(no subject)
Aug. 2nd, 2025 10:47 pm(no subject)
Aug. 3rd, 2017 02:11 pmThe timing is just about perfect. Classes at Barton have just started up again so I don't yet have too much homework and camp is still in full swing so I know Jack won't be home until after 4:00 at the earliest. I can't help but hope the kids are spoiling him something rotten today, can't help wondering if they brought in a cake and hung streamers and sang for him. I'll definitely be asking later but, for now, I have work to do.
It takes more than a few hours of preparation when all is said and done and the dinner is the easy part.
Eventually, though, there are five pictures hanging up on the walls, each of them wrapped in a different colored paper. Or, well. It's a fake wrapping, honestly. Just enough to cover the front so Jack won't have too much difficulty opening them, so to speak. Each picture is a photo Jack's taken over the past year or so: there's one of a little family of ducklings hanging up in the dining area, one of Elvis next to one of Macha and Shannon together in the entryway, one of about a dozen of Jack's camp kids in a dogpile hanging up by the window and a beautiful black and white one of his and my skates hanging above the television.
At the very least, there's no way he'll be able to miss them all.
I'm a little worried at first about the timing on all of it since I'm not exactly sure when Jack's going to be home, but he texts me when he's about to leave and that helps. It gives me just enough time to put on all the little finishing touches -- namely setting up the table, dimming the lights and trying to tame my cowlick one last time -- before dishing up the filet mignon and homemade poutine and grilled veggies. I put all the little tricks I've learned the past few months to use to make the most appealing presentation of both plates while I have the pie keeping warm in the oven.
I've put the little doggie blockade up in the hall to keep Macha and Shannon from trying to eat everything in sight though I feel a little bad for it when we all hear the familiar jingle of Jack's keys in the lock and they immediately start whining in anticipation.
"I'll make it up to y'all later, I promise," I tell them as I grab the celebratory bottle of wine from the bucket and rush to meet Jack at the door. "Double the milk bones tonight."
Then I turn on my brightest, warmest smile as the door opens, holding the bottle of wine up. "Happy birthday!"
It takes more than a few hours of preparation when all is said and done and the dinner is the easy part.
Eventually, though, there are five pictures hanging up on the walls, each of them wrapped in a different colored paper. Or, well. It's a fake wrapping, honestly. Just enough to cover the front so Jack won't have too much difficulty opening them, so to speak. Each picture is a photo Jack's taken over the past year or so: there's one of a little family of ducklings hanging up in the dining area, one of Elvis next to one of Macha and Shannon together in the entryway, one of about a dozen of Jack's camp kids in a dogpile hanging up by the window and a beautiful black and white one of his and my skates hanging above the television.
At the very least, there's no way he'll be able to miss them all.
I'm a little worried at first about the timing on all of it since I'm not exactly sure when Jack's going to be home, but he texts me when he's about to leave and that helps. It gives me just enough time to put on all the little finishing touches -- namely setting up the table, dimming the lights and trying to tame my cowlick one last time -- before dishing up the filet mignon and homemade poutine and grilled veggies. I put all the little tricks I've learned the past few months to use to make the most appealing presentation of both plates while I have the pie keeping warm in the oven.
I've put the little doggie blockade up in the hall to keep Macha and Shannon from trying to eat everything in sight though I feel a little bad for it when we all hear the familiar jingle of Jack's keys in the lock and they immediately start whining in anticipation.
"I'll make it up to y'all later, I promise," I tell them as I grab the celebratory bottle of wine from the bucket and rush to meet Jack at the door. "Double the milk bones tonight."
Then I turn on my brightest, warmest smile as the door opens, holding the bottle of wine up. "Happy birthday!"
(no subject)
May. 31st, 2017 09:59 pmIf there's anything likely to make me reconsider deciding to take a few summer courses, it's this last week of finals for the spring semester. Though, if I'm honest, it's not the exams that have got me so stressed out but the projects. I swear I've been working harder than a rooster in a hen house trying to get everything in line. I even had to take a week off of working at Semele's to make sure I didn't run myself into the ground like last semester and, even if I'm not as overwhelmed as I'd been then, I'm still just about to tear my hair out.
I'm glad when Jack decides to head out and get some fresh air, partially because the last thing we both need is for me to take out all my nervous energy on him and also because it's just nice to see Jack out and socializing with people. I know it's not always the easiest thing for him to do, but he's come so far in the past year or so. It's nice to be reminded.
I've had a few hours alone in the kitchen while he's been gone, complete with locking the pups and Elvis up on Jack's apartment to keep from tripping over any four-legged furriness. I'm pretty sure I've got two of my dishes nearly down and I'm just starting on the third -- some fried green tomatoes with miso mayo and thai basil -- when I hear the familiar jangle of keys in the lock.
Happy for the interruption, I quickly grab a towel and wipe off my hands, smiling in relief as I turn to face Jack right as he walks in.
Except what I see makes everything come to a screeching halt.
Instantly, I've dropped the towel back on the counter and I'm rushing forward. "Oh my goodness, Jack, what happened to your face??"
I'm glad when Jack decides to head out and get some fresh air, partially because the last thing we both need is for me to take out all my nervous energy on him and also because it's just nice to see Jack out and socializing with people. I know it's not always the easiest thing for him to do, but he's come so far in the past year or so. It's nice to be reminded.
I've had a few hours alone in the kitchen while he's been gone, complete with locking the pups and Elvis up on Jack's apartment to keep from tripping over any four-legged furriness. I'm pretty sure I've got two of my dishes nearly down and I'm just starting on the third -- some fried green tomatoes with miso mayo and thai basil -- when I hear the familiar jangle of keys in the lock.
Happy for the interruption, I quickly grab a towel and wipe off my hands, smiling in relief as I turn to face Jack right as he walks in.
Except what I see makes everything come to a screeching halt.
Instantly, I've dropped the towel back on the counter and I'm rushing forward. "Oh my goodness, Jack, what happened to your face??"
breakfast in bed
Apr. 10th, 2017 06:50 pmIt's the second day of Barton's Spring Break and, while I definitely have more than a few projects and papers to keep me busy -- not to mention a couple extra shifts at Semele's to keep up on the special orders -- I also have a few extra hours every day to spend with Jack. And I'm taking full advantage. Jack and the pups have been spending most of their time over in my apartment since Friday night, hanging around while I cook and bake and revel in wasting time and, I have to admit, I'm loving every minute of it. In fact, I woke up this morning with Jack snoring quietly in my ear, Macha pinning my feet down, and Elvis curled against my head and I don't think I've been so happy.
Pulling myself out of that quiet little haven takes some doing, but once I've emptied my bladder, I find the kitchen calling and, thirty minutes later, I've whipped up some french toast, scrambled eggs, and bacon. Finding a bottle of champagne stashed away in my meager little liquor cabinet, I pour two mimosas and carefully carry the bounty back to the bedroom on a tray I'd had the foresight to buy on sale right after Christmas.
"Rise and shine," I call out just as I step into the bedroom, knocking my foot against the doorjamb to try to get Jack's attention.
Of course, it's Shannon and Macha's attentions I mostly get, both of them hopping right off the bed, tails wagging as they bump into my legs. "Hey now, you two wait your turns. If you're good, you might get some bacon but you best go lie down for now."
Pulling myself out of that quiet little haven takes some doing, but once I've emptied my bladder, I find the kitchen calling and, thirty minutes later, I've whipped up some french toast, scrambled eggs, and bacon. Finding a bottle of champagne stashed away in my meager little liquor cabinet, I pour two mimosas and carefully carry the bounty back to the bedroom on a tray I'd had the foresight to buy on sale right after Christmas.
"Rise and shine," I call out just as I step into the bedroom, knocking my foot against the doorjamb to try to get Jack's attention.
Of course, it's Shannon and Macha's attentions I mostly get, both of them hopping right off the bed, tails wagging as they bump into my legs. "Hey now, you two wait your turns. If you're good, you might get some bacon but you best go lie down for now."
post-wedding
Oct. 30th, 2016 12:17 amAnxious as we both are and sore as my feet are, Jack doesn't put up too much of a fight when I insist on using the app on my phone to call us a car. I spend the whole ride back to Chelsea with one hand wrapped tight in Jack's and trying not too fidget too much with the other. Butterflies are downright having a dance party in my belly, but it's not the sort of nerves I used to get before games or even the ones I'd get before checking practice.
No, these are the good kinds of nerves. Like the ones I felt right before Jack kissed me for the first time.
Everything becomes sort of blur once we make it back to the building even as I want to remember every last moment. We thank the driver and then take the elevator up to our floor, Jack's hand not leaving mine for a second. And then I lead him down the hallway to his apartment. Part of me kind of wants to do this in my own bed, but Jack's is about as familiar as mine these days and Macha and Shannon probably need to be let out. Or at least fed. Elvis should be fine.
Jack lets go of my hand to unlock the door and the kids are right there when we walk in, their tails wagging wildly.
It's a nice distraction.
"Hi, babies," I coo, ignoring the nerves and the heat still pumping through me. I glance over at Jack. "Do we need to feed them one last time before, uh. Before we do anything else?"
No, these are the good kinds of nerves. Like the ones I felt right before Jack kissed me for the first time.
Everything becomes sort of blur once we make it back to the building even as I want to remember every last moment. We thank the driver and then take the elevator up to our floor, Jack's hand not leaving mine for a second. And then I lead him down the hallway to his apartment. Part of me kind of wants to do this in my own bed, but Jack's is about as familiar as mine these days and Macha and Shannon probably need to be let out. Or at least fed. Elvis should be fine.
Jack lets go of my hand to unlock the door and the kids are right there when we walk in, their tails wagging wildly.
It's a nice distraction.
"Hi, babies," I coo, ignoring the nerves and the heat still pumping through me. I glance over at Jack. "Do we need to feed them one last time before, uh. Before we do anything else?"
[8/3] happy birthday, jack!
Jul. 28th, 2016 12:12 pmThere isn't any way on earth I'll be able to top the dinner date on the beach Jack gave me for my birthday a couple months ago, but seeing as it's still summer and still wonderfully hot out, I've decided a picnic is the right idea.
As little use as there is in being secretive, I still sent him sort of a vague text a couple hours ago, asking him to meet me under a tree with by the pond in the park and to bring Macha and Shannon. There are a lot of trees, of course, and I don't expect him to find me right away, but I'm hoping it won't take him too long. Besides, I've made it sort of obvious which one I mean with the red-and-white checkered blanket I've laid out and the few little streamers and balloons I have hanging from the branches.
The meal is entirely prepared by hand with a number of little finger sandwiches and a fruit salad. I tossed in some poutine even though I'm not at all confident in my ability to make anything at all as good as he's used to, along with several nanaimo bars. I even found a recipe for dog cookies and have made a half dozen decorated like the Canadian flag for the pups to share.
And, of course, a fresh maple sugar crusted apple pie.
Instead of murdering said pie with twenty-six different candles, I bought a number two and a number six, but they're both hidden away for until after the main dish.
I'd spent more time wrapping his present than strictly necessary, but it at least looks nice sitting under the tree with a large red bow. I hand drew a number of little maple leaves and hockey sticks all over the wrapping and I'm still busy making sure the plates and cutlery and cups of fresh lemonade are all set out nicely when I notice a familiar crop of dark hair heading up the path. Macha and Shannon are pulling him along, their tails wagging excitedly and I scramble to my feet to greet them, smiling wide.
"There he is," I say when he's close enough to hear me. "Didn't have too much trouble finding me, did you?"
As little use as there is in being secretive, I still sent him sort of a vague text a couple hours ago, asking him to meet me under a tree with by the pond in the park and to bring Macha and Shannon. There are a lot of trees, of course, and I don't expect him to find me right away, but I'm hoping it won't take him too long. Besides, I've made it sort of obvious which one I mean with the red-and-white checkered blanket I've laid out and the few little streamers and balloons I have hanging from the branches.
The meal is entirely prepared by hand with a number of little finger sandwiches and a fruit salad. I tossed in some poutine even though I'm not at all confident in my ability to make anything at all as good as he's used to, along with several nanaimo bars. I even found a recipe for dog cookies and have made a half dozen decorated like the Canadian flag for the pups to share.
And, of course, a fresh maple sugar crusted apple pie.
Instead of murdering said pie with twenty-six different candles, I bought a number two and a number six, but they're both hidden away for until after the main dish.
I'd spent more time wrapping his present than strictly necessary, but it at least looks nice sitting under the tree with a large red bow. I hand drew a number of little maple leaves and hockey sticks all over the wrapping and I'm still busy making sure the plates and cutlery and cups of fresh lemonade are all set out nicely when I notice a familiar crop of dark hair heading up the path. Macha and Shannon are pulling him along, their tails wagging excitedly and I scramble to my feet to greet them, smiling wide.
"There he is," I say when he's close enough to hear me. "Didn't have too much trouble finding me, did you?"
[mid-june] #15 & #1 back on the ice
Jul. 18th, 2016 06:43 pmEver since Jack first mentioned wanting to try his skates on again, it's taken nearly all my willpower not to ask about it every single day. It's enough to know that the desire is there at all after everything. It's been months and months now and I was really starting to think maybe he's given it up for good, but just one single statement had been enough to get my hopes soaring all over again.
When he'd mentioned it again a few days later, totally unprompted, I'd jumped at the chance, this time getting a projected day and time out of him and penciling it into my schedule. (And maybe moving around a couple other things to make room for it.)
To my delight and surprise, Jack hadn't even once attempted to squirm out of the date we'd planned and now here we are, walking back into DIA with our skates instead of our swimsuits and I feel like I'm about to vibrate right outta my skin with excitement.
"We can use my pass," I tell him, marching right up to the counter to have it stamped for the both of us. "I come here often enough that I get free skates all the time. And they'll even take music requests sometimes.
Melissa, the girl behind the desk today, smiles wide as I hand over my card and I feel my face flush a little when her eyes immediately slide to Jack and then widen with interest. "New friend, Eric?" she asks, all coy as she gives punches two holes in my card.
"Not new, actually," I tell her, stuck somewhere between nervous and smug when I look over at Jack. Even now, I'm not sure how much he wants strangers to know so I decide to err on the side of caution and smile at her kindly. "We've known each other for years. Went to school together back home. Jack, this is Melissa. Melissa, this is Jack."
When he'd mentioned it again a few days later, totally unprompted, I'd jumped at the chance, this time getting a projected day and time out of him and penciling it into my schedule. (And maybe moving around a couple other things to make room for it.)
To my delight and surprise, Jack hadn't even once attempted to squirm out of the date we'd planned and now here we are, walking back into DIA with our skates instead of our swimsuits and I feel like I'm about to vibrate right outta my skin with excitement.
"We can use my pass," I tell him, marching right up to the counter to have it stamped for the both of us. "I come here often enough that I get free skates all the time. And they'll even take music requests sometimes.
Melissa, the girl behind the desk today, smiles wide as I hand over my card and I feel my face flush a little when her eyes immediately slide to Jack and then widen with interest. "New friend, Eric?" she asks, all coy as she gives punches two holes in my card.
"Not new, actually," I tell her, stuck somewhere between nervous and smug when I look over at Jack. Even now, I'm not sure how much he wants strangers to know so I decide to err on the side of caution and smile at her kindly. "We've known each other for years. Went to school together back home. Jack, this is Melissa. Melissa, this is Jack."
[6/14 - After Work]
Jun. 14th, 2016 04:42 pmI'll be honest, after spending so much of my life in a pretty constant Monday thru Friday state of mind, working at Semele's took some getting used to. As long as I've been working there now though, it's pretty much second nature and I don't even blink an eye at Tuesdays being my current Mondays. Especially since they still tend to be pretty slow for the most part.
Not always though.
It's been a long night of order after order after order and, while I love keeping busy and I love that some people actually show up the bar now specifically for my pies, my feet are hurting something awful by the time I make it back to the apartment.
For a minute, I consider just going straight to my own and falling right into bed, but I haven't seen Jack nearly all day and, maybe it's pathetic, but I miss him. So, instead I check quickly on Elvis, make sure his box is all scooped and he has plenty of food and water. He mewls at me pitfully and I do feel a stab of guilt before I leave him with Monsieur Nug for the evening.
There's no need to knock at this point seeing as I have a key and I let myself in quietly just in case he's sleeping.
I'm not too surprised to find the TV on, stuck on some sorta history channel with the volume turned down low and the sight of Jack curled up on the end of the couch is nearly enough to make me pull out my phone to take a quick picture.
He's never been the hardest sleeper though and I see him stir a little as I quietly slip out of my shoes and tiptoe closer.
"Hey, handsome," I murmur, reaching out to brush my finger along the back of his hand where it's dangling off the arm of the couch. "Didn't mean to wake you. You want me to get ya all tucked in for the night?"
Not always though.
It's been a long night of order after order after order and, while I love keeping busy and I love that some people actually show up the bar now specifically for my pies, my feet are hurting something awful by the time I make it back to the apartment.
For a minute, I consider just going straight to my own and falling right into bed, but I haven't seen Jack nearly all day and, maybe it's pathetic, but I miss him. So, instead I check quickly on Elvis, make sure his box is all scooped and he has plenty of food and water. He mewls at me pitfully and I do feel a stab of guilt before I leave him with Monsieur Nug for the evening.
There's no need to knock at this point seeing as I have a key and I let myself in quietly just in case he's sleeping.
I'm not too surprised to find the TV on, stuck on some sorta history channel with the volume turned down low and the sight of Jack curled up on the end of the couch is nearly enough to make me pull out my phone to take a quick picture.
He's never been the hardest sleeper though and I see him stir a little as I quietly slip out of my shoes and tiptoe closer.
"Hey, handsome," I murmur, reaching out to brush my finger along the back of his hand where it's dangling off the arm of the couch. "Didn't mean to wake you. You want me to get ya all tucked in for the night?"
[5/28: post-prom making amends]
May. 31st, 2016 04:13 pmWhile I'd felt bad backing out on Caron's prom invitation at the last minute, I don't really regret the decision. Jack hadn't ever outright said I shouldn't go, but he's pretty easy to read once you know all the tells and I could see that he was uncomfortable with the whole thing. Maybe even a little hurt. Plus, given everything that had already happened that week with the words scrawled across his back, it seemed sort of thoughtless and mean to just abandon him, even if for only one night.
I hadn't ended up even spending much of the evening with him, but I felt better knowing he could call on me any time if he did need me and I promised myself I'd find a way to make it up to Carson later.
Until, that is, I get the birthday notification.
I'm a day late to noticing it, a single little pop-up when I log into Darrow's bizarre excuse for Facebook and at first it feels like a joke. Or a mistake. I mean, Carson would've told me his birthday was yesterday, wouldn't he?
Except I definitely already know the answer to that.
The guilt is immediate, almost crushing, as I immediately set about baking the best lemon blueberry pie I can possibly manage, as well as a lemon crumble and a good old fashioned batch of chocolate chip cookies just in case.
A few hours later, I'm knocking at Carson's door, pie carrier, Tupperware container, and a carefully wrapped gift box in hand. I have to carefully balance everything to press the doorbell and I suck in a breath and just pray he'll even be home.
I hadn't ended up even spending much of the evening with him, but I felt better knowing he could call on me any time if he did need me and I promised myself I'd find a way to make it up to Carson later.
Until, that is, I get the birthday notification.
I'm a day late to noticing it, a single little pop-up when I log into Darrow's bizarre excuse for Facebook and at first it feels like a joke. Or a mistake. I mean, Carson would've told me his birthday was yesterday, wouldn't he?
Except I definitely already know the answer to that.
The guilt is immediate, almost crushing, as I immediately set about baking the best lemon blueberry pie I can possibly manage, as well as a lemon crumble and a good old fashioned batch of chocolate chip cookies just in case.
A few hours later, I'm knocking at Carson's door, pie carrier, Tupperware container, and a carefully wrapped gift box in hand. I have to carefully balance everything to press the doorbell and I suck in a breath and just pray he'll even be home.
(no subject)
May. 18th, 2016 10:00 pmWe're not even close to the last people to leave. Not even from the group I invited. It's still late though, well past 1:00 in the morning and my muscles are absolutely singing with the adrenaline of a good workout, the likes of which I only ever get from dancing. My blood is thrumming and it's only partially from the exercise; most of it, I know, is from the fact that I'm going home with a boy.
I'm going home with Jack Zimmermann.
Even now I can remember the warmth of him pressed against me on the dance floor, the brush of his breath against my ear when he'd whispered the promise of later.
It's officially later by a few hours now and even if I know I shouldn't be expecting the offer to still stand, I can't help hoping. Even if I can't even begin to imagine what sort of things Jack's had in mind. If anything at all.
"Did you have a good time?" I ask him as we head back to the apartment, hand in hand. The air is cold against my sweaty skin and I try to supress a shiver, just holding Jack's hand a little tighter instead. "I'm so, so glad you decided to come. I'm sorry if it was kind of a lot. My next birthday will be more subdued, I promise."
I'm going home with Jack Zimmermann.
Even now I can remember the warmth of him pressed against me on the dance floor, the brush of his breath against my ear when he'd whispered the promise of later.
It's officially later by a few hours now and even if I know I shouldn't be expecting the offer to still stand, I can't help hoping. Even if I can't even begin to imagine what sort of things Jack's had in mind. If anything at all.
"Did you have a good time?" I ask him as we head back to the apartment, hand in hand. The air is cold against my sweaty skin and I try to supress a shiver, just holding Jack's hand a little tighter instead. "I'm so, so glad you decided to come. I'm sorry if it was kind of a lot. My next birthday will be more subdued, I promise."
[4/25] baking and a movie
Apr. 27th, 2016 03:32 pmI've honestly been really good about not asking to use Jack's oven too much since mine got replaced by poor, broken Betsy a couple months ago. For the most part, I keep my baking to Semele's kitchen and the cat cafe and, when really in a crunch, Derek's commissary.
It's late tonight though. Too late for both Semele's and the cat cafe and Derek's place just seems so far. So I've broken down and asked Jack and, of course, he's been far too gracious in letting me take over his kitchen for a few hours.
Maybe it helps that I bribed him with the promise of half a batch of maple cream cookies, but it's probably just as likely that Jack is being nice. If absolutely nothing else, he's too Canadian to slam the door in my face.
Macha and Shannon are clearly enjoying my efforts, both nearly as bad as Elvis as far as being underfoot at least until Jack gets them under control in the other room where he's watching something that involves a lot of cannons, Denzel Washington, and the guy who was Wesley in The Princess Bride.
Once the last batch of cookies is out and cooling, I let out a breath and slip out of my apron before wandering into the other room. For a moment or two, I just let myself take in the breadth of Jack's shoulders, the hard lines of his beautiful profile. He looks good like this, warm and comfortable in his own space, not trying to be anyone other than exactly who he is.
Tamping down on the nerves in my belly, I carefully step over Macha to join Jack on the couch, Shannon curled up between us.
"I'll have those cookies I promised you ready in just about fifteen minutes," I tell him, smiling faintly over at him. "Thanks again for letting me use your oven, Jack. I really really appreciate it."
It's late tonight though. Too late for both Semele's and the cat cafe and Derek's place just seems so far. So I've broken down and asked Jack and, of course, he's been far too gracious in letting me take over his kitchen for a few hours.
Maybe it helps that I bribed him with the promise of half a batch of maple cream cookies, but it's probably just as likely that Jack is being nice. If absolutely nothing else, he's too Canadian to slam the door in my face.
Macha and Shannon are clearly enjoying my efforts, both nearly as bad as Elvis as far as being underfoot at least until Jack gets them under control in the other room where he's watching something that involves a lot of cannons, Denzel Washington, and the guy who was Wesley in The Princess Bride.
Once the last batch of cookies is out and cooling, I let out a breath and slip out of my apron before wandering into the other room. For a moment or two, I just let myself take in the breadth of Jack's shoulders, the hard lines of his beautiful profile. He looks good like this, warm and comfortable in his own space, not trying to be anyone other than exactly who he is.
Tamping down on the nerves in my belly, I carefully step over Macha to join Jack on the couch, Shannon curled up between us.
"I'll have those cookies I promised you ready in just about fifteen minutes," I tell him, smiling faintly over at him. "Thanks again for letting me use your oven, Jack. I really really appreciate it."
the return of betsy
Mar. 7th, 2016 12:56 pmI'll admit it, I am absolutely guilty of sticking with my safe areas when it comes to baking. I know my strengths there, know what I can fiddle with and how, know what flavors might taste good together and how I can alter the texture of a thing by changing an ingredient or two or altering the bake time just a little. I'm comfortable baking pies. I have been for years.
Baking a cake however, is another story.
I'm on my third attempt at what might hopefully turn out to be Lee and Eric's wedding cake and, honestly, I'm trying not to get too discouraged. The first two hadn't been outright disasters, but neither had felt good enough for so important an occasion. I haven't even started on the decoration part of things and I'm honestly not even sure where to start there. I'll probably end up with something simple if only because if I try anything at all complicated, I'll just ruin it instead.
But for now, I'm trying a white chocolate with raspberry cake, the batter all poured and ready for the oven.
Only when I turn around to do just that, my oven is.. it's...
Oh my goodness. "Betsy??"
I have enough presence of mind to set the pan down before I'm on my knees, feeling along Betsy's glass front and metal sides, all her dings and scratches from years of wayward chairs and hockey sticks and dropped kegs. She's still cool to the touch and I don't even mind that I'll have to set her to pre-heat again. It's Betsy, my sweet, under-appreciated Haus friend, my steady rock, my girl who was always there for me every morning when I got up early to make breakfast, meeting me when I got home from class, there when Jack and I worked together on our final--
Oh.
It hits all once then, like uncorking a champagne bottle, an explosion of memories from all sides. I can remember getting Johnson's dibs, remember not even knowing what that meant until the others explained it. I remember my room right across the hall from Jack's and him yelling at me for singing too loudly in the shower, to study nights with Ransom and Holster, to threatening time and time again to get rid of that horrible, awful couch and only backing down for fear of Shitty's wrath. I remember the frogs, Nurse and Dex always at each other's throats, and sweet precious Chowder just trying to avoid getting caught in the fire. I remember Lardo's art exhibit and, oh goodness, Shitty getting into law school. I remember... I remember meeting Kent Parson, remember the look on Jack's face when he opened the door and saw me accidentally eavesdropping, remember how shaken he looked and how awful and small I felt when he slammed his door. I remember getting to the playoffs again, the thrill of being on the ice with Jack, still on his line, and I remember losing, too.
I remember finding Jack in the loading docks alone. I remember sitting with him. I remember the feel of his pads under my arms as I tried to comfort him. I remember crying with him, letting myself cry with him.
My chest aches suddenly, and I'm still bent over in front of Betsy, gasping for air. I wonder if this is what it feels like for Jack when he's having a panic attack, like the whole world is spinning and caving in all at once.
Or maybe I'm just being overly dramatic.
I don't have much time to think on it either way before the sound of my doorbell ringing pierces through my thoughts.
"Just-- Uhm. One second, please!" I call out, taking a moment to scramble to my feet.
My face feels cold and clammy and I have to force a breath as I wipe my hands off on my apron and go to answer the door.
Baking a cake however, is another story.
I'm on my third attempt at what might hopefully turn out to be Lee and Eric's wedding cake and, honestly, I'm trying not to get too discouraged. The first two hadn't been outright disasters, but neither had felt good enough for so important an occasion. I haven't even started on the decoration part of things and I'm honestly not even sure where to start there. I'll probably end up with something simple if only because if I try anything at all complicated, I'll just ruin it instead.
But for now, I'm trying a white chocolate with raspberry cake, the batter all poured and ready for the oven.
Only when I turn around to do just that, my oven is.. it's...
Oh my goodness. "Betsy??"
I have enough presence of mind to set the pan down before I'm on my knees, feeling along Betsy's glass front and metal sides, all her dings and scratches from years of wayward chairs and hockey sticks and dropped kegs. She's still cool to the touch and I don't even mind that I'll have to set her to pre-heat again. It's Betsy, my sweet, under-appreciated Haus friend, my steady rock, my girl who was always there for me every morning when I got up early to make breakfast, meeting me when I got home from class, there when Jack and I worked together on our final--
Oh.
It hits all once then, like uncorking a champagne bottle, an explosion of memories from all sides. I can remember getting Johnson's dibs, remember not even knowing what that meant until the others explained it. I remember my room right across the hall from Jack's and him yelling at me for singing too loudly in the shower, to study nights with Ransom and Holster, to threatening time and time again to get rid of that horrible, awful couch and only backing down for fear of Shitty's wrath. I remember the frogs, Nurse and Dex always at each other's throats, and sweet precious Chowder just trying to avoid getting caught in the fire. I remember Lardo's art exhibit and, oh goodness, Shitty getting into law school. I remember... I remember meeting Kent Parson, remember the look on Jack's face when he opened the door and saw me accidentally eavesdropping, remember how shaken he looked and how awful and small I felt when he slammed his door. I remember getting to the playoffs again, the thrill of being on the ice with Jack, still on his line, and I remember losing, too.
I remember finding Jack in the loading docks alone. I remember sitting with him. I remember the feel of his pads under my arms as I tried to comfort him. I remember crying with him, letting myself cry with him.
My chest aches suddenly, and I'm still bent over in front of Betsy, gasping for air. I wonder if this is what it feels like for Jack when he's having a panic attack, like the whole world is spinning and caving in all at once.
Or maybe I'm just being overly dramatic.
I don't have much time to think on it either way before the sound of my doorbell ringing pierces through my thoughts.
"Just-- Uhm. One second, please!" I call out, taking a moment to scramble to my feet.
My face feels cold and clammy and I have to force a breath as I wipe my hands off on my apron and go to answer the door.
swimming lessons [dated to 2/18]
Feb. 20th, 2016 12:12 amTo be honest, I can't remember the last time I swam in an actual pool. I went to the beach here in Darrow before the end of summer, determined to enjoy the last dredges of the season and the proximity to the ocean (or maybe lake -- I suppose none of us really knows for sure) while I still could. But I'd really spent more time on my towel reading through my massive cookbook than really venturing out into the water.
I think my last time in a pool was back in Madison, which now feels like forever ago and, well. I'm a little nervous.
But this was my idea and I'm not about to punk out when it means getting Jack outside his apartment and into DIA where, hopefully, he won't be too upset about finding an ice rink all open and available for use.
Also, the view is pretty nice.
The sounds of laughing and shrieking children bounce off the walls as I finally tear my gaze away from the sight of Jack's butt in those amazingly small shorts long enough to hang my towel off a nearby rack.
"Alright, you Olympian-trained bigshot," I say, ignoring how small and considerably less built I feel next to him. I dip the toes of my right foot in the water and smile as I fiddle with the pair of goggles I'd bought specifically for this outing, slipping them on over my head. "How do we start this? Do I just jump in and paddle for awhile or what? Do you have any good captainly advice to start me off?"
I think my last time in a pool was back in Madison, which now feels like forever ago and, well. I'm a little nervous.
But this was my idea and I'm not about to punk out when it means getting Jack outside his apartment and into DIA where, hopefully, he won't be too upset about finding an ice rink all open and available for use.
Also, the view is pretty nice.
The sounds of laughing and shrieking children bounce off the walls as I finally tear my gaze away from the sight of Jack's butt in those amazingly small shorts long enough to hang my towel off a nearby rack.
"Alright, you Olympian-trained bigshot," I say, ignoring how small and considerably less built I feel next to him. I dip the toes of my right foot in the water and smile as I fiddle with the pair of goggles I'd bought specifically for this outing, slipping them on over my head. "How do we start this? Do I just jump in and paddle for awhile or what? Do you have any good captainly advice to start me off?"
a shopping excursion [dated to 2/4/16]
Feb. 3rd, 2016 10:09 pmThere hasn't been a day since Jack's arrival that I haven't wished and wished and wished that he could go home. It's certainly not because I don't like having him here -- that honestly couldn't be further from the truth, which is a little bit surprising all in itself -- and more that he looks more lost and utterly depressed by the hour.
I can't blame him, obviously. As hard as it is for me here, especially lately, I know it has to be at least ten times worse for him. I've never felt so useless in all my life, though. I mean, I know pies can't cure everything, I'm not completely stupid, but I'm so used to being able to sit and with someone and try to talk things out, or hug them for awhile until the pain subsides a little bit, or yes, serve them pie until the inevitable sugar rush perks them up a bit.
And no amount of pie or hugs or talking is going to magically bring the NHL to Darrow or whisk Jack back home.
Neither will a brand new wardrobe but, frankly, Jack is going to have to wear something other than hoodies whether he likes it or not.
Of course, Kate is the first person I think of when I decide on buying Jack a couple new shirts. The Dressing Room is a little bit pricey, but it's also amazing quality and I have no doubt she'll be able to help me.
I don't immediately see her when I step in and I wander for awhile before spotting a guy who appears to be another associate. He has a strikingly familiar face, but I can't immediately place it, and I refuse to let myself wonder about it for too long.
"Hi, excuse me," I say with a sheepish smile. "Is Kate working today by chance?"
I can't blame him, obviously. As hard as it is for me here, especially lately, I know it has to be at least ten times worse for him. I've never felt so useless in all my life, though. I mean, I know pies can't cure everything, I'm not completely stupid, but I'm so used to being able to sit and with someone and try to talk things out, or hug them for awhile until the pain subsides a little bit, or yes, serve them pie until the inevitable sugar rush perks them up a bit.
And no amount of pie or hugs or talking is going to magically bring the NHL to Darrow or whisk Jack back home.
Neither will a brand new wardrobe but, frankly, Jack is going to have to wear something other than hoodies whether he likes it or not.
Of course, Kate is the first person I think of when I decide on buying Jack a couple new shirts. The Dressing Room is a little bit pricey, but it's also amazing quality and I have no doubt she'll be able to help me.
I don't immediately see her when I step in and I wander for awhile before spotting a guy who appears to be another associate. He has a strikingly familiar face, but I can't immediately place it, and I refuse to let myself wonder about it for too long.
"Hi, excuse me," I say with a sheepish smile. "Is Kate working today by chance?"
If I'm perfectly honest, I've had a thought or two of dragging Jack around all of Darrow to introduce him to all my friends. I know he's met some people all on his own, but I'm not sure how much he gets out. With him living right across the hall now, it's easy as anything to pop in once a day to make sure he's doing alright, but I still have work and the special orders to fulfill, not to mention food to bring to Lee a few times a week and skating over at DIA.
Jack isn't quite ready to head to the rink at all yet, I know. And I understand it, of course, so I haven't tried to push anything. Though I can't say it isn't weird being on the ice without him now that he's here. It feels a little bit wrong, even.
Hopefully, in time, he'll feel okay to try again. I miss him out there.
For now, though, he's still adjusting.
I'm taking a little bit of a risk tonight by showing up at his door unannounced. There's always a chance he's gone out; there's certainly no reason he has to tell me before he does. But I'm hopeful.
Luckily, his door opens only moments after I've knocked, and I hold up the fresh pizza and American Revolution Heritage Collection boxset up with a bright smile. "Now there's no pressure and I know I've shown up with no warning so if you've got other plans, I understand, but how do you feel to a little boy's night in, Mr. Zimmermann?"
Jack isn't quite ready to head to the rink at all yet, I know. And I understand it, of course, so I haven't tried to push anything. Though I can't say it isn't weird being on the ice without him now that he's here. It feels a little bit wrong, even.
Hopefully, in time, he'll feel okay to try again. I miss him out there.
For now, though, he's still adjusting.
I'm taking a little bit of a risk tonight by showing up at his door unannounced. There's always a chance he's gone out; there's certainly no reason he has to tell me before he does. But I'm hopeful.
Luckily, his door opens only moments after I've knocked, and I hold up the fresh pizza and American Revolution Heritage Collection boxset up with a bright smile. "Now there's no pressure and I know I've shown up with no warning so if you've got other plans, I understand, but how do you feel to a little boy's night in, Mr. Zimmermann?"
a weighty request [dated for 1/22]
Jan. 24th, 2016 05:54 pmNot only have I been asked to bake pies for Dean Winchester's birthday, but I've been asked by Derek and Dean's husband, a real life actual angel. Derek asking me would have been enough for me to say yes, of course, but being surprised by an angel had made thinking of any other response absolutely impossible.
Again, not that it was really on the table to begin with.
I have two and a half days to get them all done and I'm not really worried, but I have work tonight and I'd like to film and edit something for my vlog at some point tomorrow so I need to get started. I'm elbow-deep in the mix for the salted caramel cookie pie when I hear a light knock on my door.
"Oh, one second!" I call out, quickly wiping my hands on my apron after I set the bowl aside and hurrying to the door.
I feel a smile break across my face when I see who it is, immediately holding the door wide to let him in. "Jack! Hi! Come in."
Again, not that it was really on the table to begin with.
I have two and a half days to get them all done and I'm not really worried, but I have work tonight and I'd like to film and edit something for my vlog at some point tomorrow so I need to get started. I'm elbow-deep in the mix for the salted caramel cookie pie when I hear a light knock on my door.
"Oh, one second!" I call out, quickly wiping my hands on my apron after I set the bowl aside and hurrying to the door.
I feel a smile break across my face when I see who it is, immediately holding the door wide to let him in. "Jack! Hi! Come in."
time to talk [dated to 1/13/2016]
Jan. 12th, 2016 11:00 amIt's that quiet time of night, the last half hour or so after Derek's already booted out the last of the stragglers and the few employees left over are all silently cleaning up so we can head out as quickly as possible. We don't need that many hands for closing, to be honest, just one or two in the front to take care of the tables and floors and me in the back to clean up the kitchen. So I'm really not surprised at all when I push open the kitchen door to find only Derek finishing up with the bar in front.
I already have my coat on -- the leather one Derek got me for Christmas because it fits me so, so well -- and am looking forward to the quiet walk home. After hours and hours of forcing smiles and chipper conversation, it'll be nice to not have to pretend for awhile.
Derek's back is to me and I let myself watch him for only a moment or two before heading for the door. I know he can both hear and smell me so, as much as I'd maybe like to, it's not like I can just sneak out.
"I'll see you tomorrow, Mr. Hale," I say, hoping there's enough of a teasing lilt still left in my voice as I reach for the door.
I already have my coat on -- the leather one Derek got me for Christmas because it fits me so, so well -- and am looking forward to the quiet walk home. After hours and hours of forcing smiles and chipper conversation, it'll be nice to not have to pretend for awhile.
Derek's back is to me and I let myself watch him for only a moment or two before heading for the door. I know he can both hear and smell me so, as much as I'd maybe like to, it's not like I can just sneak out.
"I'll see you tomorrow, Mr. Hale," I say, hoping there's enough of a teasing lilt still left in my voice as I reach for the door.
a christmas dinner [dated 12/23/2015]
Dec. 22nd, 2015 12:08 pmI'm not sure whether or not this really counts as a romantic dinner. Considering the fact that my stomach is all tied up in knots for entirely the wrong reasons, I'd say it isn't, but it's still a dinner for two and I even made a centerpiece out of a little mini-wreath and a big red candle. Dinner itself is a simple fettuccine alfredo with garlic bread, a ceasar salad, and some homemade eggnog. And pie, of course. Sour cherry. I can only hope it goes over as well as the scones.
His presents -- a jar of sour cherry jam, an electric fan for his bedroom, a four-month skating pass to DIA, and a cookbook of easy recipes -- are all individually wrapped and sitting on the counter. The wrapping paper for the fan is a little scratched up thanks to Elvis deciding the ribbon was a toy, but I'm hoping he either won't notice or mind too much.
I'm just putting Elvis into his little playpen (I've discovered it is absolutely impossible to eat while he's out and shutting him away in my bedroom just breaks my heart so playpen it is) when the doorbell rings.
"Okay," I tell Elvis as he meows up at me. "You be a good boy, y'hear?"
Pulling in a breath and smoothing out the front of my button-up, I open the door, smiling immediately when I see Simon. And ignoring the sharp pang in my chest that knows this smile isn't going to last.
I'm not doing anything today though. Not right before Christmas.
"Hi!" I say instead, holding open the door for him. "You're right on time!"
His presents -- a jar of sour cherry jam, an electric fan for his bedroom, a four-month skating pass to DIA, and a cookbook of easy recipes -- are all individually wrapped and sitting on the counter. The wrapping paper for the fan is a little scratched up thanks to Elvis deciding the ribbon was a toy, but I'm hoping he either won't notice or mind too much.
I'm just putting Elvis into his little playpen (I've discovered it is absolutely impossible to eat while he's out and shutting him away in my bedroom just breaks my heart so playpen it is) when the doorbell rings.
"Okay," I tell Elvis as he meows up at me. "You be a good boy, y'hear?"
Pulling in a breath and smoothing out the front of my button-up, I open the door, smiling immediately when I see Simon. And ignoring the sharp pang in my chest that knows this smile isn't going to last.
I'm not doing anything today though. Not right before Christmas.
"Hi!" I say instead, holding open the door for him. "You're right on time!"