I wake up early and Zach is still passed out. Sometime in the night, he'd flipped from being on his stomach on top of me to on his back pressed up against my side. Slowly I extricate myself away from him, easing away and edging off the bed so as not to disturb him. This time it must work, because he doesn't move or shift at all. I throw on a pair of teal and green paisley pajama bottoms and tiptoe out the door and down the stairs. I'm gonna finally make him French toast!
As I pull out ingredients and dishes and utensils to make breakfast, inspiration strikes and I grab a knife. I've felt more creative, inspired, motivated, and enthusiastic in this past week than I have in the past three years. At first I thought it was a sort of post-partum writer's block that happened after my last book came out. But knowing the recent enhancement that encouraged the sudden burst of improvements on both personal and professional levels in my life over the past two weeks allows me to view the timeline differently. I got together with Rich shortly after my book came out. It was the third I'd written, but the first one to receive critical acclaim. The previous books won some attention after this third one became successful, but never did reach its level of fame. I'd written them all in succession over a span of four years, then hit a creative wall for three years. Was my relationship with Rich a contributing factor in why my muse took off?
Not that I can blame Rich entirely. I became complacent and it was easier to turn out scripts whose plots had been assigned than explore my personal psyche for creative fodder for my books. Add into this mix that accountant-Rich abhorred anything in the arts and certainly had no patience or understanding for anything or anyone creative, and it's no wonder I had such a long dry spell. It was simply easier to go with the flow. Suddenly I'm angry for the wasted time, energy, and emotions I'd spent on him. Instead of calling him out for being a cheater, I took the easy way out and took off. And while I'm beyond grateful that it's happened now, my inner drama queen is pissed I allowed it to happen in the first place. I should've dumped his ass two years ago, and I shouldn't have peaced out when it did end without a fight. I want my stuff back! I tighten my grip on the knife. Fighter Shaun makes a vow to call the bastard and tell him I'll be picking up my stuff when I have free time, while peaceful-in-love Shaun cuts and prepares breakfast for Zach, and I'm loving that they're working in simultaneous harmony.
Zach bounds down the stairs in an old pair of my boxers. Yum. He arrives with energy, a smile, and in perfect time, because I'm just pulling his breakfast out of the pan.
"Sit," I instruct, pointing to the table with my spatula. He looks a little leery when he sees me wielding cooking utensils, but plops in the chair I directed him to. I had set a carton of orange juice and glasses there already along with other breakfast condiments, so he pours himself a glass. In an effort to impress him with my perfect plate presentation, it takes me a few more seconds before his breakfast is served: heart-shaped French toast.
The adorable grin on his face makes having almost cutting my finger off trying to shape bread into hearts worth it. I'm clearly not the artist here, but he gets the sentiment. He grabs my thigh and kisses my hip. Then I smell the scrambled eggs, still on the stove, starting to burn. Shit! I jump to the stove but it's too late; they're ruined. Zach laughs as I scrape brown egg goop into the trash. This is what I get for trying too much at once. Oh well, at least the main feature of the morning turned out fine. I load my plate with more French toast and head to the table.
I sit down next to him and pour syrup on my toast. He's paused his eating and is watching me. I look up to see him sensually lick his lips, cut into a piece of his toast-heart, slowly bring it to his lips, and imitate my pathetic attempt at being sexy yesterday.
"Asshole!" I playfully shove his shoulder as he laughs.
"Hey, I thought it was hot," he defends, "but, uh, apparently not everyone's on Team Shaun, you know?"
"Thank God," I reply with a smile, "I don't need a fan club or anything," I joke.
"So does that mean I should request a refund on my membership fees?" he quips.
"Depends," I kid back, "Did you get the membership that comes with the autographed books? Those are pretty rare and that one's worth it."
"Oh, I dunno, I just got the lifetime one." Oh my God. My stomach drops and I inhale, imagining a lifetime of heart-shaped breakfasts and bantering and surfing and "Sleep well" with this man. The sharp intake of breath I took when he said it caused me to shudder and choke, and Zach finally gets what he said and really starts to blush.
I want it. I want it all: a life with Zach, the kid, the yard, the picket fence, the "happily ever after" that I've written about without ever really thinking about or figuring out what it would take to make it happen in any previous relationship.
My eyes start tearing up from coughing and he's suddenly patting me on the back trying to get it to stop. How can I tell him you can't dislodge white-picket fences and all that entails when it's not like they're really there? I finally calm down enough to breathe. Zach looks totally embarrassed and awkward, and while I know he was probably merely being complimentary and not professing undying love and devotion, I feel bad for making him feel bad. "Uh, eggshell," I lamely excuse my choking fit, pointing to my breakfast as I take a sip of juice to calm my throat before continuing. "Uh, what were we talking about?" He looks terrified and I assume he fears I'm about to launch into awkward conversation number three. Poor guy—I am a mess. All I wanted to do was make a cute breakfast for him! "Oh! Yeah, that one's a good membership—you get autographed copies of any upcoming books and the backdated ones so when I become famous, they'll be worth a crap-load of money. Great investment," I assure him, desperately racking my brain to come up with a topic to change subjects to. "Hey, what's on the agenda for today?"
"Oh, I dunno, I picked tagging yesterday. You choose today."
Since I don't think he's quite ready to pick out china patterns with me, I go for the obvious. "How 'bout surfing?"
"Let's go," he agrees. We finish breakfast and Zach insists on doing the dishes, so I take the time he's cleaning to answer a few emails. He makes a big deal about scraping out the frying pan that had the burned eggs in. I stick my tongue out at him as he laughs. We go back upstairs and I lend him a brown striped polo to wear today.
We grab our boards and gear and head to my special surf spot. The waves are awesome, and we surf for several hours before agreeing to call it quits. Heading back to the car, I'm reminded of the last time we took this walk.
"How's the CalArts application coming along?" I ask.
"Uh, pretty good. I've got it nearly all filled out and have some samples and stuff together for my portfolio so if I decide to send it, it'll take, like, ten more minutes' worth of time to finish," he explains. Yes! Wait, if?
"What do you mean 'if'?" I pause mid-step and turn to look at him, nearly knocking him over with my board. He jumps back to avoid the collision.
"I dunno if I'll be able dedicate that kind of time to school, dude, and the money. Even with a scholarship paying for classes, I have bills to pay that a part-time job wouldn't cover. I gotta think about it," he confesses, looking away.
"Master is pleased Student may actually be a student again," I reply. I wish there was a way to wave a magic wand enabling him to go to my alma mater with no issues. I feel like there's got to be a way, but have been so distracted that I haven't had any real time to brainstorm.
"Yeah, well, we'll see," he brushes off the Master/Student banter without playing along. We reach the car and load our boards in the back.
"Shack?" I ask, hoping maybe grabbing a drink will pull him from the funk that the topic of schooling has put him in.
"Yeah, sure," he agrees, looking distracted.
I grasp his biceps and rub them up and down. "Hey, are you okay?"
"Yeah," he replies. "The deadline is at the end of the month so I just need to figure it out by then."
"That's cool. Hey, lemme know if I can help in any way, okay?" I implore, before kissing the spot between his eyes. "I mean it, babe." Zach nods his head.
For once, The Shack is totally dead. We decide to sit at the bar and order a couple beers.
"So, uh, how's the book coming along?" Zach asks, and I remember telling him about it on that same walk back to the car a week and a half ago. I blush and consider telling him it's based on him, but fearing he'll freak out, I just generalize.
"Oh, it's going well! I have a subject and it's basically writing itself," I reply.
"That's awesome!" he enthuses. "Another signed copy to add to my collection," he quips, and I'm relieved he's back to fun-loving Zach.
"Now all I have to do is become super-famous real quick and you can sell them and have no bills to worry over!" I exclaim with a smile.
"Leaked porn video's probably the quickest way to fame," he leers at me. Punk! Does he realize that he'd be playing the role opposite of me in a sex film?
"Well, that's one way of telling Gabe about us!" I reply, and Zach almost spits his beer out he's laughing so hard.
"Oh my God can you imagine the look on his face?" he asks, giggling hysterically at the thought of his blood-brother stumbling upon video proof of his best friend and brother getting it on. I can barely reply because I'm laughing as well, and grateful that the topic of telling Gabe arose and he didn't freeze up. That must mean he sees it happening sometime in the future.
"I bet that would teach him to stop snooping on my laptop," I retort. We finish our beers after we calm down and decide to head home.