Archive for June, 2009

**I decided to qontinue on from part 1. If you haven’t read it start here before reading below. enjoy.**

I opened my eyes just wide enough to find where Beyonce’s “Single Ladies” was blaring from. One of my desperate smacks finally landed and silenced the alarm clock. I immediately hated myself for not throwing that damn clock away the first 20 times I’d thought about it. And why had I set it for 7:30am?? On a damn Sunday. I laid back down on “my side” of MY bed and suddenly felt confrontational. I didn’t care that my next move might not have been the best decision given the final words exchanged the night before but I was decidedly about to piss him off. He’d hit below the belt with the whole “Maybe Terrence would understand” line. It was definitely a half accusation/half checkmate-now-shut-up-and-go-back-to-sleep move. But, how the hell did he know about Terrence?? Had I, actually, been talking in my sleep the way he did every single night? Ugh. My frustration was motivation enough to set me into action. It was time to stake claim on MY bed and escape the prison of this “side” business.

I stretched my right leg out and pulled it high and wide, confident that my knee would land somewhere on him that would be far past uncomfortable. I brought it down with a flop and it landed with a soft thud… on empty mattress. Hunh? I looked up, for the first time fully opening my eyes and taking in my bedroom under the dim light that crept through my panels. I was alone in MY bed. I must’ve still been dreaming; this was too good to be true. My bed looked vast and welcoming and the invitation to sprawl across it proved too tempting. But after about five minutes of swimming across my fitted sheets and enjoying the cool fabric against my skin, I sat up slowly and began to ponder exactly why I was the only one in MY bed.

Moving the hair that had fallen from my curlers out of my face, I took a deep breath and swept the floor with my feet for my slippers. I had only found the left one before I was distracted by a smell that nights of take-out and days of grabbing a bagel and coffee had made foreign. Do I smell…Is that? Turkey bacon? And…and… I sniffed some more. Eggs?? Now I know I’m dreaming. I forgot the other slipper altogether and began a dazed journey out the bedroom and down the hall toward my kitchen. I was too taken by the aroma to notice how tidy my apartment looked in comparison to the night before.

I entered the dining area and stood in shock. Across the table was a mouthwatering spread. Waffles decorated with berries and dollops of whipped cream, sizzling turkey bacon, homemade hashbrowns, omelettes, toast with just enough butter… What have I done to deserve this? After the Men’s Health smackdown I’d attempted to give him last night? This? What the F is going on??

I stood for a moment, confused. Whatever. At this point I didn’t care. My stomach was cursing me out after that skimpy dinner of leftover lomein I’d eaten the night before and I was about to apologize as best I could.

Settling into my seat, I reached for a slice of toast and was met with a firm smack on the hand.

“Ow! Have you..??”

“Lost my mind?,” he finished for me, coolly. “No.” I hadn’t heard him come in the room, but there he was, fresh out the kitchen, fully dressed for the day, holding a pitcher of fresh-squeezed OJ.

“Then what the hell was that for??” I yelled trying to hide how impressed I was. His flyness in no way changed my feelings, my hand and my stomach being hurt.

“This isn’t for you,” he answered, untying his apron.

“Scuse me?”

“It’s for your future mother-in-law. You know? My mom? The woman who gave birth to me after 36 hours of hard labor? Who cleaned my cuts and came to every single game I had without fail? The one…”

“I GET IT.” I cut him short. I had gotten it the first ten times he’d given me that speech. I got that I would never be her. And I got that he was still pissy over me not making his Final Playoff game. I said sorry. Dang. Drop it already!

“Seeing how you forgot about or decided not to acknowledge her visit today,…” he went on.

Shit, I thought. Completely forgot about that. But decided not to let him know that.

“I didn’t forget nor did I purposely not acknowle…,” I tried to interject.

“…I figured I’d cover down where you dropped the ball,” he continued as if I’d said nothing. “And make you look good.”

“I was going to cook when I woke up,” I shot back, still a little thrown. “I would’ve last night, I just…”

“Had other things on your mind.” He glared. “Yeah. I know.”

Ugh. So he hadn’t forgotten the whole Terrence thing and instead chosen to pamper me with breakfast because he loved me so very much. Guess that was kind of a reach.

My attempt at a rebutle was interrupted by my apartment’s buzzer.

“You should probably go make yourself look like you give a shit about her coming to visit…or about how you look… or life.. in general,” he muttered over his shoulder as he walked back into the kitchen.

Shit. I hopped/ran down the hall to my bedroom in one slipper just as the buzzer rang out again. I heard him answer it as I flung my closet doors open. I hated the fact that I had surrendered half my walk-in to him. Some things a woman should never be asked to do. I tossed aside a few dress shirts he’d sloppily strewn across my armoire and heard something land lightly on the carpet.

I looked down and picked up the folded business card and peeked out the closet before examining it further.

I read the front before turning it over to read the scribble on the back. I felt the anger rising from my toes.

Who the F&$% is Tracey?