THE RETURN OF THE PENGUIN

Ashley inhales sharply, like she’s about to step onto a minefield.

Or worse… into a conversation about her dad with her mum.

The air inside is heavier, warmer.

Her stomach twists, the same stormy churn as that time she overdosed on burritos in Camden and had to drink three chamomile teas just to keep from crying.
Only this time, no tea could save her.

She grips the door handle. Breathes once, twice. And pushes it open.

Ashley (loudly, feigning lightheartedness):

"Mom, I’m home…"

Shaniqua (from the kitchen, mock-serious):
"I noticed. Your shoes have been squeaking like they’re auditioning for a horror flick. Honestly, Ashley, the tiles are dramatic enough — any second now they’ll start wailing, ‘Ouch! She’s abusing us again!’ Spare the poor floor the trauma, will you?"

Ashley (sighs, slips off her shoes with theatrical exaggeration, then strolls in, half-grinning):
"I didn’t bring you a souvenir… but I might have brought a plot twist."

Shaniqua (hands on hips, mock-preaching):
"Don’t tell me you’re pregnant now. Ashley Self, what exactly did you get up to in Rio?"

Ashley (rolling her eyes, then going full drama queen):
"Wow. Like mother, like daughter, huh? Not even a ‘how was your flight?’ or ‘did you smuggle back Brazilian snacks?’ Or at least, ‘what happened to that guy you left with?’"

Shaniqua (dry, but with a smirk):
"Then what’s the twist? Unless you’ve adopted a sloth or joined a drum circle, I’m not ready.
So — where’s Tevvie? That was his name, right? Swapped him for a samba dancer?
Although… I don’t hear any maracas."

Ashley (tone softens, but with a flicker of mischief):
"Yeah… Tevvie couldn’t make it this time.
Damn, talking to you just gets harder.
Anyway — it’s not a souvenir.
We’ll get there later.
First, I need to know something.
Was there… a penguin involved the night you conceived me?"

Shaniqua (raising an eyebrow, exasperated, sinking into a chair — pours a glass of sherry and downs it before replying):
"By all that is messy and mildly sacred, not that story again.
Ashley, I’ve told you a thousand times — there was a llama. One llama. One aftershow party. One bad decision.
And maybe — maybe — an entire circus nearby, but honestly, who can recall?
And with that… conversation over. Again."

Lady MacMuffin senses the shift. She leaps from her cushion, fur bristling, back arched, sideways stance — ready to defend Ashley’s emotional turf.

Ashley freezes. Her gaze goes blank, as if a thin veil falls across her eyes. The kitchen dulls, colors fade, the real world dissolves — leaving her suspended in her “ninth dimension.” Her shoulders drop, breath steadies. For a heartbeat, she isn’t really there, but drifting in a weightless place where no one can touch her. She dances there, free of gravity, thought flowing beyond time.

Then her eyes land on the small glass her mother left on the table. Shaniqua is still there, seated, watching. Their eyes meet. In that silence, they listen and almost touch.

Shaniqua (suddenly smiling):
"There was a penguin, love. Now I remember. Funny thing — looked so out of place in its tuxedo among all those rockers."

Ashley (leaning in, soft but pointed):
"Right? That’s exactly what I told Leon.
Leon Austin. Does that name ring a bell?"

Shaniqua (pretending not to remember, her lip trembling just slightly — she takes a slow sip of sherry):
"Why would it?
Leon Austin, you say?
Nope… total blank."

(A heavy silence, buzzing with everything unsaid.)

Ashley (quiet, unconvinced):
"Your hand’s shaking, Mum.
…Please. This matters.
Could he be my father?"

Shaniqua (exhales, half-laughs, bitter):
"He might be, yeah. There’s a chance.
It was chaos back then, okay? I wasn’t exactly handing out business cards and keeping a spreadsheet."

Ashley (tilting her head, dry):
"So basically… I’m the result of a logistical error?"

Shaniqua (shrugs, but with a smile that softens):
"I prefer ‘divine improvisation.’
And you, my love, have never been an error."

Ashley (gentle, cautious):
"But if there’s a chance… would you be okay with him taking a paternity test?"

(Silence again — but lighter this time, less sharp.)

Shaniqua (sighs, then smiles faintly):
"If it helps you sleep at night, girl, swab the whole damn world.
Just promise me I won’t end up on some talk show with envelopes and people yelling ‘he IS the father!’"

Ashley (grins, stands, and hugs her):
"Promise. No talk shows.
But you might get a lifetime supply of CocoLure.
That’s another story, though… and you’ve had enough for today."