LJ Idol Topic #26b: Grip
It was our first night in the new house.
Well, new-old-house. Jared called it a "fixer-upper." I called it Thirteen-Thirteen Mockingbird Lane. It was big, drafty, and creaked with every step. The wallpaper was faded and torn; the ceiling corners were dusted with cobwebs. The basement was one of those cold, damp, dirt-floor cellars, and it smelled like something had died down there.
I kept expecting to get in the shower and find myself face-to-face with Norman Bates' mother, if you know what I mean.
We had gotten all the big furniture moved in and arranged, and now we were starting on the little stuff. I was sitting on the sofa, sorting through boxes to try to find the television remote, when I felt something brush my neck.
I reached up. There was nothing there. I figured it was either a draft, or cobwebs, or my own ponytail. I bent back over the boxes, rummaging with a little more purpose now.
This time, when something cold and clammy ran over my neck, I let out a high-pitched shriek that sounded like something from a slasher movie.
Jared burst out laughing. "Gotcha!" he crowed, and giggle-snorted his way around the couch, with two steaming bowls of wonton soup. "I'm back."
"I see that," I observed, as I took my bowl. I gave him a dark, threatening, no-sex-for-you look.
"Aww," he intoned, but his focus quickly moved to his soup. "I thought it was funny."
"Right," I agreed. "For that, you get to clean out the basement."
I didn't quite get him to clean out the basement, but I did manage to get him to do the dishes after we'd finished out take out.
Meanwhile, I went into the dining room to start putting the china back in the cupboard. We had my grandmother's old china-- fine, fancy frilly stuff that we hadn't used in three years of marriage, and probably never would. Service for twenty-seven. Who has service for twenty-seven people on china that nice?
I consoled myself with the thought that in this room, we actually had space for a dinner party of twenty-seven. Thirty-four, if you counted the bats that were probably lurking up there in the vaulted ceiling. Ugh.
I don't know when I dozed off, but the next thing I remembered was Jared's hand on my arm. "Hon, you have your face in the gravy boat."
I did. I rubbed my cheek. I could feel the imprint of scalloped china in my skin. I sighed. "Bedtime?" I asked.
No sooner had I brushed my teeth and pulled down the covers, then I heard a familiar ting-a-ling coming from Jared's bedside table.
His shirt was halfway off. He groaned, and pulled it back on. "Work," he said, picking up his phone reluctantly.
"At this hour?" I asked with a moan. "Tell them to call someone else. Jesus, we just moved."
Jared leaned down and kissed my temple, and turned off the lamp. "I'll call them back and see what they want," he said. "You go to sleep."
I don't think twenty minutes had passed when the door opened again. I let out a satisfied sigh as he climbed into bed beside me and wrapped his arms around my shoulders.
"Thank god," I said. "They didn't need you?"
But he'd dropped off to sleep as soon as his head had hit the pillow. All I could hear was light snoring.
I tried to wriggle out of his arms. "Get offa me," I muttered. "You know it's too hot to sleep like that." Finally, he relented, and I drifted off to dreamland.
But then, a few hours later, there he was again, squeezing me like he wanted to get juice out of me or something. "Jared," I groaned. I could still hear him snoring. I was tempted to slap him awake, but he was the one who'd gotten up at five that morning and driven up here to the new house. So I very gingerly took his arms off me and went back to sleep.
I woke to an empty bed, the first rays of sunlight shining through the dusty old lace draperies that we definitely needed to replace. The phone was ringing. "Jared?!" I called. "Can you get that?"
When it kept ringing, I reached over and picked it up. "Hello?" I asked, with some trepidation. A call that early in the morning couldn't possibly be good news.
"Hon?" Jared's voice sounded exhausted on the other end of the phone. "I'll be home in twenty?"
"Home from where?" I asked, surprised that he was out so early. "You didn't go running without me, did you?"
"From work," he answered. "Remember? Last night? That call? They...sorry, honey, sorry I didn't wake you. They had a guy call out, and then the cops came, and they needed a manager, and...oh, Jesus, all I want to do right now is sleep."
"What?" I asked. "You were where?" I felt a chill run over me. I looked back at the as-yet-unmade bed.
"Work, honey. Look, I'll tell you everything when I get home, all right? Mwa. Love you." The phone clicked silent.
Only one side of the bed was turned down.
Well, new-old-house. Jared called it a "fixer-upper." I called it Thirteen-Thirteen Mockingbird Lane. It was big, drafty, and creaked with every step. The wallpaper was faded and torn; the ceiling corners were dusted with cobwebs. The basement was one of those cold, damp, dirt-floor cellars, and it smelled like something had died down there.
I kept expecting to get in the shower and find myself face-to-face with Norman Bates' mother, if you know what I mean.
We had gotten all the big furniture moved in and arranged, and now we were starting on the little stuff. I was sitting on the sofa, sorting through boxes to try to find the television remote, when I felt something brush my neck.
I reached up. There was nothing there. I figured it was either a draft, or cobwebs, or my own ponytail. I bent back over the boxes, rummaging with a little more purpose now.
This time, when something cold and clammy ran over my neck, I let out a high-pitched shriek that sounded like something from a slasher movie.
Jared burst out laughing. "Gotcha!" he crowed, and giggle-snorted his way around the couch, with two steaming bowls of wonton soup. "I'm back."
"I see that," I observed, as I took my bowl. I gave him a dark, threatening, no-sex-for-you look.
"Aww," he intoned, but his focus quickly moved to his soup. "I thought it was funny."
"Right," I agreed. "For that, you get to clean out the basement."
I didn't quite get him to clean out the basement, but I did manage to get him to do the dishes after we'd finished out take out.
Meanwhile, I went into the dining room to start putting the china back in the cupboard. We had my grandmother's old china-- fine, fancy frilly stuff that we hadn't used in three years of marriage, and probably never would. Service for twenty-seven. Who has service for twenty-seven people on china that nice?
I consoled myself with the thought that in this room, we actually had space for a dinner party of twenty-seven. Thirty-four, if you counted the bats that were probably lurking up there in the vaulted ceiling. Ugh.
I don't know when I dozed off, but the next thing I remembered was Jared's hand on my arm. "Hon, you have your face in the gravy boat."
I did. I rubbed my cheek. I could feel the imprint of scalloped china in my skin. I sighed. "Bedtime?" I asked.
No sooner had I brushed my teeth and pulled down the covers, then I heard a familiar ting-a-ling coming from Jared's bedside table.
His shirt was halfway off. He groaned, and pulled it back on. "Work," he said, picking up his phone reluctantly.
"At this hour?" I asked with a moan. "Tell them to call someone else. Jesus, we just moved."
Jared leaned down and kissed my temple, and turned off the lamp. "I'll call them back and see what they want," he said. "You go to sleep."
I don't think twenty minutes had passed when the door opened again. I let out a satisfied sigh as he climbed into bed beside me and wrapped his arms around my shoulders.
"Thank god," I said. "They didn't need you?"
But he'd dropped off to sleep as soon as his head had hit the pillow. All I could hear was light snoring.
I tried to wriggle out of his arms. "Get offa me," I muttered. "You know it's too hot to sleep like that." Finally, he relented, and I drifted off to dreamland.
But then, a few hours later, there he was again, squeezing me like he wanted to get juice out of me or something. "Jared," I groaned. I could still hear him snoring. I was tempted to slap him awake, but he was the one who'd gotten up at five that morning and driven up here to the new house. So I very gingerly took his arms off me and went back to sleep.
I woke to an empty bed, the first rays of sunlight shining through the dusty old lace draperies that we definitely needed to replace. The phone was ringing. "Jared?!" I called. "Can you get that?"
When it kept ringing, I reached over and picked it up. "Hello?" I asked, with some trepidation. A call that early in the morning couldn't possibly be good news.
"Hon?" Jared's voice sounded exhausted on the other end of the phone. "I'll be home in twenty?"
"Home from where?" I asked, surprised that he was out so early. "You didn't go running without me, did you?"
"From work," he answered. "Remember? Last night? That call? They...sorry, honey, sorry I didn't wake you. They had a guy call out, and then the cops came, and they needed a manager, and...oh, Jesus, all I want to do right now is sleep."
"What?" I asked. "You were where?" I felt a chill run over me. I looked back at the as-yet-unmade bed.
"Work, honey. Look, I'll tell you everything when I get home, all right? Mwa. Love you." The phone clicked silent.
Only one side of the bed was turned down.