The running joke around the house these days is that English is my second language. Fun fact: it actually is, in written/read form. Who knew?
Well, everyone here did but you didn't. I learned to read and write in French before English. I pronounce many words rather creatively as a result and can't spell a lot of words that I should have no problem with save for they're in English and needlessly complicated. I also have good working use of several other completely useless but crushingly romantic languages from which to choose though most of the time I'm a mumbling, silent and mostly completely oblivious little shit.
(That last part is Dalton's depiction of me. It's not wrong so in it stays.)
The joke came from the fact that something's happened at Apple and we can no longer text each other with ease. I think it's from the last update but I used to be able to mash the keyboard and it would spit out exactly what I needed to say without me having to spell or fix a thing. Now it just sends gibberish. It's so awful it's become funny. Caleb implores me to go back to the Blackberry but the iphone is still more fun overall, even in spite of the virtually unusable keyboard. And I have tiny fingertips. Imagine the boys with their big paws.
This isn't even the main part of my post and I'm already rambling. Christ.
This is how I know he's not going to work with them. He's going to hold his own instead. 'His own' being me.
He slides a small box across the table after our plates have been cleared.
Neamhchiontach, this is how it works. If we are in a sanctioned, public relationship, I'm permitted to give you gifts.
And just because he doesn't have the means I do doesn't mean I need to procure anything less than what I would chose for you any other time. I'm not going to bring down my levels to his simply because that's where he is. That doesn't make any sense.
Well, you also can't leapfrog over-
Just open it, Babydoll. Please.
I follow every direction he gives me. Always have (Hands behind your back, Neamhchiontach). Inside is a beautiful necklace. Gold with a tiny heart-shaped frame filled with a pale green faceted stone attached to the chain on both sides of the tiny heart rather than from a single apex at the top. It's very delicate and beautiful. The nicest shade of pale emerald. Almost sage.
It is an emerald, he confirms. Probably worthless now that I've had it cut but it suits you.
Oh. This is- Wow.
Do you think it's too much, and Lochlan is going to pitch a fit?
Then send him my way and I'll explain. I want you to wear it, Neamhchiontach. Wear it because it's your heart instead of someone else's. Wear it in the garden, in the sea, in his arms and in mine. Keep it on.
He stood up and came around the table, taking the necklace from me, attaching the clasp behind my neck.
It brings out the colors in your butterflies.
I look down and I see tattoos but I can't see the necklace and that's funny.
I like seeing you happy.
It shouldn't be contingent on me.
My face falls. But it is. This is by your design, Diabhal.
Then we'll rework it for today and tomorrow. This can be the first day.
That was in August.
That wasn't me.