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Telemachus leaned against the doorframe, a soft smile on his face. His parents were dancing, more like swaying, to a simple tune his father hummed. His mother was smiling. Their intertwined hands were out to the side, and Penelope’s other hand rested on Odysseus’s shoulder, pulling him closer. His hand was on her waist, and he leaned up to bump their noses together. Penelope giggled.
“Oh, she takes care of herself,” Odysseus sang in a soft, breathy tenor that made Telemachus raise his eyebrows in surprise. “She can wait if she wants, she’s ahead of her time. Oh, and she never gives out, and she never gives in, she just changes her mind.”
Odysseus spun Penelope around, dipping her low. Penelope laughed, full and throaty. Odysseus lifted her slowly, both hands on her waist now as Penelope put both arms around his neck.
“She is frequently kind, and she’s suddenly cruel. She can do as she pleases, she’s nobody’s fool.”
“You know I am.”
Odysseus giggled, high and sharp. He pressed their foreheads together. Telemachus couldn’t see his face anymore, but the smile in his voice was audible. “She can’t be convicted, she’s earned her degree. And the most she will do is throw shadows at you, but she’s always a woman to me.”
Penelope took Odysseus’s face in her hands and kissed him. Telemachus smiled as he slipped away. It was good to have his father home.