Carly

Rituals. They took the place of so many things now.

Walk around the living room once, turn off all the lamps. Check the back door, then the front, then the back once more -- just in case. Pour herself a cup of coffee, set it on the counter to cool. Program the alarm. Get the coffee, add one sugar, never two. No cream.

Walk upstairs. Check to make sure he's breathing, one hand resting softly on his chest. Pull the blanket he's tossed off up. Kiss him once on the forehead. Turn on his monitor, even though he insists he's too old for it. She's not.

Drink coffee. Go back downstairs, make sure alarm is set. Head up again. Run a bath, read a magazine, set the playlist for the club. Go over the martini and appetizer menu. Brush teeth. Climb into bed. Finish coffee, knowing the whole brushing teeth thing just became useless. Shrug. Turn off lamp. Sleep. Or not. Turn lamp on.

She used to stay up 'til all hours of the night, dancing, partying, fucking, whatever. She still stayed up but now the things she did in that time her mama used to call the 'witching hour' were so ... domestic. The same rituals she used to make fun of Virginia for performing, she now owned.

There was some kind of lesson in that, she was sure. Oh well. She never had been much good at learning lessons. And, this one freakin' scared her. Was she actually becoming her mother??

Perish the thought.

But then again, this was her life now. Same as it had been her mother's. A woman, her child, her home, her job. Nothing more. Nothing less. She tried to convince herself it wasn't less. But, damn, she wanted more.

There was this insistent little part of her that swore that this wasn't a complete life. Couldn't be. There was no man in it. God, she hated that part of herself. Problem was hating it didn't make it shut the hell up.

She was starting to believe she didn't have listen to it, though. Starting to believe that she could do this one thing, stand on her feet without grasping onto anyone's shoulder or anyone's dick. Starting to. It was a hell of an uphill climb, and she wasn't sure it was worth the effort.

Virginia had done it though. Her ineffectual, quiet, soft mother who she'd spent most of her childhood, hell, most of her life, despising -- she had done the thing her daughter couldn't. She had carved out a life on her own terms and lived it. It hadn't been a life her daughter wanted or respected, but it had been her own. She wished she could tell her how much she respected that. She hoped to god somehow that she knew.

She turned off the light. Turned over. Whispered her mother's name in the same way that some people say 'thank you'. One more day complete, one more day closer. Sleep now. Ritual complete.