter Description: Clark meets Tracy's husband

Chapter 105: Jefe

Somewhere on the horizon, the orange sun was setting, and I was being cascaded with soft white fluorescent lights. I was pink skinned and greasy with sweat, and smelled a special kind of terrible that only came from having most of my body encased in a barely breathable jumpsuit.  I’d smelled worse though. There were tangential benefits to not having any body hair.

I still wanted a shower…

“Did you have fun?” Janet asked for what felt like the hundredth time.  She just wouldn’t let it go.

I sighed and nodded tiredly, already starting to brood.  “Yeah.”  Thirty-two years of being on near constant alert and several months of plotting vengeance made it hard for me to enjoy the moment.  I wasn’t very good at it.  

A hammer was always going to drop. Something would inevitably take a bad turn. Happiness was fireworks; a short burst of color in a dark night sky that faded within seconds and left only the abyss hovering above.

“Hm?”

Lids dropping so I wouldn’t have to look her in the eye, I repeated myself. “Yeah, I had fun.”

Janet was practically radiant. “I could tell.”

Alarm bells rang in my subconscious. I looked up at her, feeling incredibly self-conscious.  “How?”

“You and Ivy and Tommy and Chaz and all the other Littles.  You were having so much fun!  Smiling and laughing!”  She ran her hand through my sweat soaked hair, unflinchingly.  “It made me really happy to see.”

I definitely wanted a shower.

I gripped the cart’s push bar. “I didn’t smile, then.”

“Not with your mouth,” Janet granted. She reached over and grabbed some gargantuan bananas.  “Your eyes, though…”

My eyes rolled with the shopping cart’s wheels and Janet leaned the other direction to grab a bag filled with green grapes bigger than my eyeballs. How did they get food so big? Those really were a choking hazard.

“Wanna know how else I know you had fun?” Janet asked.  She looked away to get salad ingredients. 

Oooo! Blueberries!  I leaned the other way and put them in the cart.  Something about blueberries seemed really good just then.  “How?” I asked.

“You’re still wearing your costume.”

Accurate.  Janet had taken off the blow up costume, redressed herself in more teacherly civilian clothing, used the toilet, washed her hands, and then ran a brush through her hair. 

“Who’s fault is that?” I asked, knowing full well I wasn’t going to win.  “You’re the Grown-Up.”

A thin, devilish line formed on her lips.  “Please Mommy!  Don’t make me take off my costume, Mommy! Not even to change my diaper, Mommy! I wanna be a GhostHaunter forever, Mommy!”  She pitched her voice higher and lowered her volume to barely a whisper so that only I could hear it, but I was still mortified.

“I did not say it like that!” My voice came out much louder than hers. A few shoppers, some of them also wearing costumes, turned their heads.

Janet booped me on the nose with her pointer finger and kept pushing the cart.  “That’s how it sounded to me.”

“Did not!”

“I know,” Janet said. “But you’re cute when you’re embarrassed.”

“Someone’s cosseting,” I quipped.

“Nope,” Janet replied. “It’s not cosseting when the cute Little baby is yours.”

I leaned back and crossed my arms, pouting.  “Typical,” I mouthed.

I wasn’t really mad, though. Too tired to be mad. Too many upsides had happened to stay mad over a silly and petty slight.  Despite her gross misrepresentation, Janet was correct. I really hadn’t wanted to be taken out of my costume and shoved back into a onesie.

On some level I was still pretending that this was an alternate timeline where I’d never been Adopted. Even something as simple as a diaper change would wreck the last vestiges of that illusion.

Granted, the illusion was entirely one of my own making. My Monkeez was far from dry and had swelled to the point where the bagginess of the jumpsuit couldn’t hide its outline.  I’d still leak before I let that fantasy live for one second less than it could.

Janet continued to go down the grocery store’s aisles, getting dinner ingredients, snacks, and impulse buys.  “I’m really proud of you, by the way,” she said out of nowhere.

That shook me out of my cobwebs.  “Why?” This better not be anything about embracing my ‘true self’ or whatever Maturosis claptrap Little Voices filled her ears with.

“For including Ivy in your play,” she reached up and got a box of macaroni and cheese off the top shelf.  “That was very nice of you and better than any present you could have given her.”

“How was I supposed to know today was her birthday?”  I asked. “She never brought it up!”  I would have thought that she wouldn’t have shut up about it all week.  “I did it so she wouldn’t cry.”

Janet petted me again. “That makes it even nicer.”

It did. Didn’t it?  I’d been steadily ignoring her while trying to balance out the baking soda that was Amy with the vinegar that was Tommy and Chase. Ivy had been raising her hand, too, practically begging for attention. Mine, Chaz’s, Tommy’s…probably not Amy’s…and we ignored her.

Every other time I’d hurt the mindfucked faux Yamatoan, it had been on purpose or impulse. Never by accident.  That felt weird.  What else was I supposed to do?

“Tomorrow’s gonna suck,” I mumbled.

“You got invited for a playdate and you said yes,” Janet reminded me.  “It was sweet.”

If Zoge and her husband hadn’t invited us in the privacy of Beouf’s empty classroom, I would’ve said no.  If I hadn’t found out that today had been Ivy’s birthday I still would have said no.  If Ivy hadn’t shown she had the ability to casually unlock Amazon grade restraints, I might have found a reason anyways.  “It still gonna suck.”

“It was still very sweet.”  The cart slowed through the wine aisle, and Janet started eyeing different bottles.  “Do you want some ice cream?” she asked. “For dessert?” Three guesses on what she was planning for ‘dessert’.

“Tell me again,” I said, “about what Helena-”

“Amy’s Mommy,” Janet tried to correct me.

“-about what Ms. Madra and the others said to Brollish to get her to let us use the bounce houses.” 

Janet’s expression of schadenfreude mirrored my own.  “I already told you.”

“Tell me again,” I coaxed. “Line by line. Where you found her.  What she said.  What they said.  I wanna picture the light leaving her eyes when she realized that she wasn’t gonna win this one.”

“You are such a spiteful Little brat,” she snickered.

I went for the throat.  “But you love me…”

Janet’s resistance plummeted right in front of me. Her crazy amped up and her heart left a puddle on aisle five that would need to be cleaned up.

“Okay, so first we went to Coach, and pitched the idea of letting Littles on and having a house all to yourselves for five minutes at a time as long as we supervised.” 

I grabbed the sides of the cart seat and boosted myself to adjust. “Mmmhmmm.  Five minutes on, then back of the line, just like everybody else.”

“Exactly, but he was worried that Brollish might well…”

“Be Brollish?” I offered.

“Mmmmhmmmm,” Janet agreed. “So we had to clear it with her.”

I was seconds away from reliving the greatest victory of the day that I wasn’t a part of, but a familiar face crossed into view.  “Tracy?” 

Janet halted and looked behind her.  “Tracy!”

My former assistant looked like a deer caught in the headlights.  “Oh! Hi Ms. Grange!” She waved but didn’t move her cart any closer to ours.

Janet bridged the gap between them and pulled us up to her. Tracy looked like she’d just swallowed a goldfish. It’s always awkward meeting people from work, unexpectedly. Even more when you hate your job.

“Small world,” Janet said. “How are you?”

“I’m…good.” Tracy lied. If I hadn’t seen her just yesterday with snot bubbling out of her nose, I would have fallen for it too.  She was an exceptionally good liar when she needed to be. “We’re just getting a few things for dinner this weekend.”

“Us too,” Janet echoed. “We’ve been at Oakshire Elementary all day. Fall Festival celebrations. Bounce houses. Candy. You get it.”

“We?” I asked.

Neither woman appeared to have heard my question.  “Did some volunteer work passing out Tricker Treats,” Janet said, “but got to spend most of it having fun. Pretty much a day off.”

“That’s nice,” Tracy said emptily.

“What about you? Did you do anything special today?”

“I wasn’t needed,” Tracy said. “So we just took a personal day.” None of the bitterness or anguish from yesterday made its way into the conversation.

“We?” I said again. “We who?”  My question was answered by the arrival of another Amazon.

Out on the internet among the MistuhGwiffin community and others of its ilk, there are urban rumors and conspiracy theories aplenty of Amazon technologies that would make the current monstrosities seem tame in comparison: Serums that fundamentally undo puberty characteristics and add baby fat; portals to fantastical All Little dimensions ripe for the coddling and conquering; unbirthing procedures that see a full grown Little put into a coma and then shoved into an Amazon’s uterus until muscular atrophy takes hold and then they’re re-birthed.

I personally don’t believe in any of these, because if Amazons could reliably do anything to make us even more their diapered pets, they would, Little Voices be damned.

Looking at the size of the Amazon that came and stood next to Tracy, you would forgive me for thinking that maybe the rumors of size changing technology were true.

He was towering, even by Amazonian metrics; a true giant among giants. He could have snapped Mark like a twig; ground Brollish into dust beneath his heel. He could have lifted Ambrose off her feet or shoved Forrest down on her ass with one hand. If two other Littles had magically popped up beside me, I suspect he could have juggled us.  Tracy could have ridden comfortably on his hip in the same way that Janet toted me around.

He had more than just raw size about him. He had dark black hair, darker than Janet’s that he wore in a ponytail. And a neatly trimmed handlebar mustache with a few flecks of gray. His dark brown eyes complimented caramel colored skin, almost contrasting with Tracy’s fair complexion or the farmer’s tans she sometimes developed over long weekends playing paintball. His arms were muscular, but he had a bit of a gut beneath his short sleeved button up. He didn’t exercise so much as whatever he did for a living made him work out. 

The goliath put two full jugs of orange juice and milk into Tracy’s cart. “That should be good for a while.” His voice was warm, yet gravelly; a dire wolf that could give a friendly wine or warning growl with equal credibility. I knew instinctively that I didn’t want to hear this man bark.

He rose back up, and noticed the shelves of reds and whites. “We cooking with wine tonight?  Pollo morado?”

Tracy chuckled as if she’d heard an old joke. “I’m not that bad of a cook anymore.”  She playfully slapped the behemoth on the bicep and my heart stopped. He laughed quietly like he scored a point at something.  Tracy turned her head at us and said, “When we first started dating, I tried to cook a fondue for him, and I used red wine instead of white, you know, to cook the chicken in. Turned it purple. He’s never let me live it down.”

“Never.” The mammoth agreed.

She stood on her tiptoes and he bent over so they could give each other a kiss and my idiot brain finally put things together.  “Tracy?!” I gasped. I couldn’t help it. “This is your husband?!”

My Tweener friend’s personal backup plan to avoid Adoption had a lot more credibility in my eyes. If he came into an I.E.P. meeting or to a courthouse and said he was adopting Tracy, there wouldn’t be anyone with the intestinal fortitude to object.  I was surprised she didn’t ask him to protect her from Ambrose and Brollish.  He looked like he could wring one’s neck and still have a hand free for the other.

When I spoke up, something seemed to click behind her husband’s eyes. He said something to Tracy in another language. Mayztepic, I thought, but I only knew a handful of basic words like “Hola” and “Adios”, and this wasn’t any of those.

“Si,” Tracy said, softly.  Then she said to Janet and I. “Ms. Grange. Clark. This is my husband. Emiliano.”

Her husband  took half a step forward and reached past.  “Emiliano Limpiaparabrisas,” he introduced himself.

“Janet Grange,” Janet said, taking his hand and shaking it lightly. “Nice to meet you.” She released it, stepped to the side and she motioned to me with her other. “This is-”

He broke off his handshake immediately and reached out to me in the shopping cart. “Emiliano Limpiaparabrisas. Es un placer.” Then he translated, “It’s a pleasure.”

I put my hand in his palm and his fingers engulfed me. “Clark…Clark Guh…I’m Clark.  It’s nice to meet you Mr. Limpy…?Mr. Limpia…?” I was trying to pronounce his name phonetically and failing hard.

“Lim-pia-pa-ra-BRI-sas,” he said slowly. It still didn’t help that much. 

My lips were mouthing it, slowly- I caught Janet doing it too- but I was feeling too embarrassed and anxious to try saying it.

Tracy looked embarrassed for me.  “This is why I have most people just call me Miss Tracy at work.”  She was gracious enough not to mention or say anything about children that might compare me to them.

Her husband showed no sign of offense. “Don’t worry about it,” he said. “It’s tricky. Means windshield wiper. A joke my great-great-grandpa came up with when he emigrated. He watched his friends at the front of the line get their names changed from ‘Rodriguez’ to ‘Rogers’ and ‘Garcia’ to ‘Garret’ by a buncha idiotas with clipboards. He decided to do them one better. Spelled it out and everything. Now I’m stuck with it.”  He grinned big and toothy.

“Good thing you’re a mechanic,” Tracy chirped. “It fits.”

“It fit great-great-great-grandpa, too,” he said. 

Completely disarmed in the moment, I forgot all manners and social graces. I just had to know:  “What did his last name used to be?”

Tracy’s husband frowned, menacing craggy lines forming on his face from his forehead down the bridge of his nose.  “I…don’t…know…?”

Janet looked abashed. “I’m so sorr-!”

The apology on my behalf was cut off by Emiliano’s big booming belly laugh. “AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!”  He doubled over, and slapped his thigh. Any tension that had built up in those seconds dissipated immediately. He rubbed his eye a bit, as if wiping away tears of laughter.  “Nobody’s ever asked, and neither did I!”

Janet and Tracy laughed politely, both seeming more at ease over the awkwardness. I felt at ease too for perhaps a different reason.  I took in the man’s clothes: plain and simple without ostentation, but neat and cared for. No stains, holes, rips, or wrinkles.  And his mannerisms, from the way he moved to how he talked, there was an element of practiced ease to them. 

I may have been projecting, but I saw something of myself in this man.  All of my life, I’d crafted an image to make people see me as competent and relatably adult.  Tracy’s husband had mastered the art of seeming less threatening.  The world was too big for me, and too small for him, and both of us had no doubt learned a trick or two.

He said something quickly to Tracy. The words might as well have been encoded in trinary to my ears, save for “Grange” and “Gibson”. 

Tracy nodded. “Si.”

“How about this?” he offered when he turned back to me. “Since we both don’t know about last names, you just call me ‘Mr. L.’ and I’ll call you ‘Mr. G’. Deal?”

Mr. G!  Plausible deniability! Malicious Compliance!  I liked this man. I really liked this man!  “Deal! Yes! Thanks Mr. L.!”

“De nada, Mr. G.”

Janet must’ve been willfully oblivious to not see what was being said right under her nose. She clasped her hands together and let out a melodic, “Awwwwww!”

My Mommy barely had time to comment further when Emiliano turned the charm back on.  “My wife has told me all about you two,” he said, his tone soft spoken and pleasant. He pointed to me and Janet in rapid succession.  “She told me that I would probably like you and that you were probably the best person he could have ended up with…after…” he showed the first bit of discomfort. “...you know.”  He waited a beat and then announced. “I think I agree with her.”

Janet put one hand on her chest, and the other between my shoulder blades. “Thank you so much for saying that,” she said. “Clark is wonderful. I’m so lucky to be his Mommy.” Hearing it out loud in public like that still made my skin crawl. My neck and shoulders started to tense up. 

Did I really need to hear about how my life had first fallen apart again?

“You wouldn’t believe how many stories I heard,” he said. “‘Clark said this.’ ‘Gibson did that.’ ‘Jefe, jefe, jefe’.”  He puppeted his left hand to mimic mouth flapping.  Tracy blushed lightly, but still had a flicker of nervousness in her eyes. “I’m really sorry that I didn’t get to meet him first.” 

Ouch. I winced. More living funeral vibes.

Janet’s hand quietly slid up from my back to my shoulder. “Clark and Tracy were a great team.  Everybody knew it.” I watched Janet’s face twitch and twist battling with cognitive dissonance.  “It’s a shame what happened…happened… but everything happens for a reason.”

Her hand drifted off me completely.  She didn’t like the taste of admitting I was a good teacher while being happy that I no longer was one.

Tracy’s husband understood better than I would have hoped for. “It’s a shame,” he said quietly. He looked back down at me. “Jefe, I’m sorry this happened to you. I wish you were still teaching.  How I was raised, you work hard, you are respected, no matter how big or small.” 

Janet looked from me to Tracy to Mayztepic Man Mountain who had just said the quiet part just loud enough to invoke guilt.  “Yeah…it’s been a rough adjustment…but it’s not his fault…and I love him.”

Softly, his words careful lest they break something, he replied. “I agree. I agree. I can see, and I agree.”

A look of contemplation replaced Janet’s previous expression.  “You know what? I think I could really use some ice cream. Miss Tracy? Mister L? Could I ask you a favor?” She waited just long enough for the couple to glance at one another. “Would you mind keeping Clark company while I go to the freezer aisle? I’ll move faster without the cart.”

“No problem,” Tracy said.

Janet touched my shoulder again so I made eye contact. “Is that okay?” she asked. “Are you comfortable with them? I won’t go if you don’t want me to…”  She’d learned since Raine Forrest.

“I trust Tracy,” I said. “And Mr. L.”

“Okay,” Janet said. “I’m not sure what I’m looking for, so I might be a few minutes.” She looked up. “Is that okay?”  The odd-couple nodded that it was. “Do you want a flavor?”

“Coffee?” I asked. “Mocha?”

“I’ll look.”

We waited for Janet to round the aisle.  Tracy stepped up with her arms open wide. Of course I hugged her.  “Hey, Boss.”

“Hey, Tracy.” My eyes clenched shut to maintain my dignity. The awkwardness of my co-worker turned captor looming had thinned, but having Tracy in front of me brought back everything that had happened on Thursday in a fresh wave of hurt. “Good to see you.”

“You too, sir.”

Emiliano shook his head narrowly, staring in the direction Janet had left. “Another mamá loca,” he said half under his breath.

“Janet is okay,” Tracy said. “Mostly.”

“I know, I know,” Emiliano grumbled a bit. “You told me.”

As comparatively small as Tracy was, and as gargantuan as her husband was, I could face forward and keep eye contact with them both at the same time. No need to turn my head, just look straight ahead for Tracy and way way up for Emiliano.

Things were awkward enough, so I saw no reason to hold back.  “Not gonna lie,” I said. “I kinda wondered if she made you up.”

“Dude!” Tracy scoffed. “Really?”

The big man relaxed and smirked. “I work in Elizabeton,” he said. “Long hours.”  His posture somehow both wilted and stiffened at the same time. “Thought I had more time to meet you, too. Thought ten years working meant you had at least ten more.” He sighed and looked away.

Something about the way he said it irked me. It was just like Beouf and Janet talking about the old me over the baby monitor.  “Hey,” I snapped. “I’m wearing a diaper, not dead!”

The biggest person I’d ever seen glared at me. His nostrils flared and his upper lip curled into the beginnings of a snarl. I had provoked the dire wolf.  His hand went to Tracy’s shoulder, and the Tweener placed her comparatively small and fragile atop his.

All the anger went out of him.  “Es verdad,” he said to Tracy. To me he said, “I see why she likes you, Jefe. You got balls. In old Mayztepistan, you'd be wearing la coraza, not pañales."

“Thanks,” I said. “I appreciate it.”

“This shouldn’t have happened to you,” Tracy said. 

I bowed my head. “Yeah. It shouldn’t be happening to you, either.”

“Que?’

I looked up.  Tracy’s back was to her husband’s and her face was raw panic, eyes bugged out and pleading, face draining, and lips tight.  She hadn’t told him yet. I had no idea why, but it wasn’t any of my business to interfere in their marriage.

I put on my ‘lying to Amazons’ face back on.  “Yeah,” I said, looking confused. “Tracy hasn’t told you about my replacement? She’s awful.”  Tracy’s panic retreated back inside of her. “If I hadn’t gotten Adopted, Tracy wouldn’t have to deal with her. I’m sorry.”

Tracy leaned back into her husband and he draped his arms comfortably over her, bringing her into a hug.  “Don’t worry about it, Mr. G.,” Emiliano said. “The crazy, stupid, and evil of this world are not your fault.  We all do what we can.”

“I’ll be fine, Clark,” Tracy said.  She’d be fine, but would she still be here? That’s what I needed to know.

The two conversed in Mayztepic again for a few sentences. “You’re sure Janet is treating you right?” Tracy asked.  Her husband twisted his mouth up, but held his tongue.

“She’s the least worst option I have.” It sounded a lot nicer coming out of me than I thought it would. “She stood up to Brollish today.” I quickly prayed that I wouldn’t be asked for specifics.  Bounce house victories didn’t seem so important in hindsight. 

“Good,” Tracy said. “Good.”

The conversation dulled down to small pleasantries and uncomfortable pauses. Janet came back with two cartons of mocha coffee ice cream. “Okie doke,” she said.  “I think that’s about everything we need for this run.  Thank you,” she nodded to Tracy.  “See you at work?”

Instead of answering, Tracy just said, “It’s always a pleasure with Clark.”  Once again, she spread her arms wide and approached the child seat.  “Can I give you one last goodbye hug?”

I held my arms wide too.  Why did she have to say ‘last’?  Last for the day? Or last for this lifetime?  “Thanks, Boss.” she murmured quietly in my ear. “For everything.”

“You’re welcome, friend.”  I didn’t have the courage to tell her that I’d miss her. Still not ready to say goodbye.

“Come on, mi luchadora,” Emiliano waved Tracy back to their cart.  She started pushing, and he lumbered slowly behind her.  “She’ll see you on Monday, Jefe,” he called back. “Ms. Grange. Mr. G. It was nice to meet you.” It would have meant more coming from the giant man if he’d known that his wife was being diapered at work and contemplating quitting.  It wasn’t my place to tell him, though.  There was a very real chance that I’d never see either of them again.

“See you Monday, Tracy,” I tried to shout, but my voice fell quiet.

Waiting in the check out line, I asked Janet, “Can I have a shower when we get home? I feel gross.”

“Absolutely,” Janet replied. “We’re both gross.”

Another question. “What does ‘Jefe’ mean?”

Janet took out her phone and looked it up.  “I think it means ‘Boss’.”