Day 50: Prompt 31: CUDDLY

 

Jennifer closed her eyes. Rolling onto her side she burrowed deeper into the cocoon she had created with the large down comforter her mother had given her as a gift the previous Christmas.

This was her time.

But suddenly something was different. Her eyes flew open when the comforter was peeled back. “What are you doing?” she asked, when her husband of six years began tgo crawl into bed.

“What?” he said, settling in under the comforter. “Can’t a man go to bed?”

“But this is my time,” she whined.

He laughed.

Turning to face him, she held the comforter between them like a protective barrier. “I come in to g oto bed before you so that I can have quiet time. It helps me to focus and go to sleep. I need that time.”

He didn’t speak, but she had known he wouldn’t. Instead he wiggled closer, his full lips pulled back in a mischevious smile.

“Daniel, I mean it.”

He continued to slide closer, pulling the comforter farther away from her.

“Stop!” she said, unable to keep a giggle from erupting as he freed the last bulk from her clutches. She grabbed at the cream colored fabric, trying to pull it back from him. “Daniel, stop!” She laughed as he snuggled closer.

“I want to cuddle,” he said, his arm sliding over her abdomen.

“I don’t want to cuddle. I am not feeling cuddly right now. I’m feeling tired and sleepy.” She laughed as he rolled her back onto her side and spooned her. “You are impossible.”

“And that’s why you love me,” he said, nuzzling her neck.

“Is it?” she asked, settling into her embrace.

“Oh yeah, baby.”

He was right.

Day 49: Prompt 30: BOLD

 

Paige was at her wits end. At thirty-three she was still single, though once divorced, and her latest prospect for committed bliss had just announced to her the previous evening that he found his soul mate in someone so very not her.

The first thing she’d done after arriving home was to get everything he’d ever given her, and every photo they’d ever taken together, and chuck it in the garbage bin. That’s where their love had ended up, so she thought it was fitting. Then, after she’d called Gabby- her best and oldest friend- she threw herself across her bed and decided to fall into a self-induced coma.

Turns out those don’t work out so well if your brain is aware that you are conscious.

So, deciding to forgo the coma, she had opted to simply lay in bed and watch sappy romances all night on Lifetime

She decided that it would all work out well with her sliding into a zombie-like state in front of the television until, on the third day, Gabby and her very own sister, Paula, decided to gang up on her in her self-imposed prison of doom.

“Is he really worth all this?” Gabby asked, throwing open the heavy drapes.

“No,” Paige said in her best pouting voice. “He’s definitely not.”

“So why are you doing this to yourself?” Paula practically screamed. She had never been one to understand the little eccentricities of people.

Paige looked at her sister. “Because I am thirty-three years old and single!”

“Single, shmingle,” Gabby supplied.

“That’s easy for you to say,” Paige quipped. “You’ve been married for fifteen years!”

“Ten,” she corrected. “And you could have been married for that long, if you hadn’t married a loser.” She plopped down on bed, hugging the large feather pillow to her chest.

“He was a loser, wasn’t he?” Paula said, plopping down beside her sister. “Why don’t you get up and come to lunch with us.”

“Cause I don’t want to. I’m testing a new theory.”

“Oh yeah?” her sister said, one of her carefully manicured eyebrows arched.

“Yeah.”

“What is that,” Gabby asked with a laugh.

“I want to see how many hours of television you can watch before your brain melts.”

They both burst out in laughter and Gabby smacked her with the pillow she’d been holding. “You tested that during your divorce,” she said. “So now you have no excuse not to go out to lunch with us.”

“You have fifteen minutes to shower and get beautiful,” Paula said, shoving Paige from the comfort of her full size bed.

Begrudgingly she made her way through the closet that separated her bedroom from the bathroom and into the large room housing the large mirror that told no lies. “I look like crap,” she said to her reflection.

“You sure do!” Gabby said, tossing her a bra, panties, and her favorite bohemian skirt and peasant top.

“I don’t feel like wearing yellow,” she said.

“Tough,” Gabby said, closing the door. “Hurry up! We’re hungry!”

***************************************

“It’s too bright,” Paige complained, as they made their way two blocks over from her apartment to their favorite little bistro.

“Tough!” Paula shrieked. “Put on your Jackie O’s and deal!”

By Jackie O’s Paige knew she was referring to the large frame glasses she wore everywhere. Paula hated them, but she couldn’t break away from the happy-retro vibe she got while wearing them. Even today, in the midst of her agony they were making her a little happy.

“Why am I even outside!” she cried as they ushered her to a cast iron chair and forced her to sit.

“Because you need to get out,” Paula said.

“She needs a lot more than that,” Gabby supplied.

“And what is that supposed to mean, o’ former best friend of mine?”

Gabby laughed. “I’m just saying. You are all down in the dumps over this guy that you should have never gone out with in the first place. You only went out with him because he was safe. He’d been in your circle of friends for years and you thought it would be easy. You never do anything bold.”

“What!” Paige almost squealed. “how can you say that? I am Miss Bold!”

“Pi-sha!” Gabby said as Paula burst out in laughter. “Girl, if you’re bold then I am shy.”

That was the farthest thing from the truth and they all knew it. Gabby would talk to anyone. It had caused more than one tiff between her and her husband Phil.

“You can’t say I’m not bold, I’m wearing bohemian chic and it’s not even in style this season.”

“Oh,” Gabby said, holding her hands out in front of her. “I’m so sorry! You’re right!”

Paige knew what she was doing. This was Gabby’s way to get her out of the funk. Still, it was working. How does that happen? How do you know someone is just trying to get to you and you still let them!

Gabby looked at Paula. “How dare we insinuate that she is not bold!”

“No insinuation here,” Paula said. She looked straight at her little sister. “You are the least bold person that I know. Deal with it.”

Paige continued to stew as they ordered their salads and ice teas. That was their usual here. Not because they were salad fiends or watching their weight (though every woman is secretly watching her weight), but because they made the absolute best salads. Afterward they normally visited the ice cream down the street.

With each bite of her Greek salad and every giggle from her companions, Paige realized that- as much as she hated to admit it- they were right. She had only dated disaster mate number one zillion because he was a safe choice. She knew quite a bit about him, knew his ex wife, his children, where he’d gone to high school and college. There was no unknown in their relationship and she had liked it that way.

“Are you seriously mad at us?” Gabby asked, shaking her out of her reverie.

“Not anymore,” she admitted. “Well, not as mad.” She laughed. “I’ll be back.” Grabbing her hobo bag, she sauntered into the cool interior of the ninety year old building, her eyes roaming over the period features that most everyone else overlooked. At least everyone she’d ever brought along.

Making her way through the array of bistro tables that spread out over the dining room, she walked past the kitchen and into the small hall that led to the bathrooms. “Is there a line?” she asked the young blond woman leaning against the wall outside the two-stall ladies room.

“Uh-huh,” she said. Paige wondered if she was annoyed with the wait, or if she’d actually been bothered by a simple question from a stranger.

She settled in behind the girl, her urge to tinkle growing stronger with every passing moment. When the mens room door opened she contemplated, for a moment, running inside. It wouldn’t take long. Her foot was pointed in that direction, when the door opened and an astonishingly cute guy, mid-thirties, stepped out into the hall.

He met her gaze and she felt the color rush to her cheeks.

Maybe using the mens room wasn’t the best idea.

“Hey,” he said as he walked by.

She raised her hand and gave him a flash of a smile. Oh, God, she was flirting!

When the door to the ladies room opened and spilled forth two teenage gigglers she had never been so happy. Almost shoving the girl in front of her, she followed her in.

“He was cute,” the girl said, fluffing her hair in the wide mirror before making her way into the farthest stall.

“Yeah,” Paige said, getting situated in the smaller stall. “He really was.”

“And he was totally into you,” she added.

Why is she talking to me, Paige wondered.

The girl was leaning over the counter when she reemerged. She’d hoped the girl had slipped out after washing her hands, but there she was in the mirror, running a finger over her freshly glossed lips. Paige smiled at her as she took her place in front of the sink.

“If I were you,” the girl said, wrapping her long blond lockes into a messy bun. “I would go for it if he’s still here when you get out.”

Paige smiled.

“Seriously,” the girl continued, checking out her tiny bottom in the mirror.

Why was she still talking!?

“You’re cute,” she said. “And he was super cute.” She smiled. “What do you have to lose?” she said before bouncing out of the tiny room.

Paige looked at her reflection. “My self-respect if he laughs in my face,” she answered. “My good humor if he turns me down. My…” she snapped her mouth closed when the door opened and the two teens from earlier returned.

“Sorry!” they squealed.

“I was just leaving,” Paige said, maneuvering out of the small space.

She paused outside the door, taking a deep breath before walking into the dining room.

His table was beside the front door. There were four of them, all guys, sitting at the table. How could she approach that?

He looked up as she made her way across the room, a smile spreading across his face. He was sun-kissed, that was for sure. His skin was a light brown, making the blond of his hair and the scruff on his face stand out a little more than it probably did in the fall, and his faded blue button up shirt hung loose with the first two buttons undone. He was beautiful.

She took a deep breath as she stepped up to the table. “Hi,” she said.

“H-hi,” he answered. Was he taken aback by her intrusion.

Reaching into her bag she pulled out a bright green business card with hot pink trim, and held it out to him. “I’m Paige,” she said, trying to be as confident as possible, though her heart was racing so fast she thought she might keel over right there.

He smiled, taking the card. “I’m Stephen.”

“Lovely to meet you, Stephen,” she said. Then, looking around at all of his friends she smiled. “I won’t keep you gentlemen. Please excuse my interruption.” Looking back at Stephen she smiled once more. “See ya around.”

When she sauntered back to her shocked, and open-mouthed, friends, she took a seat and smiled. “Did someone say I wasn’t bold?”

Gabby cackled. “Never again!”

Day 43: Prompt 29: ILLNESS

 

Tony hadn’t been prepared for this, the complete and total lack of being him. When they’d told him he was going to die and that it wouldn’t be an easy death, a part of him had actually thought, Hoped. PRAYED, that they were kidding. Some little part of him thought that someone would jump out from behind that curtain and yell, “GOT YA!”

But they hadn’t.

The doctor bowed his head, as if he were hearing that he was the one dying and not the stunned thirty year old man sitting across that large oak desk in absolute silence.

Suddenly every cheesy “live like you’re dying” movie he’d ever seen flashed through his mind. He’d even heard the story of a guy who sold everything because of his diagnosis, bought a Lamborghini and traveled all over the United States until it died. He was still alive. His prognosis had been bleak three years ago as well and it looked like even he would outlive Tony.

“I wish I had better news for you,” The doctor said standing. “But I can assure you we are going to approach this from every side and try like hell to save your life.”

Tony swallowed the lump in his throat, not wanting to show the Doctor the despair that was beginning to settle in.

What would he tell Lisa? They’d barely been married a year and now he was going to tell her that his body was revolting and he would be leaving her alone in a few short months.

“We want to begin the treatments as quickly as possible, Tony,” His doctor was saying as he led him out of the office. “So you need to get back to us as quickly as possible. No need to let this fester any longer than it already has.”

Tony nodded.

Before he knew it he was standing out in the harsh midday sun, his coat in his hands. It’s amazing what one thinks when he’s been shoved into the face of death.

Is that what happened?

No. No. Death came looking for him. He wasn’t parading around in the hopes that they would have a confrontation.

Why was he thinking of death as if it were a person?

“Hey, Tony, how are you?” Willis Grant asked, stopping. “It’s been ages since we’ve seen you down at the pub.”

The pub. Why did they have to call it a pub? He imagined because the owner was Irish and it reminded him of home. Who knows.

“Hey, Will,” he stammered. “I’m still in newlywed mode. No time for pubs, man.”

Willis laughed. “Those were good times. Hold onto them.”

Tony pressed a hand to his chest to squelch the pain hammering into his heart. He nodded. “Yeah..” throwing his coat on he added, “It was great to see you, Will, but I gotta go. Maybe I’ll see you around.”

“Sure, man. See ya.”

Tony walked, though he felt more like he was stumbling, down the sidewalk and to his S10 pickup truck. Lisa had purchased it for him on their six month anniversary.

He hadn’t married her for her money, though no one believed it. Everyone seemed to take major issue with the fact that she was ten years his senior.

“When you’re fifty she’ll be sixty!” they would say, their eyes wide and disturbed.

He had always asserted that age was nothing but a number. Now he found himself more than a little jealous that she was seeing her forties and he never would.

Once his truck was on the outskirts of town he pulled over to the shoulder and rested his forehead on the steering wheel. How was he going to tell her that their time is over before it has even begun? And how was he going to tell his family that their time with him was drawing to a close. Not that they saw much of him now days.

He tried to remember the last time he’d gone to visit his mother and father. Maybe once since the wedding. However, that was their fault. If they could just show a little tolerance where Lisa was concerned they could see him all the time, but he couldn’t abide anyone speaking ill about his wife. Even his own mother.

Ill. He was ill.

How could he have used such a word?

He clutched his chest again.

Would he have a heart attack before the illness was allowed to run its course? From the description of the doctor that might be best.

Breathing slowly he felt the pain lighten.

Panic attacks. That’s what they have to be. Death would be foolish to take him before delighting in the sight of him fading away.

Death is not a person, he reminded himself. Death is not a person.

**************************

Lisa’s car was in the driveway when he pulled into his usual spot. He wondered whose spot it would be in a year. Would she have found someone else to love in such a short time?

“She is a beautiful woman,” he said to himself as he fell out of the truck. “Someone will snap her up in a minute.”

“Who’s a beautiful woman?” she asked, rounding the corner to gather him up into her embrace.

She smelled good.

He held tight to her and wouldn’t let her pull away. “I love you,” he said.

“I love you too, babe, but you’re squeezing the life outta me.”

He closed his eyes, willing the pain in his chest to go away. He released her and she grabbed his hand, pulling him across the expanse of the lawn and through the front door of their 1950′s ranch house.

“How did the doctor go?” she asked, as she rounded the counter of the bar that separated their living room from their dining room.

“He went,” he said, settling back in his favorite recliner. He wanted it to be normal for a little while longer, was that so bad?

He knew the moment the words escaped his mouth they would never be the same. Their lives together would be on a countdown and they would never know how long was left until the buzzer sounded. The thought of everything they are being torn asunder by one little word, one huge word, was too much for him to take.

They needed this moment of normalcy, even if she had no idea this would be their last.

“Tony,” she said, bringing his drink over to where him. “How did it go?”

He opened his eyes, taking in her beauty. This instance was it. This was the last.

His heart broke.

He took the glass, taking a long slow sip as she perched on the ottoman beside his feet.

“You’re scaring me,” she said. “Is it bad?”

He lowered his glass. “It’s bad,” he said finally.

Tears began to build over the clear blue that was her eyes. “What did he say?” she asked, her voice a tremor.

“In some patients this is a long term illness that is treatable. In fact, seventy percent of those who detect it early can survive it.”

“Tony,” she sobbed.

“I’m sorry, honey,” he said.

Placing his glass on the glass topped table beside the chair, he pulled her to him, holding her there while they both sobbed.

“I’m so sorry.”

Day 38: Prompt 28: KEY

 

They’d been seeing one another for a while now. Almost a year. Cherry couldn’t figure out how they’d made it past the first two months, with a, with all the issues they faced early on, but here they were at the one year mark, and she had no idea if he would be pleased with the gift she’d gotten him.

Or if she should have gotten him anything at all.

Milton- that had been one of their first hurdles- has always been rumored to be some kind of ladies man, never willing to settle down with one woman. That had nearly driven her crazy at first. She found herself always looking through his clothes, wallet, and even his phone! She had needed to worry though. At that time he was seeing two other women, but at least he was up front about it.

She’d been okay with it for a while, once she realized she should never expect a commitment. After all, if he wasn’t willing to commit she didn’t have to either. Or so she thought.

Five months in she’d decided she was tired of sitting at home alone while he was partying with his flavor of the week, so she’d gone out on a date with some guy from work. He was cute, successful, and had had a crush on her for more than a year. It was time that she give him a try.

It had been a miserable date. Yes, he was cute and successful, but he was also boring and had made one comment too many about the amount of food she ordered at dinner. He’d known she wasn’t a size two when he’d asked her out.

When Milton found out he flew off the handle.

It was fantastic!

For months she had laboured under the pretense that he didn’t care much for her, but here he was becoming insanely jealous because she dared to go on a date with another man!

After his blow up he hadn’t spoken to her for two weeks. She tried to find out as much information as possible from his friends, but they hadn’t seen him either. So she assumed that he was finished with her. So when she decided she should move on with her life he showed up, his dark hair disheveled and his clothes rumpled.

“You look like hell,” she’d said, trying to seem detached, though she was more than a little interested in what might have driven such a “put together” guy over the bend.

He had never been jealous before. Never. He hadn’t known how to handle it.

Still didn’t.

So he’d promised never to see anyone other than her for as long as he remained jealous. She figured it was better than a marriage proposal.

Maybe that’s why she had been so lost when trying to figure out what to buy for him. Most guys would be happy with anything technological.

But Milton wasn’t most guys.

He didn’t sit around and playing video games and he was rarely on the computer. His game was women.

But she couldn’t get him one of those.

So she’d spent weeks trying to figure out exactly what to give him, asking his friends and even his mother what he might like, but they were all clueless. She guessed it was because no woman had ever made it to a year before. Or even a week.

She took their inability to help as a compliment.

With a shaking hand she fingered the little red box and the brown string tied neatly around it. This could make or break them as a couple, she knew it, but it was the only thing she could think to give him .

Maybe the fact that she hadn’t known what to buy him was a testament to the fact that she didn’t really know him well at all. As she fingered the little bow she realized she didn’t even know something as basic as his favorite color.

The fact struck her that he rarely shared anything about himself, other than how much he had once loved women and now he loved her.

Perhaps his declaration of love when she hadn’t expected it had been blinding her to something important about him. Something that she now found unsettling.

“Hey!” he said, bending down to kiss her as he joined her at the table.

“Hey,” she said, feeling more than a little guilty that she had been questioning his character. “You’re late. I was worried.”

He laughed. “You thought I wouldn’t show? On our anniversary?”

Cherry could feel the color rise into her cheeks. “I was just worried that something had happened. That’s all.”

He sat down and the waiter reappeared to fill their glasses with the bottle of wine she’s requested.

“This place is swanky. Are you sure I’m worth it?”

She laughed. “No.”

They fell into a comfortable silence as they are their respective meals. He wasn’t paying, so of course he ordered the most expensive thing on the menu.

Now that she thought about it he never paid.

She smiled when he gave her a questioning look.

“You okay?” he asked.

“Uh-huh.” Sliding the little red box into her purse, she stood up. “I’m just going to pop into the ladies room. We can exchange gifts when I get back.”

Without hesitation she rushed into the ladies room and tore open the little red box she’d so lovingly closed only hours earlier. Inside, resting on its cotton bedding, was the key to her two bedroom bungalow. Ripping it from it’s place, she shoved it into her purse. The thought of giving a near stranger her key, espacially when their relationship had started out so rocky, was more than she could handle. Sure she loved him. Maybe. It had suddenly occurred to her that she may have spent so much time trying to obtain the unobtainable that she’d been fooled into thinking she was in love.

Reaching into her little black bag, she pulled out the small notepad she always carried with her and tore off a sheet of paper. Scribbling something with haste, she folded the small pink sheet, folded it up, placed it in the box, and returned to where Milton was still waiting, though his large steak was now something of a sliver.

“Was I gone that long?” she joked as she settled back into her chair.

“You know me, babe.”

Unfortunately, she thought, I don’t.

Day 37: Prompt 27: BABY

 

She didn’t know why she didn’t want to have a baby with her. Not entirely. Sure, it’s true that gay adoption, since it has to be identified as such, is certainly more prominent now than it had been even ten years ago. It wasn’t because more homosexuals had decided they wanted to be parents, she knew that. And she knew several gay and lesbian couples that had opted for their partner to carry a child, or provided the necessary element for a child to be conceived. These facts didn’t serve to sway her feelings at all.

“What’s good for one is not good for all, Aggie,” she’d told her girlfriend of two years.

A defense like that doesn’t hold up well in the court of lesbian. Well, not in her particular district.

She imagined the argument would be much the same if she’d remained with Joseph and he’d asked for a child.

Wouldn’t it?

Of course.

But she knew that wasn’t exactly true.

Her reverie was broken by the turning of the lock to the apartment she and Aggie had been sharing for close to a year and a half. It seemed like no time had passed before they moved in together.

“Hey,” she said, as Aggie dropped down on the sofa beside her. She really was the most beautiful woman she’d ever seen. Re-situating herself, she ran the fingers of her right hand through the short mass of hair atop Aggie’s head, slowing down further when an unruly curl tried to hold onto her. “You’re late,” she said, her voice soft. “Where were you?”

“I stopped by to see Kim.”

She pulled her hand away, resting it on top of her own head. “How is she?”

“Miserable,” Aggie laughed. “And huge!” She held her hands far out from her flat abdomen.

“I thought we were going to go over together.”

Aggie looked at her, those gorgeous emerald eyes of hers rolling slightly. “She asked me to come over after work, Laurel, what was I supposed to do?”

“You could have come to get me. I wanted to see her too.”

“You did not!” Aggie stood up. She didn’t turn to face like she’d expected. Instead, she threw her arms up and walked out of the room.

Laurel jumped up from the sofa and followed her. As much as she hated to, she knew this was going to be a fight. “I did too. I promised her that I would bring that fish oil stuff for her stretch marks.”

“She doesn’t want it.”

Aggie had begun to take off the uniform she wore for her bus route, tossing the slacks and button up uniform shirt in the hamper they’d purchased the month before. It was the last time they’d been on a date. Laurel suddenly realized how deep their rut had become.

“What do you mean she doesn’t want it?” she asked, watching as Aggie pulled a pair of jeans up over her narrow hips.

She was gorgeous in a pair of jeans and a wife beater. And she was spending as much time as possible with her ex girlfriend.

“I mean,” she said, looking up, her curls flying here and there. “She doesn’t want it.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know.”

It was a lie. They’d been together long enough for Laurel to know that.

“Don’t lie, Ag.”

Aggie crossed the room and exited out into the large open area that was their kitchen, living, and dining rooms. Laurel followed closely behind. Stopping at the counter when Aggie continued into the kitchen to grab a soda from the fridge. She liked them ice cold, so Laurel tried to accommodate her by putting a glass in the freezer about an hour before she was scheduled to be home. With a few cubes of ice it was the perfect pick me up for her lady love.

“Just tell me,” she said, picking at a loose piece of the laminate counter top. Aggie continued preparing her soda. She always avoided issues that made her uncomfortable. “Tell me,” she prodded. “I’m a big girl, you can tell me,” she joked.

Aggie turned around. “She doesn’t want anything from you. And you’re no longer welcome in her home.”

“What?”

She shrugged. “I dunno. She just doesn’t. Maybe it’s because of the baby situation. She knows you don’t like kids.”

She walked past Laurel and into the living room, dropping down on the sofa once more.

“I don’t dislike children,” Laurel protested settling into the convertible chair facing the sofa. “I happen to love children.”

“Just not the thought of our children.”

She’d hoped they could get through this without her latest refusal coming up, but Laurel could see that was not the case. “Aggie,”

“You don’t have to explain anything to me, Laurel. I get it. You want to have a baby, just not with some dike.”

“Why do you always do that?”

“Do what? Stop sugar coating the truth?”

“You’re insecure because I was with Joseph. You think I don’t know what you all say about me? I know what they all call me. And you never stand up for me. You let them.”

“Oh yes, poor little Laurel.”

“I don’t want to have children, but I want to be with you.” She dropped to the floor in front of Aggie. “I love you.”

“Just not enough to start a family with me.”

“I love you enough that I don’t want to, yes.” Aggie shook her head, trying to stand up, but Laurel held her there. “Why do people have children? Because they are missing something in their lives. To hold onto someone that they worry they’re going to lose. To…”

“Stop, Laurel,” she said, those green eyes flashing.

“I don’t want to lose you, but I don’t want you to freeze me out until you get what you want.”

Aggie stood up, knocking her back onto the engineered hardwood. “I’m going to Kim’s.”

“But you just came from there!” She stood up. “Aggie!”

She turned around. Laurel could see it then. A child was all she’d ever wanted and because she wasn’t a traditional person she had never entertained the dream that she might have one. And then it became possible. Now all she wanted was a woman to settle down with and raise a family.

“I can’t be that girl,” Laurel cried. “I love you, but I can’t give you what you want.”

“I know.”

They stood, silent in the home they’d been building together for more than a year. It was baffling to her that this glitch could have caused such a catastrophe. As she looked back on their past discussions she realized that she shouldn’t have ever allowed Aggie to think that she might be the mother of her children. Sure they’d talked, early in their relationship, about having a family one day, but Laurel hadn’t ever thought it might be a reality. The static in the air was electrifying. Little flares fired from every nerve ending in her body. She didn’t want to ask the next question. Shouldn’t even be thinking the next question. But she was.

“Are you in love with Kim?”

Aggie didn’t speak. It didn’t matter. Every answer to every question she might have had was in her eyes. And then came the dropping of the head. A confirmation. She walked out the door, closing it gently behind her. It was louder than if she’d slammed it.

Laurel was gone before she came back home.

****************************

One year later

Laurel held tight to the hand she’d been holding for four months. It had been hard to trust someone enough again. Even now she wasn’t sure if their relationship would evolve past the can’t-keep-my-hands-off-you stage, but she was having a great time and Sheila was good to her. For now.

And there was no talk of children.

“You wanna go to Shirley’s?” Sheila asked, nuzzling her neck.

Shirley’s was a vintage shop Laurel hadn’t been near in almost a year. She’d ventured back now and then at first, when she was trying to “bump” into Aggie, but it had never happened. She imagined now that it had been for the best. She’d heard rumors that Kim and Aggie were blissfully happy playing at mommy together.

She wished she could move beyond the bitterness.

“Sure,” she said unable to stop her lips from pulling back in a bright smile.

Sheila had a way of keeping her smiling. For now at least.

Arm in arm they entered the little shop, oohing and ahhing over clothes that ranged from eighty years old to ten. Sheila went straight for the bohemian section. Her favorite. While Laurel remained in the yuppie section. She needed something new for work.

She’d just pulled a yellow cardigan off the rack when she heard a familiar voice say her name.

“Hey, Laurel,”

She didn’t want to turn around. For more than a month she had tried to orchestrate this exact moment only to go home feeling worse about herself. In that first month she’d hated herself for not giving Aggie what she wanted. They’d been good together and her own worries had torn them apart. Taking a deep breath she turned around, holding the cardigan up as a shield against the power that is Aggie.

“Aggie,” she said, her tone too perky. “How are…” Any sound died in her throat at the sight of the huge rounded belly her ex girlfriend was sporting. “You,” she finished.

“Didn’t expect to see me like this, did you?” she said with a laugh, rubbing her huge tummy.

“No, I-I didn’t.” She dropped the cardigan a little. “How far along are you?”

“About seven months.”

It hadn’t taken her long, Laurel thought, her bitterness returning. “Wow. Is Kim excited?”

Aggie laughed. “I, uh, guess.”

“You guess! I thought the two of you were living the happy life.”

“Something got in the way,” Aggie said with a smile. She was a whole new woman. She turned, motioning for someone Laurel couldn’t see.

Sheila bounced back over to them, grabbing Laurel’s hand and kissing it. “Who’s this?” she asked, giving the very pregnant Aggie a once over.

“This is Aggie,” Laurel answered. “Aggie, this is my girlfriend Sheila.”

“Nice to meet you,” Aggie said, extending her hand. Laurel imagined she could see a tinge of jealousy flash on her green eyes. She looked beside her. “Hey, honey,” she said. “I want you to meet someone.”

Laurel braced herself for meeting Aggie’s new lady love. She had played this scenario over and over in her mind quite often in the last year. Only in her scenarios her partner was Kim.

He was taller than her. A good six feet. With sandy blond hair and the bluest eyes Laurel had ever seen. He was the kind of guy she would have been attracted to, had she not been attracted to Sheila. His smile was warm and inviting, and the hint of facial growth was almost charming.

“Jason, this is Laurel.” His eyes lit up in recognition. “Laurel, this is Jason.”

“Nice to finally meet you,” he said, extending his hand. “I’ve heard so much about you.”

She couldn’t so anything more than nod. It was not just shock, but bitterness. Why did he get to have the woman she would always love? And it was anger. How could she have done exactly what she’d degraded her for doing? And then validation. Her refusal to have a baby with Aggie had been the death of their relationship. Maybe Aggie had come to the realization that what she wanted was what she had always protested against.

When they left Laurel turned to Sheila, who was just as shocked as she was.

“I thought you said she was a lesbian,” Sheila said finally.

“I thought she was.”

Day 36: Prompt 26: PERSECUTION

 

Eloisa Douglass was ready to get out of her small town. Why wouldn’t she be? For the last two months she had been harrassed relentlessly for something she hadn’t even done.

Of course, she should have expected it.

No one could leave a party with Tatum Thatcher and not expect for gossip to abound. For a couple of weeks after the party they did. She had been happy when the speculation as to what she and Tatum had been up to after leaving the party died down.

But now, six months after that back to school party, everyone knew what had happened. The evidence of it protruded from her sixteen year old abdomen.

Tatum knew it was his, of course, but he’d been finished with her before they’d even crawled out of the backseat of his 2003 mustang. When she’d gone to him four months before and informed him of their situation he;d been quick to say it was her own problem. Not his.

So she had resolved to do this on her own. Not the smartest thing, she knew, but it was the right thing.

Abortion had crossed her mind.

The thought that she could get rid of this mistake and everything would go back to normal without anyone, save for Tatum, having known she was knocked up… Well, that was a great plan. Except for the fact that she was a staunch pro-lifer.

It just wasn’t right to take a life.

So she’d crossed the next bridge. Adoption.

But the thought that her baby would be living out in the world without her… She couldn’t stomach it.

So she pretended it wasn’t really happening. She wasn’t showing. She hadn’t even been sick. To everyone else in the world she was a regular teenage girl preparing to complete her junior year in high school.

And then she’d begun to gain weight.

Her mother wasn’t too perceptive most of the time, but she damn sure caught on quick when she began wearing baggier clothes.

“What’s going on?” her mother asked one day when she came down the stairs in her best friend Micki’s oversized purple tunic and black leggings.

“What do you mean?”

“It’s not like you to cover up so much.” She had pulled the shirt tighter around Eloisa’s abdomen. “You’re getting fat.”

Eloisa had pulled away then, pulling the shirt out. “Leave me alone.”

“Ellie,” she called while Eloisa tried her best to get away from the prying. “Ellie, come here!”

She had known it then. Her mother wasn’t so stupid that she wouldn’t know a pregnancy baby when she saw it. After all, she’d given birth to three children of her own. Two of which were already out of her house.

Eloisa turned around, the tears already blurring her eyes. “Mama, I…”

Her mother didn’t speak. She didn’t do anything more than stand at the base of stairs, her shoudlers hunching lower and lower with every fresh realization. My daughter is not a baby anymore. My daughter is having sex.

My daughter is… “Pregnant.” She stumbled. “You’re pregnant?”

Eloisa couldn’t speak. The disappointed look that had encompassed her mother was more than she could stand. When her mother crumpled to the floor she rushed over to her, “Mom, Mom I’m so sorry,” she sobbed.

It had gotten worse from there.

Once she entered her sixth month the whispers at school began again. Of course, Tatum’s name never came up. She had become a whore the moment she’d left the party with him.

It began with the preps. The jocks, cheerleaders, and ultra rich kids of the school. Each of them snickering about her behind her back and then to her face. Then, once their actions became public the rest of the kids began to join in.

People she’d been friends with for years were now spreading rumors that she’d had three abortions and would have had a fourth if the doctor hadn’t refused to perform one.

And then there was Micki.

She had been almost as devastated as her mother had been, but not because of the pregnancy.

“I can’t believe you didn’t tell me,” she’d said the day news of her condition broke.

She had a right to be angry. They’d always promise dto tell one another everything, but Eloisa hadn’t intended to tell anyone about her problem. Problem is, pregnancy refuses to stay hidden.

By the seventh month she’d become a pariah.

Her mother had begun to speak with her again. She attributed it to the fact that she had agreed to meet a family that might adopt her baby. They were distant relatives who lived in the next county.

But Eloisa had been thinking.

“Mom,” she said, as they settled into two year old Dodge sedan her mother had purchased only after Eloisa had received her license a few months ago. She’d given up her prized lime green bug so that her daughter would have something to drive.

“Hmmm?”

“Why don’t we get out of this town?”

“What do you mean?”

“The three of us. You, me, and the baby. Why don’t we get out of here and start a new life?”

Her mother laughed.

“I’m serious!”

Her mother shook her head. “It’s not that easy,” her mother said, throwing her hands up. “Do you even think about anything?”

“I think about everything!”

“Then tell me, did you think about how we would get the money to move?”

“Sell the house.”

“So we put the house up for sale, in this market, and it just sits there. All the while your child is growing up, requiring more money, and you are going on your merry way without a job, without the father of this baby around helping to pay for it…” She shook her head. “No, Ellie, it will not work.”

Eloisa swiped at the tears sliding over her rounded cheeks. “I’m tired of being persecuted by everyone just because I am pregnant. And the father doesn’t feel like he should have to take responsibility. He says its not his, but he’s the only guy…” She drew in a shaky breath. “He’s the only guy I’ve ever been with.”

Her mother pulled the car over and turned to face her, shifted her tiny frame in the leather seat. “Running away will not solve your problems, honey. I am more than a little disappointed in you and the choices that you have made, but I love you.” She put her hand on her daughter’s hand. “Your… persecution will end.” She said persecution as if Eloisa had been too dramatic in her description of her life. “And life will go on almost as it was.”

Pulling the car back on the road, she swung around and drove back to their humble three bedroom abode. After pulling into the driveway, she shifted the car into park and turned to face her daughter once more. “Are you sure you’re ready for this?”

“No.”

“Good.”

Day 32: Prompt 25: SOUP

 

The best thing about the cold is settling in for a nice steaming cup of soup, Wendi Collins thought as she brought the bowl of steaming liquid to her lips. Most people couldn’t wait for it to get really cold so that they could have hot chocolate, but for her it had always been about the soup.

Her mother had called it an unnatural obsession with soup, but she called it comfort in a bowl and something that she could absolutely gorge on and it wouldn’t make much different. She had often thought it must have come from that uneventful season when she’d developed the flu and her mother had spoon fed her chicken noodle soup every single day until she was able to get out of bed. Something had told her her then that her mother had only taken the time to spoon feed her because she had nothing else to do.

But instead Wendi believed it came from the winters she’d spent with her grandmother in the Appalachian mountains. Nothing could beat settling into the large overstuffed sofa situated in front of the old wood stove with her grandmother. Just the two of them talking in the warmth of that little two bedroom house, with nice heaping bowls of vegetable soup. It was her grandmother’s favorite.

Those had been the happiest times of her life, and they continued to be until the passing of her grandmother three years before.

Now there was Abby. She was the only one that had been there when her grandmother had passed. She had been with Marcus then. A nice guy, tall and lanky with an adoreable face and a sweet disposition. But he hadn’t been prepared for how much losing her grams would affect her.

Abby was her best friend. The only one willing to be by her side through the mood swings and the drugs. Even the alcohol.

The road down to the bottom varies for every person, but she shifted her car into turbo and she made it to the bottom six months after her grandmother was lowered into the ground.

Her mother had been the first to give up. Then her father. Her sometime-friends were out before she’d even really maneuvered onto the highway, but Marcus held in there for as long as he could. He stayed there for the descent and tried as hard as he could to pull her out, but she was stuck. No one was getting her out.

Abby had understood that.

She’d been clean now for three months. She had a job again, though it was nothing near what her previous job had been, and she had inherited the house she’d spent so much of her life in. So many happy memories.

Now she was standing in the driveway, her hand still holding tight to the bright blue door of her honda civic, unable to move. How could she walk through that front door again knowing that her Grandmother wouldn’t be on the other side with a smile and an engulfing hug.

She bent over slightly, trying to catch her breath.

How could she go into that house that most certainly smelled like the woman she had loved more than life itself and not slide back into the hell that had been her life for more than two years.

“Come on, Wendi,” Abby said, placing her hand over the one that refused to detach.

She looked at her friend, unable to blink away the wall of tears blurring her vision. She shook her head. “I can’t,” she said, her tone strained.

“You can,” Abby said.

Wendi took a deep breath, detaching her hand from the door. Her legs became like jello and her feet like cement blocks. It was an odd feeling, but one that she understood more than not. For two years she’d run away from this feeling.

The dread of facing the truth.

Abby slid an arm around her waist, allowing her to rest her hea don her shoulder. Abby had always been there, ready to take on the weight of the world for her. The closer they came to the large front porch the heavier her legs became. Her chairs were still there. Four rocking chairs, two situated on either side of the porch, and a two seater swing. They’d spent many afternoons on this porch, laughing and talking. Her grandmother had known all her dreams. She’d known everything.

They climbed the three stairs to the landing and she was face to face with the door. She touched the wreath her grandmother had hung out just two weeks before her heart gave out on her.

She hadn’t even known.

“You okay?” Abby asked, tucking the dark waves that had escaped Wendi’s bun behind her ears.

Wendi nodded.

Abby turned the nob, pushing the door open.

Wendi breathed in the woman she had loved more than anything else in her entire life and folded to the floor of the porch.

Abby was beside her, holding her close and smoothing her hair back. “It’s okay,” she soothed. “It’s okay.”

Wendi grabbed at her blouse, the pink one she’d given her a month ago for her birthday.

“Come on, Wendi, we’ve got to keep going.”

“I can’t,” she sobbed.

Abby forced her to look up. “You can,” she said, her tone desperate and stern all at the same time.

Wendi shook her head, but Abby held her gaze. She swallowed, pushing down the anxiety, acknowledging where the pain was coming from.

She nodded.

Abby helped her up and they continued into the tiny house that she now owned.

Once inside Wendi looked around. It was immaculate, just like it had always been. But how? Her mother wouldn’t have come here. She was still bitter that the house was left to a grandchild and not a child. Her grandmother had always said her children didn’t need anything she had to offer, and she wouldn’t bother leaving them anything because they had no use to her in life.

“How can they have any use for me in death?” she would ask.

Wendi had always laughed, but she had never believed that she would leave them nothing, aside from photographs.

It was all hers.

So who?

She looked to Abby. “Did you do this?”

“Not me.” She held her hands up. “Go into the kitchen,” she ordered.

Wendi took a deep breath and made her way through the living room, pausing at the door before pushing it open to enter the kitchen.

The smell hit her the moment the door cracked and she paused. Vegetable soup. She looked back at Abby, but she was standing in the living room, her arms crossed over her abdomen. She lifted a lithe arm and motioned for her to move inside.

Wendi pushed the door open all the way and stepped inside, her eyes shut tight, too scared to look at what was waiting there for her.

“Hey,” the voice came across the room.

It was not a ghost. Not in the literal sense anyway.

Her eyes fluttered open and she was faced with the man she’d never expected to see again. He was standing in the center of her grandmother’s kitchen. Her kitchen. In his hands he held two bowls. She smiled, despite the overwhelming emotions raging inside her.

“Soup?” he asked.

“It was you?” she said, accepting the bowl, her mind reeling from the realization settling in. “It was you.”

Day 31: ONE month wrap up!

Twenty-four prompts out of thirty-one is not too shabby, considering I hadn’t written one constructive word in months!

But still, I missed seven prompts. I tend to let work, and the other stressful things in my life get in the way and distract me from my goals. I am going to have to do better. Thus, my New Year’s Resolution will be to write my prompts every single day. Missing five (not counting christmas and today) is not acceptable. I can do this.

I will do this.

Happy New year’s, everyone! I hope that you have a safe and happy holiday and that you will join me in the new year!!!!!

Day 28: Prompt 24: PARLOUR

 

She’d wanted one since she was a girl. A parlour. One room where the family could gather and not have to talk over the television, a room where guests could come in and have a cup of coffee or tea and not be witness to the mess that her children would leave. It would be the place for her to spend mornings after breakfast and afternoons after lunch. It would be a room to thoroughly impress guests, while at the same time providing comfort for those living in the home.

Of course her husband thought she’d lost her mind. They’d been married fifteen years when she divulged to him that the split level home they’d occupied for ten years was not that kind of house she’d envisioned spending her golden years in. He’d assured her that the house would be adequate and that they shouldn’t hold on to childish fantasies of living in a home they couldn’t afford.

“Why do we need to start paying on a Victorian when the kids are getting ready for college?” he would question.

But she’d been adamant that she have the house she wanted. On the weekends she would drag him from one ancient house to another. The only ones they could afford were fixer uppers. Maybe that is why he was so against the idea. He’d never been a man who enjoyed manual labor, and with her dream of a parlour that is all he could see, but still she insisted.

“We’ll be in our seventies by the time we get it paid off. If not our eighties. Goodbye retirement!”

He was never the kind of man that enjoyed change.

Maybe she’d been too pushy.

She stretched out on her luxurious chaise, situated to the left of the large fireplace centered along the outside walls of her beautiful dream parlour. They’d found it ten years ago, just before their twentieth wedding anniversary, a beautiful shell of a house that needed more work than even she had been looking for, but she had been determined to have her parlour and it was in the right price range. She touched her toes to the gleaming dark of the one hundred year old hardwoods. Her eldest grandchild would lay for hours on this floor, peering into the depths of the wood as if he might find something there.

She’d envisioned this home as the thing that would keep her marriage together. As they rebuilt and refurbished she imagined that they would grow stronger as a couple and he might move past his hostilities toward her concerning the house.

Three years in, when he ran off with the drape girl, she realized how foolish she and her dreams had been.

She sipped on her coffee, dreading the thought of what she needed to do next. Her parlour, the room of her dreams…

Standing, she placed the #1 grandma mug on the tea table in front of the massive picture window that overlooked her lawn, her fingers sliding over the deep burgundy material of the drapes. They weren’t the same ones she had intended to have in the room. Once the drape girl had successfully stolen her husband she thought it best not to go with her design. It would mare the feelings of her room. She’d sacrificed her marriage for this room and she wouldn’t have anything in it that might make her regret it.

And she didn’t regret it. Not really.

If it hadn’t been the drape girl it might have been someone else. She’d had the best years of his life anyway.

With a heavy sadness, she grabbed the large red sign from beside her chaise and walked through the foyer and out onto the expanse of the front porch. Taking a deep breath, she walked down the stairs and out into the lawn she’d managed to bring back to life with minor landscaping.

As she hammered the sign into the soft earth she wished she’d never dreamed of having her own parlour, and most certainly had never gotten it.

Whomever it was that believed it is better to have had and lost was a fool indeed.

Day 27: Prompt 23: EX

 

When Lorna called to tell me she’d run into my ex I hadn’t believed her. After all, the last time I ran into him (not literally of course. Well, maybe…) he’d mentioned something about moving out of the country. From that moment I became resigned to the fact that I would never see him again.

“You’re not serious,” I said into the blue-tooth permanently glued to my ear.

“I am totally serious,” she said.

I wanted to ask a million questions, the first being “where does he live?” But I refrained. It was hard to do, and something told me that Lorna knew that, the way she prattled on and on about this man that I had been accused of stalking (not true) for more than ten years. Did it really count as stalking if you visited his social networking page three or four times a day waiting for an update.

“I thought he’d moved to Puerto Rico,” I said.

Lorna laughed, a loud cackling sound. “No, honey,” she said as if I were a four year old trying to get at something I shouldn’t. “He has been right here the entire time. Just flying under the radar. At least that’s what he said.”

I knew what she was getting at. She might as well have said It’s all your fault, Anni.

“Well, that’s nice then. And he’s doing well?”

“He’s doing fabulous!” she gushed. “And,” she paused for effect. “He’s single!”

I guess I shouldn’t have been surprised to feel that nagging, the one I thought I had moved on from. I tell you what, my friends, you don’t know shame until you’re stuck on one guy for way longer than need be. The really sad fact was that he had never been that into me and it took a lot of years to get it.

“Anni, you still there?”

“Yup,” I said. “But I’ve got to go.”

There was a chuckle on the other end. “Off to the internet, I guess?”

“What?”

“He’s not a big internet person. That was his ex.”

“Lorna, please give me a little credit. I’ve got a lunch appointment.”

There was another chuckle and I contemplated walking over to her office building to give her a good smack. If she was any kind of friend what so ever she wouldn’t have even mentioned him. She knew that I was still having issues getting over him.

*************************

“If she was your friend at all she wouldn’t have called you, Anni,” my best friend of forever, Piper, said over lunch.

Yes, she was my appointment.

“Why did she do it then?” I asked, taking an angry bite of my hot dog.

Today they’d decided to meet at a local hot dog place. The best in the city.

“Who knows. Lorna has her own agendas and she doesn’t care who she hurts with them.”

“She invited me to dinner tonight.”

Dr. Pepper and ice spewed across the wrought iron table. I grabbed a paper napkin from beside my dog tray and began to dab the dark liquid away from my face.

“Sorry,” she offered.

“Yeah.” She sat upright in her chair, her green eyes fixed on my face. I knew what she expected, but still I said, “What!”

“You’re going, aren’t you?”

“I was invited,” I said a little too quickly.

“It is astounding to me the mess you will go through just to get the scoop on him!”

I bowed my head, waiting for the fresh shame to pass. “I am not going to talk about him. I am just going to dinner with Lorna.”

“Anni, you can lie to everyone else, and maybe they will believe you, but you can’t lie to me. You don’t need to go.”

I didn’t raise my head.

“Dammit, Anni!” she said, smacking the table.

My head snapped up.

“You don’t need to go,” she repeated. “You’ve come so far. I don’t want to see you go this way again.”

“It’s fine,” I assured her. “I’m not going any way. I don’t even think about him anymore.”

It was a lie. And that was precisely why scarcely an hour later I was on the internet trying to find out as much information as possible about the ex that should have never shown back up. I had just stumbled upon a great site that might possibly give me some answers when the door to my office opened.

“You’ve got a call on line three, Anni,” my sometimes assistant, Toni said. She was too cute for words, and I hated her for it, but not in a bad way. She couldn’t help it she was born disgustingly beautiful.

“Thanks.” I smoothed out my hair (don’t ask me why), took a deep breath, and picked up the line. “”This is Anni,” I said with confidence.

“Anni, darling,” Lorna said, her tone high and flighty. “Tonight at eight. Monticello’s.”

I agreed and replaced the receiver on its cradle. For the life of me I couldn’t understand why Lorna, someone I talked to maybe once a year, had now made a second appearance in one day.

Eight o’clock.

But did I care? Piper was right, I really have come a long way. I scarcely thought of him now, and I only checked on his social sites every now and then. Maybe once a week if I have to get specific, but there was something inside that made me want to go. If Lorna knew something about him she wanted to know.

And, yes, I do know how ridiculous that is.

*********************************

It was seven fifty-five and I was standing outside of the priciest restaurant in town. I contemplated going inside once more. Not only was I hesitant because of the price (one meal could potentially set me back half a weeks pay. Maybe a quarter), but also because I didn’t want to confirm what Lorna thought she knew about me.

She didn’t know me. And she certainly had no idea of my feelings for the man I had once envisioned as my husband.

I walked to the wall of windows that lined the dining room, looking for the shock of red hair that would signal Lorna’s presence. I found her at a table in the center of the room. How fitting for her, I thought.

Her hair was pulled into a tight bun and her lips were the deepest burgundy I had ever seen. She was wearing a black dress with a waterfall bodice that fell in all the right places to accentuate her bust line. I suddenly remembered why I never saw Lorna more than twice a year. She was a skeez.

She threw her head back, her deep red lips open to illustrate her laugh, her hand stretching out toward her companion.

I guess I shouldn’t have been surprised to see my ex sitting across from her looking as handsome as ever, but I was.