I reposed on the settee at the centre of the living room, buried in another one of my favorite books "Cradle to Grave", marble-like, untouched by the room's warmth.
The smooth velvet toastily caressing my pale ivory skin.
It was that part of the book again, that needed in-depth reading. The next line was spicy, stuffed with the unexpected and it hinted at a greater mystery about to unravel.
With avid trepidation, I grabbed my bowl of potpourri, the sliver spoon gleaming in the sunlight that spilled in through the blinds.
One hasty spoon later, I tentatively returned it to the top of the coffee table, resting at the centre of the crimson fleece rug. Then I prepared myself for the pages, sprawling out in anticipation, sinking into the sofa and balancing the book between my raised laps, eyes fixed on the long awaited pages, engrossed.
I loved home, the warmth, the smell of fresh flour and milk with the nuance of liquid soap lingering in the air.
The calm and silence associated with the country life, so ear piercing, you could almost hear your thoughts out loud.
My cotton T-shirt was long enough to drape over my knees brushing against my skin with not as much as a bra on.
A knock echoed through the door, stealing my attention, abruptly from the matte brownish word-filled pages. It felt like turning off the television at the climax of a movie. The outcome of my suspense, a groan, as a brief sigh escaped my perplexed lips.
I had to take the door, Tom was asleep and mother was in the kitchen. Yanking myself up from the chair and gesticulating in annoyance, I plodded to the door, with the book in my hands, fingers pressed against pages to secure and feeling my boobs wobble uncontrollably around my chest from the force with which I stood. I steadied myself as I approached and peeped through the hole, a rough drill at the top of the door.
It was Dad. His lips were tucked in, pressed between his teeth, blonde wispy moustache, spread above his lips and coral green eyeballs, bright, inscrutable, lowered as he waited patiently for a response. I slid the bolt aside and drew the door open gladly.
"Tricia!" he gleamed as his arm went around my shoulders, giving it a sudden reassuring squeeze.
"Dad! You're back" I chimed in.
The site of him warmed my heart but right now, more important, was the interesting scene about to unfold in my novel.
Father glanced over at Tom, my little brother, curled up in a baffle-box duvet, plump and quilted on one of the black leather-upholstered armchairs, neck hung awkwardly asleep.
"His neck would hurt. Where is your mother?" he said placing his briefcase on the wooden rocking chair, angled towards, slackening his tie, his suit jacket slightly loosened after work and a brown fedora tilted back and sitting on his head.
"Kitchen." Came my reply, short and quick.
Oh how I hate being interrupted… disturbed! Screamed the irritated voice in my head, my eyebrows furrowed slightly. I needed to read in peace. Gosh!
He shuffled past me, with light jolly steps, that hardly came to my notice. A mildly sweet scent with a hint of fresh sweat brushed my nose, I pictured a field of dandelions blooming in summer for a second. His cologne was so refreshing.
Amy bustled about the kitchen in a white polka-dotted blue dress, her short thick curls bouncing around buoyantly on her neck, lush and lustrous, like brand new polished black leather. Being a housewife, didn't mean she had to look unkempt.
She tied on the frilly white apron, coincidentally matching with the mittens, she had on. The aroma of roast cuiand parsley in the oven filled the kitchen.
Condensed steam on the pearl resting neatly against her collarbones, softened their glow. Father had been watching her quietly, busy, her cheeks flushed from the heat and dusted with flour, glowed with quiet effort, stressed yet beautiful.
Her movements hasty but graceful with bright wide eyes that instinctively left his heart beating faster every time she blinked.
Perhaps, catching his presence from the corner of her eyes, Amy turned to the door and there he stood, her darling husband.
His composure spilled joy and that confident hotheaded spark which got her attracted to him in the first place, flickered in his gaze, arms folded and long blonde hair , hardly groomed yet stylish, a face not so good looking but an excellent nose, topped it all off, he looked very much the man she adored.
In two strides, he effortlessly swept her off the floor. Her surprised gasp turned into a delightful giggle as he spun her around, arms clenched tightly around her tiny waist, so small, it was well wrapped in one attempt. The bottom hem of her gown drifting over his legs, against his baggy trousers, as her right slipper flew off her feet, her head narrowly escaping a hanging pan at the top right corner of the wall. He was smart enough to lower her slightly.
"What is it?" she chuckled, a twinkle in her eyes.
His grin said the words louder.
A promotion.
Dropping her carefully and delicately to the floor, his eyes softened as he stared into hers. A feeling of safety and happiness stirred up in her. She felt a light tingle in her chest she knew what would come next.
"I've gotten it, Amy!" he announced.
I stared into space for a moment, imagining what it felt like to have one's leg amputated, that last chapter was stunning. I folded the page neatly, the number, hundred and five, reflecting in my head for recollection.
To be continued, for if I risked one more page, the worms in my stomach might actually make it through the other end, outside. I needed something to eat and the gurgles from my stomach, I had to do something.
So I headed for the kitchen, even a light snack would do, a cracker, anything.
When his face bent toward her, lips aiming for hers, Amy, rather than being lost in eugengrol, snatched a potato chip from a nearby bowl and shoved it between his teeth.
"Uh-uh. Wait till bedtime," she teased, her smile bright.
He blinked in surprise, then chuckled, crunching the chip. "Well, I guess that's delicious." A blush crept up his chin, and Amy's laughter only deepened it.
I had been leaning against the doorway for a good three minutes, watching them. "Oh, quit it! I'm starving!" I'd had enough.
They jerked apart, flustered. The kitchen smelled of roasted chicken and herbs, warmth thick in the air.
"Well, dinner's almost ready, Tee. Go fetch your brother and set the table," Amy said, smoothing her apron as though nothing had happened.
At dinner, I watched Tom toy with the freshly steamed green beans in his plastic bowl, prodding and skewering them.
The rest of us had white and cream colored chinaware bowls. Mother couldn't risk it again, given Tom's shattering ordeal with two bowls previously.
Boredom etched into his face.
Repugnance plunged my mind instantly on the beans' behalf. I loved peas, beans, seeds myself, crushable to chew with a hint leafy tastelessness.
"I got the job with the rails. No more bicycle repairs…" Dad lifted his glass and drank deeply, his Adam's apple bobbing like the water was clearing his throat.
"The Union Continental Railroads! We're relocating September 12th to Brahms! My new job demands it. It's going to be a fresh start, a new life for us all."
He carried on, chewing. That was when I realized he hadn't swallowed at all. The water hadn't washed the food away, it had only sluiced it to the corners of his mouth, tucked there like a squirrel saving something for later. I watched him speak around it, excitement spilling past half-masticated bread and meat. It was surreal, like catching sight of a magician's trick just as the illusion slips.
My thoughts shifted to the core. There was dire emphasis on the company's name. Amy thought it was cemented at the centre neuron of his brain.
Either ways, I felt delighted at the prospect of moving to a new town. I wanted to get to see life, in a bigger world, a larger place. This town, I felt was too little and nothing interesting ever happened.
It's torture