Disclaimer: NO way am I Lisi.
AN: I was in a one-shot mood. So, here goes: dedicated to all you readers out there.
Indecisive
Kemp Hurley loved his wife. There was no doubt about it. She was sweet and caring, always making sure that the smallest things were in order for him and their family whenever they were ready to eat. She even had his special forks out (he preferred silver to stainless steel), making sure that nobody sat at his chair, and that his football game was on every night. She would refrain from nagging him, make him any kind of sandwich he wanted, no matter how he asked, and she would stop in the middle of whatever story she was telling when he said he wasn't in the mood.
Allie-Rose Singer-Hurley was more like a well-trained pooch than a wife. So Kemp Hurley had to be more like a master than a husband.
Kemp Hurley had feelings for his personal assistant. There was no denying it. She was witty and independent, always making sure that he knew that he would never get her on the leash. He wanted a coffee run, he'd better have included a buck or two for her to get her own cappuccino. If he wanted important, classified, business papers delivered, she would look through it herself, just to make sure things were in order. When Allie-Rose left his office, and her picture went back into the desk, she would dig it out to tease him with, asking if he couldn't keep his hands out of the cookie jar.
Nina Callas was more like a home-wrecker than an employee. So somebody had to be there to open the door for her to enter said home.
Kemp Hurley wasn't sure why he wanted both in his life. It wasn't like he was going to divorce Allie-Rose for Nina; but it wasn't like he was about to fire Nina for Allie-Rose either. He wasn't sure what he wanted, why he felt the need to step out so often. His therapist couldn't quite figure it out either – he'd had nothing traumatic in his childhood. But still, he wanted both.
He wanted someone who was sweet like Allie-Rose, but knew when to get an attitude like Nina. He wanted caring like the former, and independence like the latter. He wanted to be politely asked to quiet down sometimes, but others, he wanted to be straight up told what bad things were going to happen if he didn't zip it.
He wanted someone who was a mix of all those traits.
He wanted Layne Abeley.
Kemp Hurley visited her grave often. It was the third one from the right on the fourth row – he remembered it by heart. Sometimes, he would talk to it, telling her what was going on with the people she'd known when she was alive. He knew that he was actually just talking to a big, engraved rock – her spirit, her soul, whatever you wanted to call it, could've never been there. And still, he insisted on doing so for reasons he wasn't quite sure of.
And then he'd leave, and start the cycle all over again – but not after tracing the message on the tombstone, fighting his tear ducts for all costs.
LAYNE MARIE ABELEY
FEB 1984 – AUG 2002 (AGE 18)
DIED ALONE
"That's not true," he'd whisper to himself, slowly before getting up and dusting his pants off. "She had me."