When Caleb tracks me down with a hat-trick breakfast offer I clearly fail to impress. I am in the garden barefoot, covered with dirt up to my knees and elbows, the soil freezing and damp. I have a fistful of rosemary and one of lemon mint too and I have bright nailpolish on and hair parted nonsensically, as it seemed fine when I washed it and now that it's dry I've got a bizarre zigzag across the top of my head that somehow delineates the silver from the gold.
With a frown he asks if I'm 'busy'.
Uh. Not really?
He extends his offer, the expression on his face deepening, perhaps unconsciously into one of sheer regret.
Tomorrow would be a better day for it. I'm sorry. I'd like to be home when Henry wakes up.
It's Henry's eighteenth birthday. He is Monday's child, and an Indigo soul. He has an emotional map copied from my very own and yet he's also a wunderkind that I never could have hoped to be. He has my perfect ashes, pine and ivory-pink coloring and that alone is astonishing. He hates it so.
But seriously. I want to be here so I can give him a huge hug and yell Happy Birthday at his retreating back when he goes to the table with his breakfast muttering something about me knowing he isn't a morning person.
YEESH, Henny. You used to be. You will be again some day if you're anything like me. I get up at five-thirty every morning of my life with a smile that slowly fades over the course of the day and by seven at night I am all but finished, mimicking Caleb's handsome frown in my own completely non-handsome way.
Caleb is a good de facto Dad to Henry though. I will give him that.
I figured we'd be back long before Henry wakes.
True.
With a frown he asks if I'm 'busy'.
Uh. Not really?
He extends his offer, the expression on his face deepening, perhaps unconsciously into one of sheer regret.
Tomorrow would be a better day for it. I'm sorry. I'd like to be home when Henry wakes up.
It's Henry's eighteenth birthday. He is Monday's child, and an Indigo soul. He has an emotional map copied from my very own and yet he's also a wunderkind that I never could have hoped to be. He has my perfect ashes, pine and ivory-pink coloring and that alone is astonishing. He hates it so.
But seriously. I want to be here so I can give him a huge hug and yell Happy Birthday at his retreating back when he goes to the table with his breakfast muttering something about me knowing he isn't a morning person.
YEESH, Henny. You used to be. You will be again some day if you're anything like me. I get up at five-thirty every morning of my life with a smile that slowly fades over the course of the day and by seven at night I am all but finished, mimicking Caleb's handsome frown in my own completely non-handsome way.
Caleb is a good de facto Dad to Henry though. I will give him that.
I figured we'd be back long before Henry wakes.
True.