Rantings of an Arranged Mind

With everything so crazy lately, I haven't had as much time for writing as I might like. Here's more of the No Man an Island sequel, so that readers have something this week. Hopefully I'll find more time this weekend for Diggory, as there are a lot of exciting developments around the corner!

With Rhia off at school, I had the house temporarily to myself. Considering she had been home all weekend, this meant that I spent my morning cleaning. I got laundry started, and started on the dishes from the night before.

We had a rule in our house: weekends were for family. Ethan had no choice but to feed the farm animals, but otherwise he didn’t work. We played games, did crafts, went for walks, watched movies… Weekends were full of fun. But that meant that Mondays were full of hard work. Personally, I didn’t mind the trade-off. It made weekends mini-vacations.

I also enjoyed the quiet of Monday mornings devoted to nothing but making the place orderly. Weekends were busy, full of music and laughter. Then there was our little girl crawling all over us. Monday morning’s solitude was a vacation of sorts as well.

I tidied the kitchen once the dishes were finished, and then went under the sink to grab cleaners and gloves. My next task was the bathrooms. I scrubbed until they were sparkling and returned to the kitchen in time to make lunch.

Ethan found me at the stove, stirring soup. He put his strong arms around my waist, kissing the back of my neck softly.

“Smells good,” he said against my skin. His breath tickled.

“It’s just chicken noodle.”

“I didn’t mean the soup.”

I giggled as he nuzzled my neck. He took the spoon from me and I sat down at the table as my husband served me a bowl. I passed him a plate with tuna fish sandwiches.

“Thank you,” he smiled. I had cut them diagonally. He was convinced they tasted better this way. I cut mine horizontally, convinced he was crazy. It was a routine with us.

“Any plans this afternoon?” He asked, between bites.

“I was thinking of doing some painting. I was in the cemetery today.”

He nodded, still chewing. He never said anything about my visits there. Ethan had never been back himself, to my knowledge. Nor spoken about it.

I knew he had spent time in therapy after the incident, in the hospital. That was something else we never spoke about. It was like he’d built a wall around it. In fact, we almost never spoke about anything that happened before the day he woke up in the hospital. I asked about that once, when we were dating in high school.

He had answered, “My life really began when I opened my eyes and saw you next to me. Everything before that was like a dress rehearsal.”

My husband is a man of few words. But the things he does say are usually enough to make me want to fall in love with him all over again.

I finished my sandwich and took my plate and bowl to the sink, ruffling his hair on the way by. Returning, I kissed him on the forehead. He pulled me down into his lap, and I giggled.

“Can painting wait?” He asked, his eyes electric.

“You need to ask?”

That was the other thing I liked about Mondays. We had the house to ourselves.