It was late one evening when she finally sits down on the sofa to watch television. It had been a long day of working, then coming home to the two kids, then getting them fed, bathed, and off to bed, and then cleaning up dinner and packing lunches for the following day.
Yes, life as a full time working mother was difficult, but he was a wonderful father and a huge help to her every day, though tonight he was nowhere to be found. She hears the distant sound of drawers opening and closing, doors squeaking, and feet shuffling around the house.
"Jesse?" she calls quietly, not wanting to wake the kids.
He stomps into the room, a sour expression on his face. "Have you seen my collector's edition Iron Man DVD where the case looks like Iron Man's helmet?"
"Um, no," she smiles at him, trying not to laugh, "If I had I probably would have mocked you for owning it."
"I get that it's not important to you, but it's important to me. Have you seen it?" he repeats.
"No," she answers, looking amidst the shelves in their family room to see if it ended up there. "Maybe the kids got a hold of it. Where did you see it last?"
"If I knew that, I wouldn't be looking for it," he says sarcastically.
"Ok, sorry," she frowns, noting his foul mood, "If you can't find it, we can always replace it."
"No, we can't," he's pacing around the room. "You don't understand!" he snaps. "It's irreplaceable to me!"
"Why, because it's a collector's edition? We can look on eBay for another—"
He shakes his head, "You don't remember, do you? We bought it together in college. It was the first DVD I bought after I met you. We were in Target and you mocked it and called me a dork because I thought it was awesome. So it's not just some dumb DVD to me, Beca. I know you're not a sentimental person, but I am!"
She stomps out of the room and up the stairs to their bedroom, flinging open her closet door. She rummages around for a moment before unearthing a rather large box that has been decorated with various doodles, music related stickers, and handwritten quotes. She lifts it, carrying it back downstairs and drops it on the floor with a resounding thunk.
"How dare you say I'm not sentimental?" She tears the lid off the box, which is practically overflowing with stuff.
And one by one, she removes each item, spreading them on the sofa, the coffee table, and any bare surface she can find.
She holds up the first item, "The paper airplane you made for me on our first date. The first letter you ever wrote me the summer after freshman year. The program from the first ICCA finals where we kissed. The photo that Amy took of us kissing that night. A flash drive with the first mix I ever let you listen to copied on it. A dried rose from the night you proposed. Receipts which show the date and time I bought the pregnancy tests that showed that we were going to have Melody and Aria. A copy of our wedding invitation. The ticket you used to fly to L.A. after you decided to leave New York to be with me. The black lace top you ripped from me that night you gave me the best orgasm of my life, at least at that point anyway. The ticket stubs from the first movie we saw in the theater together. The lists we made when we were trying to name the kids. The boutonniere you wore on the day of our wedding. A printout of the first email you ever sent me. The pair of underwear that I was wearing the first night we made love, cleaned of course. My wedding veil. The tiny black bikini that you loved so much that I can no longer fit into. The sling you made for me when I injured my shoulder sophomore year. A million pictures of us. The tie you were wearing the night we first kissed. And—"
She stops abruptly in her rant, and looks up at him. He is slack-jawed, his eyes wide in surprise as she tilts the box toward him so that he can see what's in the bottom.
"The first DVD we ever bought together," she finishes as she lifts out the collector's edition Iron Man DVD that he'd been looking for and places it in his hands.
A silence fills the room as he stares at the DVD case, turning it over in his hands carefully. He looks up at her.
"You know I really loved that tie. I looked for it all over," he says quietly, his eyes sparkling. "I had no idea you kept all this, Beca. I'm so sorry, I'm an idiot."
"Yes, you are," she frowns at him, her arms crossed over her chest.
He gets up from the sofa, moving to stand beside her, "So I gave you the best orgasm of your life, huh?"
"You've given me all my orgasms," she clarifies, her eyes narrowing at him.
"Touché," he replies, brushing her hair from her face.
She still won't look at him, so he moves his fingers to begin undoing the tiny buttons on her shirt. "That lacy top was sexy as hell," he says softly, his lips just brushing the shell of her ear. "It's a shame it got ruined."
"By you," she says, but the edge is leaving her voice.
He removes her shirt, leaving her standing there in her bra and jeans. He picks up the black lace top and slowly pulls it over her head. It's torn up the side pretty badly and has small rips in other places too, but he manages to put it on her. Her skin is exposed, and he can see her bra through the top as he kneels before her, pressing feather light kisses everywhere he sees skin.
She sighs, her hands moving to his hair. "Jesse," she whispers.
"Mmm?" he says, kissing the line of skin where the top fails to meet the waistband of her jeans.
"I'm still mad at you," she tells him.
"I know," he stands, picking her up in one fluid motion before carrying her to the steps. "What can I do to make it up to you?" he asks, kissing her neck.
"You can clean up all my things before the kids destroy them tomorrow," she says, closing her eyes as his lips move to the sensitive spot just below her ear.
"Mmhmm," he murmurs into her skin as he lays her on the bed.
"And you can make me breakfast in bed," she continues.
"Mmkay," he breathes into the space between her breasts.
"And I guess," she sighs, arching her back to give him better access, "You can try to give me the best orgasm of my life."
"I accept the challenge, Mrs. Swanson," he smiles, covering her body with his own.
And he does.