(no subject)
It had been beyond strange.
One minute Addison had been getting herself a cup of coffee in the kitchen, perfectly minding her own business and not getting in anyone's way, and the next minute, she had brushed her hand over the pocket of her jeans and felt a bump there. Now that was odd. She hadn't stuffed anything in her pockets that morning and she definitely didn't think there were reverse-pickpockets on the loose.
She took a long sip of coffee before setting it down on the table and searching to see if maybe she had put some spare change or a shell she'd found in there, only to discover her wedding rings.
"You," she said, uncertainly, not sure why she was talking to the inanimate objects, "are supposed to be at the bottom of Puget Sound, wallowing amidst all the other junk that people toss over the edge of those stupid, stupid ferries that Derek loves." She hated those things and she was pretty sure it was just because Derek loved them and she wanted to be contradictory. Or at least, that was what she told herself today. She might go back to loving them tomorrow. Who knew?
But they were distinctly there and most definitely in her palm and not going anywhere and after it had taken so long to decide what to do with them, she was stuck now deciding whether they should go back to the bottom of the ocean (she was 50% sure the one on their shores was the Pacific, so same deal, right?)
What stopped her was something that struck her out of the blue. Maybe instead of tossing them away, she should keep them. People got married (not-Addison people because she was Addison Montgomery and this was so what her life was like) and some of them wanted rings. And here she had some; two useless little things that were dry as ever, like they had sprouted wings and flown all the way from Seattle just to be in her pocket.
One minute Addison had been getting herself a cup of coffee in the kitchen, perfectly minding her own business and not getting in anyone's way, and the next minute, she had brushed her hand over the pocket of her jeans and felt a bump there. Now that was odd. She hadn't stuffed anything in her pockets that morning and she definitely didn't think there were reverse-pickpockets on the loose.
She took a long sip of coffee before setting it down on the table and searching to see if maybe she had put some spare change or a shell she'd found in there, only to discover her wedding rings.
"You," she said, uncertainly, not sure why she was talking to the inanimate objects, "are supposed to be at the bottom of Puget Sound, wallowing amidst all the other junk that people toss over the edge of those stupid, stupid ferries that Derek loves." She hated those things and she was pretty sure it was just because Derek loved them and she wanted to be contradictory. Or at least, that was what she told herself today. She might go back to loving them tomorrow. Who knew?
But they were distinctly there and most definitely in her palm and not going anywhere and after it had taken so long to decide what to do with them, she was stuck now deciding whether they should go back to the bottom of the ocean (she was 50% sure the one on their shores was the Pacific, so same deal, right?)
What stopped her was something that struck her out of the blue. Maybe instead of tossing them away, she should keep them. People got married (not-Addison people because she was Addison Montgomery and this was so what her life was like) and some of them wanted rings. And here she had some; two useless little things that were dry as ever, like they had sprouted wings and flown all the way from Seattle just to be in her pocket.