If his heart is a compass, then she will forever be north.
[-]
It's the little pain the ass with the curly hair wound up in loose ponytail and mini-him Chuck Taylors that brings him full circle. Yeah, it sounds perverted to be attributing everything to this letter hellion, but thank you devilish child.
I mean, it could have easily been his qualities that he saw as she scaled the climbing wall, Casey's eye shadow punching holes of fright into her face. She looks so terrified, high up gazing out into the open world with empty spaces abounding. He knows how she feels; it's overwhelming. What he wouldn't give to be seven and not know what to do with all the terrain before him.
The truth is, he's twenty-four and can see that wide open terrain full of things that he never knew at seven. He sees his KT brothers standing firm and tall, red cups raised in salute. College will end, but there is no such thing as being left behind. He knows that now. A fun job where he can do what he loves, building a world where creation and confusion blend making a fantastical circus. And most importantly, she is there.
Blonde, beautiful, and all his. The best surprise is what she's holding. Tiny and pink, perfect with little seashell toes and tufts of cocoa hair, electric blue orbs matching those of her father.
It's not what he saw at seven or seventeen or twenty three. But now at twenty four, it's all he can imagine.
[-]
Of course they would be yelling at each other. Her hands on her hips, elbows jutted out angrily as she watches his face twist and grimace with each stab she takes. His hands fly up in apology for anything, everything that has done or will do. And yet, she won't take his word for nothing.
[-]
Ironically enough when she is cursing at him, slapping a heel against the hardwood floor, she feels like a mother as always. The only difference is this time, she's not feeling like his. There is a little girl with a loose curly ponytail and copycat green orbs like her own that's lining her eyes and shouting out football plays behind a frozen door.
She wants to laugh because for a minute they are husband and wife and that little girl belongs to them. Cappie's fire and spunk. Casey's eyes and innocence.
It's almost too much to bear and she wonders if she should have taken that pill after all because their own little girl would be too perfect to put into sentence.
[-]
With arms clutching the robin's egg sky, he waits for responsibility to whack the air out of him, and it does. A smirk twitches on his mouth. He's a daddy. Well until this hellacious day of arts and crafts and his wife (Jesus, he does love the sound of that though) riding him about their little baby stuck on top of the climbing wall is finished.
Hailey lets go, trusting him and lands like an exploding bomb into his chest, puncturing the deeper hole that is already omnipresent around Casey, who takes the tiny fingers leading their pseudo-excuse for a daughter inside.
Mom and daughter. His girls. He flinches, this is pretend. They're not adults, they're kids. But they could have had one of the latter.
(That aches a bit in his stomach.)
[-]
Again the rejection stings, but he can see in her crumbled exterior that it's bringing down her walls. The strings of words wrap around his torso, strangling him and all he wants to do is yell and shout at her that they have been married for years now and the kids are okay and it's all going to be fine.
Maybe he has to show her. Lights and pie. Coconut custard was then. This is now and he thinks mixed berry will be a better fit. A new combination for a new expectation that he finally got to. That warrants a smile.
[-]
And here she is again being lectured by Rusty, who is talking to her about change and alteration and aspiration. Then suddenly there is inspiration and she understands why he is fighting so hard, feet planted on the ground and head in the clouds.
He's trying. And this time it's not just for her. She finally believes him.
[-]
It's like some kind of magical wonderland where she falls down the rabbit hole where he smile like a rapscallion rogue that knows exactly what she's thinking. The lawn glows neon pomegranate pinks and tangerine oranges, rainforest greens, sunshine yellows, juicy grape purples. Silk ribbons, velvet ropes, lace links follow suite over the merry-go-round and whip the wind of a swingset. A picnic of pie delights the quilt of mismatched swatches, letting deliciousness seep into skin.
And his grin is groundbreaking, the way he ravishes her like second grade love. Without judgment, without flaw, and with more joy than a toothless kid with double stuff Oreos.
Breath hitches in her throat, promises written on her tongue. His devotion stitched on his lips. The world is an awful ugly place if he isn't there to make it taste good.
[-]
Fairytales are all that exist in his world. She is his queen and he is the king. Real life is all that exists in her world. She is the girl and he is the boy. But in their world, she is the queen and he is the king and she is the girl and he is the boy and together they are Cappie and Casey. And whatever they are is mixed equally.
[-]
They are every once upon a time and every happily ever after. Every head over heels and tragic love story. Each forever and first love. Fairytales and folklore and sonnets and poetry pale in comparison.
They are the one chance. Only one.