ChapterTwelve
Aulie Desfleurs
Play:The Way I Feel Inside by the Zombies
The pain in my side hasn’t receded. Since I met with Bridget this morning, I’ve been bound to my couch, wrapped under my heating pad.
It is, thankfully, a comfy couch. It’s not so soft that I sink into an inescapable I-live-here-now abyss, but somewhere I can live my best cozy life. But I’ve seen too much of the darn thing the past year and amsofa-king over it.
Hopefully, Emy hasn’t developed a mind-reading skill because she would judge me for that pun.
Having clacked out the final edits to the schedule and expectations sheets for the volunteers at the fair, I close my laptop, taking a moment to soak in the warmth of the fireplace crackling in the hearth. The flickering fire illuminates an otherwise dark living room.
The fall sun is setting earlier every day. It’s the one thing I dislike about this season. It’s a reminder that the long, dark winter is slowly approaching.
Ah, well. I’ll savor my favorite time of year while I can and worry about our depressing winters later.
The floorboards creak overhead. Gus and Emy journeyed upstairs while I was working, so I’m on my own tonight, alone with Willoughby, of course. Who’s currently curled up in his bed by the fire.
What to do.
What to do.
Sit here and overthink everything that’s transpired over the last few days?
That’s a hard pass.
Go outside and watch TV by the fire?
Maybe, but I don’t know if there’s a show I want to watch right now.
2005 Pride and Prejudicein here with some takeout?
Oh. Productivity and TLC all in one? Yes, please!
* * *
Fried rice is alwaysa good idea. Having already put thePride and PrejudiceDVDinto the player—we’re old school in this house regarding the classics—I happily settle back into my tweed sofa with a carton of fried rice in hand.
Cooking is one of my favorite hobbies, and it’s where I feel closest to my Memere since the kitchen was her palace. But every now and then it’s nice to have someone else bring me food, knowing I can enjoy it without worrying about cleaning anything up afterward.
Pressing play, the weight of the world, or at least a very important fair, slowly lifts as the melodiousdosfeed my soul.
In two hours, Mr. Darcy will traipse through a meadow illuminated by the early morning glow of the sunrise. His coat will billow in the wind, and he’ll proclaim his undying love to me again.
Sorry, Elizabeth.
In reality, I’m more of a Jane Bennet than an Elizabeth, but the idea of somebody leaving someone they loved at the behest of another’s opinion is an unconscionable offense. Flippant behavior that injures others is unforgivable. Jane Bennet deserved better.
Our front door busts open, and the large, blustery bang straightens my spine.
Willoughby lets out a tiny bark in his bed by the fire before sleepily lowering his head once more.
“Good watchdog.” I roll my eyes, clutching the remote, the only hard item near me. I’m not sure I’ll be able to bludgeon someone with this, but I’ll try. Fried rice is a tasty treat, but I can’t see it being used as a defense weapon.
This is why we shouldn’t have an open-door policy because murderers, salespeople, and nosy neighbors exist.
“That damn goat,” a breathless, agitated voice says from around the corner.
