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Word Prompt: Blind
I love the holidays. I went through kind of a cynical phase the first year I was a mother, but since then I've regained some of the wonder I had as a kid. Having a child of my own does that, I think. And this? Is the first holiday season in years where I have a date.
Not just any date, either - a better-than-a-place-holder, consistent-plus-one, about-to-be-my-husband, date. He's a special brand of sexy when he goes business casual or preppy, in v-neck sweaters and dress shirts and scarves and things. Seeing him all dressed up makes me want to just strip him down and have my wicked way.
"You're the hot girl next door," he says, eyes raking appreciatively over my classy - but rather sexy - red Christmas dress.
"And you're the trophy husband," I say, wondering how I'm going to get through the candlelight service at Sue and Charlie's church while sitting beside this guy.
Generally, Thanksgiving and Christmas are busy times when you're a caterer. Besides the usual birthdays, weddings and anniversaries, there are office parties and school parties and administrative parties and just...everyone's having parties. Between my crazy schedule and Charlie's preschool having a variety of "free days" due to the season, she ends up spending lots of time with her Aunt and Uncle. I know she's happy there, and I enjoy my job, but I miss her. I'll be glad when things slow down again.
Meanwhile, the Sounders finish off a great season, but they don't make the playoffs. While Edward's not happy about this, he doesn't react as dramatically as I feared he would.
"You okay?" I ask one morning, over a quick breakfast. We're both rushing: I've an appointment at ten, and he's taking Charlie to see another house. Maybe that's one benefit of the season being over for him: he's had more one on one with her.
"Yeah." His eyes meet mine over our coffee mugs. "Why?"
"We haven't really talked about it too much, but you can tell me if you're like...bummed out. About not being in the playoffs."
He shrugs. "It's always going to be disappointing. Kind of anti-climactic...but a year ago I didn't think I was going to be able to play again at all. So...you know. Perspective."
I watch him closely, trying to determine if his words are genuine or if he's simply trying to encourage both himself and me - I wouldn't blame him one bit if that was the case - but no; he's being real.
"I admire that about you," I say.
Surprise flickers across his face. "What?
"Your...positivity. Your perspective."
"You know I have shit days, babe."
"Yes, but you don't wallow."
"Wallowing's for pussies," he jokes. "Seriously, though, to play at this level you have to have your mind right. Otherwise? You'll never make it. A lot of guys are so blind to that; they think it's about their footwork, their game...and it is, to an extent. But the guys that stick around are the ones who learn to control what's here." He taps his temple. "That's all it is. A lot of people defeat themselves mentally way before they're ever defeated on the field."
"That's so true," I say. "And that goes for life in general, I think."
He nods. "My dad sees it all the time at the hospital. The will to live, or even just heal, versus giving up."
"Wow…yeah." That brings it to a new level, but he's right. "Anyway...there's always next season."
"Always."
Emmett, Mike and I are in the middle of an anniversary banquet the next day when my phone rings.
"Edward?" Shouldering the phone, I adjust the heating on one of the serving dishes.
"Hey. I know you're busy, but I think this is it. We found it."
By "we", he means himself and Charlie. I smile into the phone. "Yeah? It's nice?"
"Understatement. It's perfect. The area we wanted, two story, huge yard...everything the profile said."
"That's great!" I whisper loudly, turning to avoid the stern gaze of the event coordinator. "Edward, listen, I have to go."
"Hold on; when do you want to come see this place?"
"As soon as possible."
"I'll let Victoria know," he says. "Maybe we can come back tomorrow."
First thing the next morning, we meet Victoria at the house. It's even prettier in real life than it was in pictures. I just hope I feel the same way about the inside.
It's an older home, built in the early 1900s, completely updated and remodeled. Gleaming wood floors, an abundance of windows and skylights. The back yard is huge...possibly bigger than Emmett's...and the deck is stunning, overlooking trees and the lake.
The kitchen. The kitchen. It's a chef's wet dream. I'm already seeing the cakes I'll bake. Next Thanksgiving's turkey. All the things.
"Is that...vintage stained glass?" I whisper reverently.
"Yes." Victoria smiles, nodding."Yes, it is. The original."
We sign that day...
...and move in during the first week of January. Because of this, I spend New Year's Eve surrounded by boxes. Charlie runs through our mini yard for the maybe-last time, streaking by with the sparklers we bought her. Last year she was a little nervous around them. This year, she's all about them.
Merging two households is even more complicated than it sounds, with doubles of everything and furniture and stairs and just...ugh. Moving is hell. Thankfully, Edward shows his (usually dormant) trust fund roots and hires moving men. They not only move our stuff, they help pack it in the first place.
Despite the hired help, friends and family show up in spades. Sue comes to cook for everyone, with Grandpa Charlie in tow dragging a cooler full of beer. Emmett, Mike, Rose and Jessica come, as do Alice and the mysterious Jasper, who we've heard so much about. Many hands make light work, even with rowdy children underfoot and everywhere.
Emmett begrudgingly admits that we now have the bigger yard. He awards the honor by promising to install a tire swing. "And we'll build a tree fort in the summer." No mention of a trampoline, interestingly.
"Mom. Nessa has a purple room," Charlie says on our first morning in the new house. I'm guzzling coffee, trying to mentally prepare for the day. We made a lot of progress yesterday, but settling in takes time and few things stress me out like messiness and not knowing where to find things.
Distracted, I nod. "Yes, she does."
"Can I have a purple room?"
"Um...I guess. I thought you liked pink?"
"Yah, Mom. Pink and purple. And blue."
"Oh." I put down my phone, trying to be present even though my mind is in a million different places right now. "Well...we have a lot to do, but, we can definitely paint your room. Maybe later in the week."
"I need to paint it, Mom."
"Paint what?" Edward appears, tossing two slices of bread into the toaster.
"Her room."
"Which one is that again?"
"End of the hall upstairs...the one with the cute, funky window..."
"Hmm."
Charlie shifts on her chair. "I need to paint it, Edward. Nessa has a purple room."
I push her bowl of oatmeal closer. "Eat up before it gets cold."
"I don't like raisins, Mom."
"It's cinnamon raisin," I say, because you know. It matters.
"Okay."
"If you want to run down to the store and pick a few colors out, we can get started painting today," Edward offers.
"I...kind of wanted to deal with the house first," I say, back on my phone, skimming my to-do lists. Plural.
He raises an eyebrow. "Well, it's up to you, but I think it'll be easier to paint her room before you decorate it, don't you?"
"Yes, fine. You're right." Suppressing my almost OCD urge to stay home and organize, I nod at Charlie. "As soon as you're done we'll go get paint, okay?"
"Okay!"
I suppose I can add painting to Edward's list of talents. He makes it look easy.
Charlie's in there with him, "helping", while I stay down the hall, working on our bedroom so it'll be a little more comfortable tonight.
For the past twenty minutes, airy little giggles have been floating down the still-empty hallway, followed by the deeper response of Edward's voice. Finally I can't take it anymore. Getting up, I tip-toe down the hall and peek in.
Edward's got Charlie on his shoulders - one of their defaults. She's got a little paintbrush to his giant roller, and they've covered most of one wall in an almost pearly bubblegum pink. It's a little intense, but...it's Charlie. The other walls will be pale pink.
That's the plan, anyway.
Edward dips his roller and then "accidentally" dashes it against Charlie's leg - making her giggle - making him apologize - making me realize her legs are covered in pink. As is his hair.
"Nessa helps her dad paint," she says quietly, stretching to reach a random high spot on the wall with her brush. "She has a purple room with purple paint."
"You're gonna have a pink room with pink paint."
"Yah." And then she curves over his head, resting her chin. "Dad."
thanks for making this such an awesome ride, guys. almost done. many, many thanks for reading and corresponding!
xoxo
ro