I think Sunday mornings are my favorite. It's so quiet and peaceful, especially in the winter. We don't get a lot of snow here, and when we do it's often gone in a day or two. Last night we sat snuggled up on the couch and watched the snow fall with the fireplace on. And now this morning, we are on the couch again with the fireplace on, just enjoying the quiet of the morning.
The sun is coming up, and we can see it start to make the fresh fallen snow sparkle. This type of snow sparkles like diamonds in the sunlight. It reminds me of the stars at night.
I'm sitting on one end of the couch reading my astrophysics book that was published this past year by Jennifer Hailey. Doctor Hailey now. She was accepted into the Air Force Institute of Technology. She spent her three years at AFIT and got her PhD in Applied Mathematics. I may have been a mentor to her as she worked through her thesis on wormhole theory. I'm very proud of what she has accomplished.
I look out at the window in deep thought. I put my book down across my knees. I grab my coffee cup with both hands and stare out at the snow. I watch the sun make its demarcation line across the back yard.
I'm thinking of my life and how it has progressed to where I am today. I am in love with my best friend, and I'm at his house drinking coffee with him. Our house. I moved into his house about a year after he got the senate nomination for Homeworld. No sense in us having two houses when we both knew where this was headed.
Who would have thought that the young, naive Captain would eventually fall deeply in love with her boss? But it's so much more than that. He is my everything. I am his partner. His lover. The person he fights and argues with. His wife.
I put the book down and I bring both feet up onto the couch, and I rest my cup on top of them.
I sip my coffee as I stare out the windows. Out of the corner of my eye I watch him drink his coffee. This man can be intensely serious when it comes to work, or when it comes to those he loves. But he also has a child-like wonder at his approach to life. He can make me laugh with a waggle of his eyebrow. He can make me groan at some of his jokes. And the things he can do with his fingers and his tongue, well, that is a story for another time.
I keep my periphery focused on him. I pretend to be looking at my coffee cup, which I am still holding on my knees. Having the cup on my knees puts it in closer proximity to my mouth. I end up finishing the cup of coffee. But I don't move. I don't let on that I'm empty. I want to continue to watch the amazing man next to me.
I see him put his coffee cup down on the table beside him. He lifts his hips off of the couch, and reaches into one of his pockets. He takes out his yo-yo. I smile as I look down into my empty coffee cup. I'm certain he knows I'm watching him, but he doesn't let on.
He has never been good with the yo-yo. Although I think deep down he does this on purpose to distract his mind from what is going on around him. I think this has become a coping mechanism to him. He's been through so much trauma in his life. If a simple yo-yo is what he needs to take his mind away for even a few moments, then I will buy the man truck loads of yo-yos for the rest of his life.
He lets the yo-yo go, and it retracts in perfect unison for about the first four times he releases it from his hand. But, then, I don't know. It goes crazy, and doesn't retract, and he has both hands trying to find momentum again. He wraps the string up in the yo-yo, and tries again. He gets one perfect retraction, then total chaos again.
I smile, and this time I let out a tiny laugh. I'm still glancing down into my coffee cup. I know he hears me.
I hear him let out a small guffaw. I finally look over at him. He has his half-sideways-smirk on his face. Yup. He's doing this on purpose.
"What?" he quietly asks. His eyes light up when they meet mine.
"You know, I think I finally have you figured out," I say.
I watch him turn his body towards me on the couch. He is still winding up the yo-yo string.
"You think so, huh? So tell me. What have you figured out?" he asks.
His eyes turn a sinful shade of dark chocolate.
"Well, sir," I begin, which usually always ends up in a good way when I call him sir, "I think you do this on purpose."
He scoots closer to me on the couch, which isn't much as the couch is already comfy for two.
"You don't say? Please, go on," he says, leaning into me and kissing my shoulder. I reach over to my side and put my coffee cup down. Then I turn to face him.
"You know I'm watching you," I say, reaching my hand out and I caress his arm, "and I know you only want to make me happy. So by getting your yo-yo in a kerfuffle, you make me laugh. And when you make me laugh, you know I'm happy. When you know I'm happy, it makes you happy. And when you are happy, it takes your mind off of some of your demons from the past," I say.
My breath catches when I see him pull back from me a little bit. He averts his eyes down to his pajama pants. He worries the now-wound-up yo-yo in his hand. He is silent and won't look at me. I wonder if I said too much. I don't remove my hand from his arm. I don't want to lose this contact with him.
I wait a few moments for him to say something. Anything. But he does not. So I begin.
"Hey," I whisper between us, "what's going on? Talk to me."
He finally looks up at me. His eyes are intense and dark, yet gentle and caring. This is the look that I have come to recognize as reserved for me. This is the look he gives me to let me know I am his. This is the look of protection and understanding.
"You, uh," he tries to start, then pauses again.
"It's OK," I say, reaching up to touch his cheek gently with my hand. "You can tell me anything. This is one of those times that the doctor really wants you to keep talking to me, remember?" I say gently.
He nods his head before meeting my eyes again. His eyes appear to flash black, then back to his chocolate brown. He doesn't take his eyes off of mine. He takes my hand in his and holds it tight.
"No one has gotten me like you have. Knowing you are happy, even when we're apart, does make me happy. And that alone has been worth everything we have gone through to get where we are now," he says.
"I love you," I tell him, "I have loved you longer than I am willing to admit to either one of us. I'm not going anywhere," I whisper.
"Except to Atlantis," he whispers back. I give him a small smile as my eyes gloss over.
"Except to Atlantis," I whisper back. "But I'm all yours, Jack. And if I have to buy you a truckload of yo-yos before I leave, then I will. Because if I know you can be as happy as you are in this moment, then this will be worth it."
He leans over and kisses me. I can feel the yo-yo is still in his hand. He eventually lets me go and holds my head so I have to look him in the eyes.
"I am happy. I am very happy. And it's because of you," he tells me.
"C'mere," I say, and I have him lay his head on my lap for the rest of our morning.
Three weeks later I got an email from him. Apparently, five hundred yo-yos were delivered to the house. I wonder how that happened? His email wasn't long. But it was enough. His last line wrapped up everything I needed to know.
"I am happy."