Household Gods -- Madison Wiser
Editor's Note: This was a submission for the Holiday Fiction Writing Contest.
Hera lowered his head over the mug of coffee, drinking in the steam. Snowflakes lapped against the frosty windows as he sat watching the blizzard, cold settling under his skin, a shiver lancing through him. Unlike him, Zeus liked their mountain home. She said it reminded her of Olympus.
Zeus hadn’t been home in three days. It wasn’t unusual for Queen of the Gods to be busy, but Hera wasn’t an idiot. He knew since Zeus and the Starbucks barista locked eyes that they would be yet another in a line that stretched around the world and back.
How did the god of marriage file for divorce, anyway?
The front door’s hinges groaned, followed by the tromping of boots on the welcome mat. Hera stood up and went to the stairs, leaning over the railing. There was Zeus, peeling off her gloves. Snow tiptoed through her hair, her lashes. Even during blizzards, her eyes were summer blue, the kind of color people stopped and photographed.
Hera was suddenly reminded why he fell in love.
Three days alone had been, gods forbid he admit it, rough. He felt annoying and dependent admitting it, but Zeus’s personality filled the house. More importantly, she kept the blankets warm on winter nights like these.
He’d tried to fill the days by letting Ares take him out for a drink. The war goddess was loud and all her liquor was painful, liquid fire licking its way down Hera’s throat, but spending time with his daughter would always be precious. Aphrodite took him to a movie, but the love god made him feel so…small. He couldn’t be around Aphrodite’s twinkling eyes and chiseled biceps and California surfer hair more than an hour or two.
Hera would have liked to pin his feelings about Aphrodite on how he treated Hera’s daughter, but Hephaestus didn’t care about men. Or many living things, for that matter. She cared about her forge, her fire, her projects. Centuries ago, throwing her down Mount Olympus hadn’t seemed unreasonable; but even gods grew older and wiser, and Hera wished he could mend things between him and Hephaestus. Most days, it felt like he only had Ares.
“Evening,” Zeus said, looking up at Hera. Hard to believe it was Queen of the Gods when she wore a yellow sweater with lightning bolts on it (Hestia had knitted it. Hera’s had little lotus flowers) and jeans.
“Where have you been for three days?” Hera asked.
His wife pushed her hair back, closed her eyes, and said, “It’s been three days?”
He said, “You couldn’t even be bothered to keep track of the time? Must have been a spectacular weekend, then.” He went down the stairs, stopping a few feet from Zeus.
“Not at all, actually,” she said, a storm flashing across her face as she opened her eyes. They looked red and foggy, like she’d been rolling around in pollen. Or like she’d been-no, Zeus didn’t cry. She asked, “Why are you all dressed up?”
Hera wore half a suit, pressed slacks and a crisp shirt, and for a second he forgot why. Then it hit him. “Dionysus is having a house party tonight. She extended an invitation to us.”
“Tell her we’re not coming,” Zeus said, then cocked her head. “Is that coffee I smell?”
“Yes, there’s coffee, but why aren’t we going?” He followed her into the kitchen, where she went to the coffee pot and poured a mug, then stirred in nectar.
She was quiet as she took a sip and stared out the window. Her eyes were far away, the way they got after her sister, Hades, visited. Hera crossed his arms, then changed his mind and uncrossed them, letting out a breath.
“Zeus?” he asked, walking over to stand beside her. “Is...everything okay?”
“I went to visit Hephaestus,” Zeus said, looking at the counter. “I thought the visit went well at first, I mean, she actually let me inside. We drank orange juice and had ham sandwiches. That was all she had in the fridge. Most of the time she’s in the garage, tinkering with this and that, and Aphrodite’s nowhere to be found. Probably with our other daughter, you know. And then as we were talking it occurred to me that...I don’t know her. We stopped talking after ten or so minutes, and I realized I didn’t know what to talk to her about. I don’t…” she paused to take a breath, closing her eyes again.
“It’s okay,” Hera said, but his voice stuck, like his throat couldn’t contain it. “You don’t have to.”
“Don’t have to what?” she asked, turning toward him. Her gaze pinned down Hera’s and held it in a chokehold. “Don’t have to say out loud that I failed as a mother?”
“It’s been three thousand years.”
“So what? There’s no one left to worship us, so we all become more human by the day, the more we live among them. After Hephaestus asked me to leave, I went every place I knew of-Paris, Brazil, Mumbai-and I saw what human parents are like to their children.” Zeus’s voice shook, and the redness was creeping back into her eyes. “It isn’t what we are.”
Hera bit his lip and said, “That doesn’t matter now.”
“You threw her off a mountain, and I let you do it.”
“She was-”
“What? Ugly? So Ares lived up to your standards?”
“Why is this just coming up now?”
“Because it’s all I can think about these days. I’m not queen of anything anymore, just a dozen dysfunctional people who still cling to the titles of god. Athena puts on a different guise every year and wins the chess world championship. It’s all he looks forward to. Apollo doesn’t have the willpower to bring the sun up anymore-let the earth’s rotation do it, that’s what the humans believe in anyway, she says-and she spends all day in her room, listening to rap, her so-called modern poetry. Poseidon has a half time job at the aquarium. She says teaching kids about the ocean feels like the most meaningful thing she’s ever done. What’s meaningful to you, dearest?”
“Thinking about all that is meaningful to you? What happened to all your…” He couldn’t bring himself to say it.
“I’m tired of putting humans in your path of destruction,” Zeus said, shaking her head. “And I’m tired of putting them in mine too. I want our family to be whole, for once. Me and you and Ares and Hephaestus, and that’s it.”
He looked away and steamed for a bit, unwilling to accept the fact that Zeus might have torn the two of them apart, but he drove away Hephaestus. The prosthetic leg she’d adopted for herself from human technology flashed through his mind.
“No one can hold a grudge like us, huh?” Hera asked, shaking his head.
Zeus shuffled forward and dropped her head onto his shoulder. “I feel like I should still be angry at you for what you did to Hephaestus, but I...I did come home this weekend, once, when you had gone out. It was the day the housekeeper was here-did you know we had a housekeeper?”
Hera rested his head on top of his wife’s and said, “Well, yeah. I hired her.”
“Oh,” she said, “well I ran into her, and she’s very nice. We got to talking and I might have told her about Hephaestus, and she mentioned how she once caught you talking to a photograph of her.” Zeus lifted up her head and said, “You feel guilty, don’t you?”
Drawing in air was painful as he said, “I can’t believe what a monster I was.”
“Both of us were. We all were.”
“You know, I never thought I’d be hearing any of this from you.”
“Surprise.” Her tone was appropriate for an introduction to the world’s most miserable surprise party.
Hera took one of Zeus’s hands and locked their fingers together, saying, “What do you want to do?”
“The housekeeper-her name is Ms. Bericose- told me that when her son told her he wanted to be a composer instead of a doctor, she was furious, and they didn’t talk for years. But she showed up to his college graduation, and apologized to him, and said she was proud no matter what he decided to do. And they made up, because families forgive.”
Hera let the story sink in for a minute before saying,“Wait one minute.” He let go of her hand. “Close your eyes, and don’t open them till I say so.”
“What is this-”
“Just do it. Please?”
Zeus smiled a little, and closed her eyes. Hera began looking around in the kitchen, sliding open drawers as he tried to find the right object for his purpose. He swung open the fridge and saw a package of cantaloupe slices, and decided that would do. He grabbed the fruit, and a knife, and cut a circle, then cut a smaller circle inside that one.
He went back over to Zeus and sunk down to one knee. “Okay. You can open your eyes again.”
Zeus opened her eyes, and looked down at the melon ring in Hera’s hands. Her smile widened. “My dear, are you aware that we’ve been married three thousand years?”
“Yes, but I think we should get married again,” he said, putting the melon ring on her finger. “Don’t you love that one city-Vegas, is it? We can invite everyone and...and start over. Hope Hephaestus will accept an apology. Lose a lot of money in those slot machines.”
“Are you inviting me gambling, Mr. Practical?”
Hera nodded, and Zeus laughed as she looked down at her ring shining in the kitchen light. “Let’s do it. I don’t want to feel three thousand years old anymore.”
“Did Ms. Bericose say that families could only forgive at a certain age limit?”
She smiled as she said, “No, I don’t believe so.”
Hera lowered his head over the mug of coffee, drinking in the steam. Snowflakes lapped against the frosty windows as he sat watching the blizzard, cold settling under his skin, a shiver lancing through him. Unlike him, Zeus liked their mountain home. She said it reminded her of Olympus.
Zeus hadn’t been home in three days. It wasn’t unusual for Queen of the Gods to be busy, but Hera wasn’t an idiot. He knew since Zeus and the Starbucks barista locked eyes that they would be yet another in a line that stretched around the world and back.
How did the god of marriage file for divorce, anyway?
The front door’s hinges groaned, followed by the tromping of boots on the welcome mat. Hera stood up and went to the stairs, leaning over the railing. There was Zeus, peeling off her gloves. Snow tiptoed through her hair, her lashes. Even during blizzards, her eyes were summer blue, the kind of color people stopped and photographed.
Hera was suddenly reminded why he fell in love.
Three days alone had been, gods forbid he admit it, rough. He felt annoying and dependent admitting it, but Zeus’s personality filled the house. More importantly, she kept the blankets warm on winter nights like these.
He’d tried to fill the days by letting Ares take him out for a drink. The war goddess was loud and all her liquor was painful, liquid fire licking its way down Hera’s throat, but spending time with his daughter would always be precious. Aphrodite took him to a movie, but the love god made him feel so…small. He couldn’t be around Aphrodite’s twinkling eyes and chiseled biceps and California surfer hair more than an hour or two.
Hera would have liked to pin his feelings about Aphrodite on how he treated Hera’s daughter, but Hephaestus didn’t care about men. Or many living things, for that matter. She cared about her forge, her fire, her projects. Centuries ago, throwing her down Mount Olympus hadn’t seemed unreasonable; but even gods grew older and wiser, and Hera wished he could mend things between him and Hephaestus. Most days, it felt like he only had Ares.
“Evening,” Zeus said, looking up at Hera. Hard to believe it was Queen of the Gods when she wore a yellow sweater with lightning bolts on it (Hestia had knitted it. Hera’s had little lotus flowers) and jeans.
“Where have you been for three days?” Hera asked.
His wife pushed her hair back, closed her eyes, and said, “It’s been three days?”
He said, “You couldn’t even be bothered to keep track of the time? Must have been a spectacular weekend, then.” He went down the stairs, stopping a few feet from Zeus.
“Not at all, actually,” she said, a storm flashing across her face as she opened her eyes. They looked red and foggy, like she’d been rolling around in pollen. Or like she’d been-no, Zeus didn’t cry. She asked, “Why are you all dressed up?”
Hera wore half a suit, pressed slacks and a crisp shirt, and for a second he forgot why. Then it hit him. “Dionysus is having a house party tonight. She extended an invitation to us.”
“Tell her we’re not coming,” Zeus said, then cocked her head. “Is that coffee I smell?”
“Yes, there’s coffee, but why aren’t we going?” He followed her into the kitchen, where she went to the coffee pot and poured a mug, then stirred in nectar.
She was quiet as she took a sip and stared out the window. Her eyes were far away, the way they got after her sister, Hades, visited. Hera crossed his arms, then changed his mind and uncrossed them, letting out a breath.
“Zeus?” he asked, walking over to stand beside her. “Is...everything okay?”
“I went to visit Hephaestus,” Zeus said, looking at the counter. “I thought the visit went well at first, I mean, she actually let me inside. We drank orange juice and had ham sandwiches. That was all she had in the fridge. Most of the time she’s in the garage, tinkering with this and that, and Aphrodite’s nowhere to be found. Probably with our other daughter, you know. And then as we were talking it occurred to me that...I don’t know her. We stopped talking after ten or so minutes, and I realized I didn’t know what to talk to her about. I don’t…” she paused to take a breath, closing her eyes again.
“It’s okay,” Hera said, but his voice stuck, like his throat couldn’t contain it. “You don’t have to.”
“Don’t have to what?” she asked, turning toward him. Her gaze pinned down Hera’s and held it in a chokehold. “Don’t have to say out loud that I failed as a mother?”
“It’s been three thousand years.”
“So what? There’s no one left to worship us, so we all become more human by the day, the more we live among them. After Hephaestus asked me to leave, I went every place I knew of-Paris, Brazil, Mumbai-and I saw what human parents are like to their children.” Zeus’s voice shook, and the redness was creeping back into her eyes. “It isn’t what we are.”
Hera bit his lip and said, “That doesn’t matter now.”
“You threw her off a mountain, and I let you do it.”
“She was-”
“What? Ugly? So Ares lived up to your standards?”
“Why is this just coming up now?”
“Because it’s all I can think about these days. I’m not queen of anything anymore, just a dozen dysfunctional people who still cling to the titles of god. Athena puts on a different guise every year and wins the chess world championship. It’s all he looks forward to. Apollo doesn’t have the willpower to bring the sun up anymore-let the earth’s rotation do it, that’s what the humans believe in anyway, she says-and she spends all day in her room, listening to rap, her so-called modern poetry. Poseidon has a half time job at the aquarium. She says teaching kids about the ocean feels like the most meaningful thing she’s ever done. What’s meaningful to you, dearest?”
“Thinking about all that is meaningful to you? What happened to all your…” He couldn’t bring himself to say it.
“I’m tired of putting humans in your path of destruction,” Zeus said, shaking her head. “And I’m tired of putting them in mine too. I want our family to be whole, for once. Me and you and Ares and Hephaestus, and that’s it.”
He looked away and steamed for a bit, unwilling to accept the fact that Zeus might have torn the two of them apart, but he drove away Hephaestus. The prosthetic leg she’d adopted for herself from human technology flashed through his mind.
“No one can hold a grudge like us, huh?” Hera asked, shaking his head.
Zeus shuffled forward and dropped her head onto his shoulder. “I feel like I should still be angry at you for what you did to Hephaestus, but I...I did come home this weekend, once, when you had gone out. It was the day the housekeeper was here-did you know we had a housekeeper?”
Hera rested his head on top of his wife’s and said, “Well, yeah. I hired her.”
“Oh,” she said, “well I ran into her, and she’s very nice. We got to talking and I might have told her about Hephaestus, and she mentioned how she once caught you talking to a photograph of her.” Zeus lifted up her head and said, “You feel guilty, don’t you?”
Drawing in air was painful as he said, “I can’t believe what a monster I was.”
“Both of us were. We all were.”
“You know, I never thought I’d be hearing any of this from you.”
“Surprise.” Her tone was appropriate for an introduction to the world’s most miserable surprise party.
Hera took one of Zeus’s hands and locked their fingers together, saying, “What do you want to do?”
“The housekeeper-her name is Ms. Bericose- told me that when her son told her he wanted to be a composer instead of a doctor, she was furious, and they didn’t talk for years. But she showed up to his college graduation, and apologized to him, and said she was proud no matter what he decided to do. And they made up, because families forgive.”
Hera let the story sink in for a minute before saying,“Wait one minute.” He let go of her hand. “Close your eyes, and don’t open them till I say so.”
“What is this-”
“Just do it. Please?”
Zeus smiled a little, and closed her eyes. Hera began looking around in the kitchen, sliding open drawers as he tried to find the right object for his purpose. He swung open the fridge and saw a package of cantaloupe slices, and decided that would do. He grabbed the fruit, and a knife, and cut a circle, then cut a smaller circle inside that one.
He went back over to Zeus and sunk down to one knee. “Okay. You can open your eyes again.”
Zeus opened her eyes, and looked down at the melon ring in Hera’s hands. Her smile widened. “My dear, are you aware that we’ve been married three thousand years?”
“Yes, but I think we should get married again,” he said, putting the melon ring on her finger. “Don’t you love that one city-Vegas, is it? We can invite everyone and...and start over. Hope Hephaestus will accept an apology. Lose a lot of money in those slot machines.”
“Are you inviting me gambling, Mr. Practical?”
Hera nodded, and Zeus laughed as she looked down at her ring shining in the kitchen light. “Let’s do it. I don’t want to feel three thousand years old anymore.”
“Did Ms. Bericose say that families could only forgive at a certain age limit?”
She smiled as she said, “No, I don’t believe so.”