[For Mary Jane] They say it's your birthday.
There's a certain skill in sneaking in and out of bed without anyone being the wiser, one I've perfected over the years. I could go into the science of it all -- weight distribution and making sure the temperature doesn't drop, real spy stuff like that -- but the truth of the matter is, most of it's just gut instinct, making it more of an art than anything else. I know Mary Jane well enough, now, that I'm conscious of most of her idiosyncrasies, like how she curls up against me in her sleep, an arm draped over my chest as though I'm some sort of overgrown stuffed toy. Most days it's the very best way to wake up, a luxury after months spent in a cramped hospital bed, but this particular morning it presents a challenge, because this particular morning, it's her birthday.
She didn't ask for anything, didn't so much as mention it, but after the year we've had together -- not to mention that short little while we had apart -- it didn't feel right to just let it pass on by. We're getting married in a little under three weeks, sure, but it's her day, and she ought to feel special.
Just before dawn, she rolls onto her back, and I seize the opportunity, crawling out of bed without waking her up. Praying that she stays asleep until my return, I write a note for her regardless before heading out for the Compound, not wanting her to worry just in case. I have the whole day planned out, and breakfast in bed is up first -- without any real kitchen to speak of at home, it's a necessary evil that I have to go out at all.
I creep back into the house a few hours later, freshly showered and with food in tow, wrapped carefully in foil and placed in a plastic container to keep it from cooling on the walk. The sun's filtering in through the slatted windows by the time I finish setting everything up, quiet as a church mouse. There's french toast topped with berries, eggs and juice, all laid out on a tray at the foot of the bed, a bouquet of handpicked flowers completing the picture. Her real gift -- a film projector I've been tinkering with for the better part of two months in my spare time -- is still hidden underneath the desk, but I'll get to it later.
Tugging off my shirt, I settle back beside her under the blankets, careful not to disturb the food. I pocket the note I left before, not having needed it after all. She's beautiful like this, peaceful and sweet, and a smile tugs at the corners of my mouth as I lean in to press a kiss to her top of her head. Every day I'm lucky to start my day with her, and today's no different.
"Mary Jane," I murmur, slipping an arm around her shoulders. "C'mon, Sunshine, it's time to wake up."
She didn't ask for anything, didn't so much as mention it, but after the year we've had together -- not to mention that short little while we had apart -- it didn't feel right to just let it pass on by. We're getting married in a little under three weeks, sure, but it's her day, and she ought to feel special.
Just before dawn, she rolls onto her back, and I seize the opportunity, crawling out of bed without waking her up. Praying that she stays asleep until my return, I write a note for her regardless before heading out for the Compound, not wanting her to worry just in case. I have the whole day planned out, and breakfast in bed is up first -- without any real kitchen to speak of at home, it's a necessary evil that I have to go out at all.
I creep back into the house a few hours later, freshly showered and with food in tow, wrapped carefully in foil and placed in a plastic container to keep it from cooling on the walk. The sun's filtering in through the slatted windows by the time I finish setting everything up, quiet as a church mouse. There's french toast topped with berries, eggs and juice, all laid out on a tray at the foot of the bed, a bouquet of handpicked flowers completing the picture. Her real gift -- a film projector I've been tinkering with for the better part of two months in my spare time -- is still hidden underneath the desk, but I'll get to it later.
Tugging off my shirt, I settle back beside her under the blankets, careful not to disturb the food. I pocket the note I left before, not having needed it after all. She's beautiful like this, peaceful and sweet, and a smile tugs at the corners of my mouth as I lean in to press a kiss to her top of her head. Every day I'm lucky to start my day with her, and today's no different.
"Mary Jane," I murmur, slipping an arm around her shoulders. "C'mon, Sunshine, it's time to wake up."