there was something about him [something sad and broken and appealing...]
Having someone wonder where you are when you don't come home at night is a very old human need. -- Margaret Mead
It's an indescribably awful feeling, being in her parents' house, knowing that her mom won't walk through the door and scold her dad for cleaning his guns at the dinner table. She's being ridiculous, she knows, but she cannot stand being there anymore.
She runs out in the middle of the realtor's sentence and doesn't stop running until she's standing on the front steps of the house she and John are going to buy. It's nothing special, not yet. The siding needs repair, the second step she bypassed all together it rotting from the inside out, ivy is overrunning the lattice work and the kitchen counter tops are the most hideous shade of vomit green she's ever seen, but in two weeks it'll be theirs so to her, it's practically a castle.
With cobwebs.
It's not long after she picks the lock to the front door that she hears the almost familiar rumble of John's car. She should have known, running out mid-sentence probably prompted an angry phone call about his crazy fiancée wasting her time. Mary doesn't mind, the woman is getting paid far more than she deserves. Maybe if it were hush money she'd quit prying.
When John wraps an ugly blue woolen blanket around her shoulders she realizes she's cold and when she looks up, she realizes it's late. Perhaps the realtor hadn't called.
Regardless, she's still a twit.
"Come on, Mar, let's get home."
She raises an eyebrow slightly and looks around. The inside it prettier than the outside (with the exception of the kitchen), but for the most part unfurnished. There's an old rocker that's seen better days and a freshly cleaned kitchen table, but that's it. The rest of the furniture they'll have to supply. After a moment her eyes zero in on the table and she stands up, tugging John to his feet by the hair on the back of his neck.
"John, hate to break it to you, but we are home." She pauses with a sultry little smile that dissolves into a giggle and leads him to the table. "Now if you wanna back out on me..."
John's voice, strong and determined, reminds her of how he addressed his superior officers. "No sir, Mary. I'm not backin' out of anything."
It's an indescribably awful feeling, being in her parents' house, knowing that her mom won't walk through the door and scold her dad for cleaning his guns at the dinner table. She's being ridiculous, she knows, but she cannot stand being there anymore.
She runs out in the middle of the realtor's sentence and doesn't stop running until she's standing on the front steps of the house she and John are going to buy. It's nothing special, not yet. The siding needs repair, the second step she bypassed all together it rotting from the inside out, ivy is overrunning the lattice work and the kitchen counter tops are the most hideous shade of vomit green she's ever seen, but in two weeks it'll be theirs so to her, it's practically a castle.
With cobwebs.
It's not long after she picks the lock to the front door that she hears the almost familiar rumble of John's car. She should have known, running out mid-sentence probably prompted an angry phone call about his crazy fiancée wasting her time. Mary doesn't mind, the woman is getting paid far more than she deserves. Maybe if it were hush money she'd quit prying.
When John wraps an ugly blue woolen blanket around her shoulders she realizes she's cold and when she looks up, she realizes it's late. Perhaps the realtor hadn't called.
Regardless, she's still a twit.
"Come on, Mar, let's get home."
She raises an eyebrow slightly and looks around. The inside it prettier than the outside (with the exception of the kitchen), but for the most part unfurnished. There's an old rocker that's seen better days and a freshly cleaned kitchen table, but that's it. The rest of the furniture they'll have to supply. After a moment her eyes zero in on the table and she stands up, tugging John to his feet by the hair on the back of his neck.
"John, hate to break it to you, but we are home." She pauses with a sultry little smile that dissolves into a giggle and leads him to the table. "Now if you wanna back out on me..."
John's voice, strong and determined, reminds her of how he addressed his superior officers. "No sir, Mary. I'm not backin' out of anything."