Sophie.
Eight years of age.
An orphan: a motherless child that knows not of where life will take her next.
Only that's not entirely true, because there is direction - a possibility that her life may be channeled and cared for by one, Ms Gail Peck.
And it's neither the first, nor second glass of wine that makes Holly register these facts, but the all-consuming heaviness that silence brings as it lingers in the kitchen. It's a continuous struggle in the quiet, sombre room, with its deafening lull but she endeavors all the same to fathom such information as Gail dutifully remains astride her bar stool, quiet in her assessment of Holly's contemplation.
It's been at least ten minutes; she knows this much because the clock has been mocking her present condition ever since the last time she gazed upon it, mere seconds before she received Gail's unexpected presentation. And there was no way she could have anticipated it – the array of words – as she rambled in such an uncharacteristic fashion that Holly was forced to abandon her time keeping and subconsciously turn off the stove.
The night was supposed to be about finding their way back to a semblance of what once was, but now..
Now things looked far different: entirely detailed and rather curious, altogether.
"Holly.." She's not sure how to respond or if she can at all, but she does manage to muster all of her efforts into looking at Gail, if only to placate her during this interlude. It lasts barely a couple seconds before she has to look away, the revelation hitting her anew again, and much more strongly this time as she exhales profoundly. She wraps her arms around her midsection as she idles in the kitchen, her eyes wavering over the many items left desolate.
"I know this seems out of the blue."
"You could say that."
"But it's not for me. I- I can't let her go into Foster Care, Holly. I won't let her go through that, not if I can help it; not if I can adopt her. It's not like it's gonna happen tomorrow, but you should know- deserve to, if.." She drifts off, exhaling loudly as she looks down to the island, ringing her arms out as she flexes her hands emphatically across the cool surface.
"This is a lot to process." Gail almost misses the quiet admission from across her as she palms the worktop, but the soft timbre of her voice has her mesmerized, even with the words she has spoken. She keeps her head down, eyes downcast as her fingers bunch together and form into fists.
"It is."
"You have to give me time."
"If that's what you need."
"It is." Gail looks up to Holly then and slowly nods her head, wishing she could discern the smallest of insights from Holly's poker face – but she gives her nothing. She lets her eyes stray back to the counter as her weight slackens uncomfortably on the stool.
"Does that mean there'll be another conversation?" She asks in hope, though she keeps her voice as level as possible.
"Gail, of course there'll be another conversation. I'm not showing you the door now, am I?"
"I don't know; I wouldn't hold it against you." She says trailing her fingers across the island, ignoring the wine glass set for her. Alcohol is definitely not the answer right now, though it would be a nice distraction.
"It's just.." Holly grapples to find the right words, but she stops short, unable to encapsulate the sheer magnitude of what Gail is saying, let alone asking, however indirectly.
"A lot to process." She's grateful for Gail not pressing the issue, and for merely recycling her words as she nods just the once.
"Yes, it is."
Gail stops all her movement and looks back up to Holly, staring intently for a long period of time before she resigns, nodding her head resolutely this time.
"So, I'll go." Holly feels it then, originating from her gut as she watches Gail stand dejectedly from the stool, pushing herself away from the island as she prepares to leave. They hadn't even ate, the food lying waste to the world as Holly once again finds herself earnestly surrendering to the surge of feeling spreading wildly throughout her body, this time by the prospect of Gail walking out of the door.
She's not ready for her to be gone, not when she's only just gotten her back.
"Gail." And it's like she knows. It's like Gail's body responds as she halts and twists and turns until it's eventually met with Holly's, who collides gently into her, pressing firmly against her front as she seeks to swiftly connect their lips together.
They're not entirely sure what the kiss means exactly, unable to draw anything concrete from the way their lips meld together in perfect synchronicity, but one thing is for certain – there is and will always be a connection between them. It's palpable. Unmistakeable. And utterly carnal in that they just can't break away from each other no matter what happens, for they find themselves right back here, meshing together with unquenchable, eager fusion.
It drives them, feeds their souls. Stimulates their hearts into beating faster, forcing every trace of thought away so they can just exist in this moment that is being conceived.
This connection is rare. This chemistry is fatal. And they know that it will either make or break them this time.
Because now it's not just them, there's someone else to be accounted for.
Sophie.
Eight years of age.
An orphan: a motherless child that knows not of where life will take her next.
Only that's not entirely true, because there is direction - a possibility that her life may be channeled and cared for by one, Ms Gail Peck.
And the only question that stands now is whether Holly will or will not be a part this journey?