| Subject: The Ubiquitous Mr.Lovegrove Epilogue6 |
Author:
Schnee
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Date Posted: 23:19:28 08/11/01 Sat
In reply to:
Schnee
's message, "The Ubiquitous Mr.Lovegrove" on 04:19:39 08/06/01 Mon
~~~~~
Roaming through this large empty house, I try to stay focused on one thing. He picked it out, not you.
So far I can find no real fault with it. It seems nice enough. And big, too. But perhaps, if I keep looking I’ll find a good reason not to like it.
A veil of dust sparkles as it is caught in the hold of sunlight shining in from the window bringing its brightness into the empty dining room. Against the room’s bare neutral colored walls, Michael’s words echo, giving them a sense of surrealism. Is he asking me what I think he’s asking me?
Can I really decorate the house the way I want? I don’t care what he says about not having any interest in decorating, is he really placing some semblance of control in my hands? Is he really able to let go? I suppose choosing rich, vibrant colors for the walls could put his sincerity to the test. I try to hide the smirk that is threatening to appear on my face.
Hmmm…I’m going to have to consider this more. I can feel my heart softening with his offer. But I’m not sure that he’s going to be able to compromise his control in other areas as well.
I simply nod in response, leaving further discussion of the topic for later. The point is moot if I hate the house.
Continuing my exploration, I turn back toward the living room at the front of the house, seeking the light of its large picture windows. But I turn on a dime as my peripheral vision detects something other than vast emptiness.
A Christmas tree. Simply decorated with white lights and a series of white bows attached to the branches. The smell of evergreen tickles my nose, as I behold its lush splendor. How did I miss the scent when I entered the house? I’m certain my eyes are as lit up as the clear bulbs on the tree.
If Roberta even bothered to get a real tree, it usually was of the Charlie Brown variety. Perhaps a rejected tree fished from the dumpster. Otherwise, it was the old standby. A gaudy silver faux tree, sickeningly tacky. An eyesore. But I must admit, Roberta, full of Christmas cheer—the alcoholic variety—would manage to put a few wrapped gifts under the tree.
Curiosity draws my attention lower. No wrapped packages, but instead atop the red felt tree rug lays a curled up bundle of fur. A kitten!
Carefully, I crouch down to reach the sleeping sweetheart. Sweeping it into my arms, it’s amber yellow eyes peek open as it stretches, caught up in a full body yawn. When I begin to scratch its soft gray fur, the creature’s purr increases in volume clearly content with the attention I’m giving it. My index finger traces the decorative collar to find a tiny card attached.
Inside it reads: From M to N with love on our first real Christmas.
I swallow hard, feeling that my sentimental heartstrings have been suitably tugged. As I snuggle the kitty closer to me, nuzzling it, Michael comes into my view. He’s now made it impossible for me to stay mad at him, despite knowing that in a way this is yet another manipulation. But if it involves such an adorable creature—the cat, not Michael—then how can I not forgive his actions?
“What a little darling. What’s her name? Or is it a he?” I ask rather giddily, as tears collect at the corners of my eyes.
“Whatever you choose. She’s yours,” Michael brims with a cat-like smile.
“Your gift is early, by two days, and I have none to give to you in return.” I realize guiltily. Forgetfulness seems to go hand in hand with the pregnancy hormones. Unfortunately. If only he had given me a day, I would have remedied the situation.
“I don’t need a gift.” Michael wraps his arms around what was once my waist, resting his hands on my belly and his chin on my shoulder. “Each day with you is much more precious a gift than money could ever buy.”
~~~~
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