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Romance Fiction

Abby set a plate down with a soft thud smoothing out the wrinkles of a satin white napkin. She adjusted the triangle shape observing stark white and deep wine red contrasting each other. She wanted the guilt to wash away from her face. She glanced up as a breeze brushed, the cool tendril of air sweeping across the city as dusk began to call. She walked into her kitchen, snatching a lighter to make flames dance and create shadows against her outdoor creation. He might not even be here tonight. She visioned him coming into the kitchen and browsing through the fridge, curly brown head sticking up before the trek back to his den. They both knew that their last days of even seeing each other were coming to a close. They both had acknowledged that either might leave unexcused when they wished to. A click sounded as the lock to their apartment turned and the curly head had his back turned to the door before examining the apartment and outdoor deck. Why was the table set? Abby stood there on the deck, not knowing what to do - a feeling she rarely felt. Her eye caught the cars on the valleys of highways below, humming like bees on bright flowers. They were tidy folk, people said. Abby stepped into their living room and brought a wedged heel over baby toys plopped conspicuously on the carpet. The curly head turned. He raised an eyebrow. "Dinner outside?" He said. Abby looked away and shrugged a little. "The baby can eat with us," she added, bringing her eyes back to his - briefly. There was a silence as he slung off his pack. There could be nothing she could possibly want. She had always been the smarter one. He noticed something orange peeking out near the sofa - on top he spied a stack of neatly folded clothes. There was a tiny clench behind his eyes that he felt for a second. The wind blew softly outside and he glanced at his wife calmly standing in the chaotic apartment, in a grey skirt and low heels that only she could pull off. Daryll walked over to the screen door and pulled it open for her and both stepped out onto the porch deck. As they stood behind the chairs they caught each other's eyes - hers were faded crystal blue, his brown and rusty.  Daryll did not register the decorum. Her eyes wandered over his for a few seconds. It was there in those moments of waiting that they both felt a silence - the great IT, what they refused to talk about, to discuss, IT - IT was over. In fact they knew IT had ended long ago. IT formalized on papers that sat at the bottom of their drawers. IT's words spoke louder than the voices that were never raised in defense, that never sparred. IT hadn't crumbled. IT hadn't existed, resolved Daryll, as he scooched himself into his chair. He lifted a spoon under scallops swimming in an orange sea of sauce,  dipping them onto a white plate. Abby's hair had pigs' tail tendrils bluffing in the breeze. Daryll looked at them bounce. 

He could see them again brushing near his face. Abby spoke in the wind, her voice clear above the pitch of the chilly wind. "I looked down, Daryll!" She was smiling. He looked into her face, pale with mountain chill, a blush under her cheeks. There was something clenched in his stomach - a knot almost - and he realized that it was not his fear of heights. It was ridiculous to think that some hook was not securely fastened, that the ropes might snippet, or that most dreadfully her foot should miss a cranny. It was this fear that Daryll - usually in such a calm spirit - this fear told him something great. As Daryll glanced down the sides of the porch where they sat, the city below that stood like a miniature, he knew that the fear he felt was not connected to the drop below. And he bent over his plate and picked up his fork. 

Abby pulled her chair in with a jump. Bumps in the road made her jolt. Her legs were swung out in front of her over the expanse of invisible ground. There was laughter from the back of the vehicle and she knew by its tone that it was Daryll. What would it take to hear that laugh? She smiled (softly) to herself. His laugh was refreshing but different from drinking a cold glass of water in the summer. And the smile made her eyes drop - she would not describe the taste. Abby was staring at her fork. It dragged against the mountain of dark brown before she lifted it to her lips and let its sweetness swirl on the tip of her tongue. 

Daryll could taste orange in the brownie. What would be Abby's response if he had raised his brows with appreciation? He would not meet her eyes and instead they roved over to the wall. The day was sunny and Abby materialized. She turned her shoulders and gave him her rare smile, her mouth lifted in perfect angles. "Thank you so much," her eyes said. She passed her arm briefly over his. "I couldn't have done it without you," she whispered. She turned and her blue gown whipped crisply as she moved to speak with family nearby. Daryll smiled softly as he watched her, tall and proud, little curls about her face escaping her usually neat figure. He knew that the fingers wrapped around her blue booklet were pressing firmly. I will never let this girl go, he thought. And now he could find himself daring to meet her eyes as the upbeat music faded in the rush of city cars. 

Abby didn't know what the calm sea in Daryll's brown eyes meant - it wasn't exactly blank. She could see the spot where they first ate together. They were squished in the back of the restaurant and could feel gusts of heat from the kitchen as servers ran out. The last bit of paper wrapped chicken had been unfolded making a little wax paper tower in the middle of their table. Abby envisioned matcha soft serve when her eyes snapped to Daryll's as he bent over with his fork. She spied something bright and red before he tilted his head for the capture. It lit up his face and his mouth puffed before a great smile adorned his face. Pink spread underneath his skin and she stared in wonder. Her eyes were amused when the question slipped out of her lips. He nodded affably and Abby began to laugh. Sitting there on the porch deck the memory made Abby smile. Her straight face had a hard time not showing it and she could feel the muscles of her face wishing to simply smile. She must not show it. Significance, she realizes, is that sometimes a person just makes you smile and it warms your heart and that stays with you. 

A little patter of footsteps jolted her out of the state. The baby scooched into another room. He would be safe there for a while, she thought. A loud crash followed amid sounds of shattering glass. Daryll, on his feet, passed by into the room, Abby to stand there on the porch. She clicked her way to the room in a half-rush. In the middle of their living room the chubby baby shook a rattling toy. Daryll - his head was drawn into his chest, standing there as a statue. Abby slipped slowly by his side. As she drew near she spotted the wooden square within his clutch. Her eyes traveled down to their wedding frame and then found his, narrow. And his traveled to the mantlepiece before relaxing. Daryll gently placed the frame back onto their mantle piece. There was a crack down the middle and shards of glass created vacancies but the picture - Daryll placed his arm under hers. The picture was still intact. They would keep it that way.

February 20, 2021 00:32

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