Fiction Friday: [Christmas Waffles]

Sunlight streamed through the window and Charlotte grunted, rolled onto her side, and snuggled even deeper into the down comforter. The thought of crawling out of the cocooned goodness didn’t appeal to her. Not even a little bit. But despite her best efforts, her mind had other plans and slowly climbed awake mountain until she remembered what today was.

Her eyes shot open and she was wide awake. Despite friends and family warning not to get her hopes up, Charlotte had no doubt that today was the day. The day when she would go from “girlfriend” to “fiancée”.

The sound of clanging pots and pans drew her attention down the hall and she flung off the comforter and jumped out of bed. She plodded down the hall and found Todd in the kitchen. The counter was covered with cracked egg shells, powdery piles, a package of bacon, and whatever was in the bowl he was attacking with a whisk. Standing out from all of it was a square box draped in beautiful paper that shimmered with glittered snowflakes and was secured with a bow tied so perfectly she knew he hadn’t wrapped it.

Doubt needled its way in when she noticed the size of the box. It was large enough to hold dozens of engagement rings. But knowing that Todd considered himself clever, she shed the disappointment, rebounding with a smile.

“Morning,” she said, trying to tamp down the excitement in her voice.

“Morning, Char.”

He abandoned the bowl and wrapped her up in a hug before spinning her around. His level of excitement was duly noted and she added it to her “Oh my God, I’m getting engaged” list of evidence.

“What are you making?” she managed to ask over the pounding pulse of her heartbeat.

“First,” he said, grabbing the present Charlotte had never quite let leave her sight. “Merry Christmas.”

She took a deep breath, then she took him in wanting to remember every moment. Todd’s eyes sparkled, the perfect accessories to his lopsided smile. With misty eyes and lips turned up fully end to end, Charlotte reached her shaky hands toward her glittery future.

The shock made her smile falter a bit. There was a weight to the box that allowed the doubt to creep in again. Studying Todd’s face didn’t help. His crooked smile and look of anticipation hadn’t changed.

With only one way to find out, she was indelicate as she ripped the paper away from the box. Her smile fell flat, but her eyes remained misty. She paused a moment before glancing up at Todd’s now irritatingly excited face.

“Ta-dah! It’s the waffle iron you wanted,” he said, oblivious to the energy shift darkening the moment. “And you think I never pay attention. Pop it out of the box, I already made the batter.”

Todd cleared the counter and turned to discover Charlotte hadn’t moved. Not only that, but her lips had pulled impossibly thin, arching toward the floor. Her eyes twitched at the corners as they narrowed.

“What’s wrong?”

“What’s wrong?” Her voice projected in a lower register than normal. Even he had to know this couldn’t be good. “We’ve been together for five years. We’ve lived together for three. You can’t give me a waffle maker and then ask me what’s wrong.”

Anger and hurt seeped from every pore and grew stronger with each memory of past Christmas’, birthdays, and Valentine’s Day’s. She would have even happily accepted an Arbor Day proposal. But, no. Apparently it was too much to ask that they be on the same page.

“If you don’t know what’s wrong, then…well, that’s just the root of the problem isn’t it?”

The glare she shot his way was meant to cut through him. But no matter how hurt she was, when his crooked smile faded, her eyebrows softened a bit. Her gaze fell to the floor and she was flooded with the heat of embarrassment as the truest memories of what their relationship was reflected back at her.

How no one could ease her sadness or anger like Todd could. How he answered every time she called. How he asked about her day with actual interest. How every time he looked at her, she had zero doubt that she was loved.

She wasn’t sure when she had become this person, but she regretted allowing it to happen. Especially when she recalled the moment so many months ago when she had fleetingly pointed out the waffle maker in Macy’s. The fact that he remembered was a more accurate measure of the man Todd really was.

Charlotte knew she needed to apologize. But what she didn’t know was that when she looked up, the man she loved would be smiling again. A smile that grew more mischievous every time he squeezed the box in the palm of his batter splattered hand. 

Fiction Friday:[A Beacon in the Snow]

Lila’s knees hit her chest with every step, yet she insisted on walking. Her mittened hand clung tightly to my own as she trudged her way through. Each firmly planted foot earned her a satisfying crunch and the smile that spread across her ruddy face was all I needed to know that to her, the effort was worth it.

A gaggle of squeals and giggles drifted toward us and I could feel the excited anticipation vibrating from Lila’s body the closer we got. When she caught shocks of primary colors flashing between tree trunks, she let go of my hand, and with the intention of running, she fell face first. For a moment she just lay there, unmoving. I grabbed her shoulders and pulled her up, saddened at the thought of her initial excitement dwindling away.

Lila’s face was covered in freshly fallen snow and as I wiped it away, her eyes popped open. A squeal escaped through her smile that rivaled those we had been heading toward. She clapped her hands and the snow dislodged and rained down toward the ground.

Frosty and numb, my cheeks rose as her joy bolstered my own smile. By the time we had reached the other children, they had tamped the snow down enough to give Lila the freedom she had desired. She pulled free from my hand and ran into the fray. One of dozens of kids, Lila’s laughter served as a beacon.

I thought about how I’d cursed the snow as I looked out the window this morning. How I had resented it for ruining my day before it had even begun. But now I couldn’t imagine ever looking out to discover it had snowed and not being reminded of the sweetest sound I had ever heard. 

Fiction Friday: [Coffee & Consequences]

My mind spun and I tried to grasp at any thought, any memory to give me the sense of feeling grounded. Feeling solid. Instead, years of worry and pain bore down on my chest, smothering my urge to scream. My urge to flee. The stranger’s eyes were unyielding as they locked onto my own. His words continued to bounce around my confused mind.

I had noticed him earlier, watching me. My morning paper and the rich, smooth aroma of roasting coffee beans were all that separated the space between us. I took comfort in the tip tapping of fingers on laptop keys as fellow coffee shop patrons worked on future bestsellers or, more likely, checked the latest tweets. Potential witnesses if this man proved to be crazy.

The jingly notes of the Christmas music faded under the crashing waves pulsing in my ears. Blood surged at the insistence of my pounding heart as he walked toward me. By the time he reached my table, the low murmur of coffee shop chatter drowned under the sound of my own heartbeat.

“I’m sorry to bother you,” he had said. “But I have a message. She’s…she’s quite, um, insistent.”

I felt a pinch between my brows as I opened my mouth to speak. After a moment he must have realized that nothing was going to come from my parted lips and he continued.

“Anya wants me to tell you that she hopes you and Darren are happy.”

His eyes swam with kindness and a hint of pride. My mouth eased open further as if to catch the tears swelling too quickly to the surface. A smile spread across his face and I realized he believed he had delivered comforting news from beyond.

Pressing my lips together, I swallow down the bark of fear throbbing in my throat. With great effort, I was only able to curl up the right side of my mouth, but the lie of it was too much and it fell back into a grim, straight line.

“Thank you,” I finally managed to say and he walked away.

His steps were light. Those of a man who had done some good. I knew my steps would never be that free again as the weight of fear now pumped through my veins like concrete.

…she hopes you and Darren are happy.

Heat prickled my skin, but I shivered as I recalled the stranger’s words. Words meant to ease the suffering of loss, but I knew all too well Anya’s true intention. What she had implied.

If she knew that I was now involved with her husband—her widow—then she surely knew that I was the one who killed her, too.

Fiction Friday: [Thank You]

This Thanksgiving I have so much to be thankful for: an incredible network of supportive family and friends, a roof over my head, Talenti Gelato Sea Salt Caramel in the freezer. But, I wanted to take a moment to express my gratitude to those of you reading this right now. Whether you subscribe to the blog and read every post or whether this is your first time here...I want to thank you for checking out my tiny, tiny corner of the world. 

 

And, since today is actually Fiction Friday, I am going to encourage you to find your own story by providing you with a little photo prompt. Please do what you will with the following picture of how we capped off the Thanksgiving meal in our household:

Nothing says Thanksgiving like a punching ninja surrounded by hearts on top of a blueberry peach pie, right? Feel free to share what you're thankful for in the comments below.

Today and everyday...thank you. Happy creating!

Fiction Friday: [Frustrated Sympathy]

I found him in the shower.
His sobs mingled with the spray beating down on him
and escaped from between his knees
where his head was tucked.

He didn’t move when I turned the faucet off,
Didn’t flinch when I wrapped the towel around him. 

I sat on the edge of the tub.
Not saying a word.
Not because I didn’t know what to say,
but because I knew he wouldn’t want me to.

In an hour he’ll act like this never happened.
And I’ll play along as not to add to his embarrassment.

It was a tiring game.
A lesson yet to be learned.
That words were more freeing than tears.
But pride kept him tethered.

Pride, and believing the pain circled down the drain with his tears,
Erasing the memory of the time before.

And the time before. 

Fiction Friday: [Rebranding]

They arrived without fanfare. Just appeared out of the blue one day. Silver orbs hovering high in the sky above New York City, silent and reflective. No matter the weather or time of day, they were always there. And as the months passed, they began to pop up all over the world.

Once everyone realized it wasn’t some elaborate publicity stunt, panic set in. Speculation on the orbs’ intentions dominated every conversation. Trusted news networks booked Ancient Alien Conspiracy Theorists as their pundits and the theorists were more than happy to leave behind their novelty shows on the Discovery Channel. The anticipation of lasers shooting toward the earth, and destroying us all, cast a shadow over every moment of every day.

But time passed and nothing happened. The orbs just continued to hover silently above. It wasn’t long before the fear turned into anger. Anger born from the idea that we were being judged. It was as if there was nothing more jarring than knowing we were being fully seen, warts and all.  

So, wars were paused and the poor were fed. Fairer laws were passed and no one was left to suffer sleepless nights on the street. There was never a mandate, it just happened. We were human after all, so it wasn’t surprising when the world as a whole adopted a “we’ll show them” attitude.

Kindness spread and gathered steam as easily as hate had for too long. Growing with every act performed in its name, kindness eventually became second nature. And not once did anyone shoot an “I told you so” up to the sky. If they had, they would have noticed that the orbs were gone. 

Fiction Friday [Landline]

My eyes shot open and I was greeted with darkness. A thick, coal murkiness meant only to keep one cradled in the bosom of sleep. It was the harsh bleat of the landline begging for attention, over and over, that woke me. Oval-ish and corded, it sat on the nightstand next to Ben’s side of the bed. In theory the placement was perfect, since his parents were the only ones to ever use the number.

The uninterrupted, meditative rise and fall of the lump next to me, fully illustrated the flaw in the plan. I reached over and patted his shoulder with all of the middle of the night strength I could muster.

“Ben. Phone.”

As I gathered the energy to tap him again, the phone stopped ringing. Relieved, I melted into the comforting silence and grew hypnotized by Ben’s steady breathing. Despite my irritation with his deep sleep, I was appreciative for the rare moment of actually sharing a bed with my husband. Since he started his residency at St. Luke’s, these moments were few and far between.

The shrill tone of the antiquated telephone cut through the silence with the ease of a butter knife cutting an overcooked steak. I let loose a growl as my fists bounced weakly against the mattress.

Expecting Ben to answer at this point was only an exercise in frustration, and leaving it to ring would only lead to another call, so I took a deep breath and rose to my elbows. Reaching over Ben, I patted blindly for the phone.

“Hello?” I said, making sure my voice was extra groggy in hopes that this time the in-laws would remember to mind the time difference.

“Hey, honey. Sorry to wake you but I forgot what you needed me to pick up on the way home.”

Ben’s words fell away as a hot wave of panic crept and weaved its way through every molecule in my body. Fear choked at my vocal chords and I couldn’t respond. My brain, still stuck in the sludge of sleep, fought to understand.

“Nina?” Ben’s voice echoed through the receiver clutched to my ear. “Did you hear me?”

His question was answered by the scream of terror that ripped from my throat as the lump slowly turned toward me.   

Fiction Friday: [Halloween 1984]

The mask
was a concentrated heatwave.
Every exhale filled the nooks and crannies
of the pre-BPA free plastic and
applied layer after layer
of slickness.
The slits at the nose and mouth,
embarrassed by their uselessness.

The body,
slipped over my street clothes
like a doctor heading into surgery.
and tied at the back,
proudly displayed the name across
my chest…
in case the mask wasn’t enough.

The world
had to know,
there could be no doubt
that I was, indeed,
Strawberry Shortcake.