puckandpie | (no subject)

The 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!"

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Quietly, I follow Jack toward the door and watch him carefully peel the paper off the picture of Elvis first, followed right away the one of the dogs. I've arranged them just so, making it clear that they were taken at nearly the same time or at least gives the impression they were.

There's something thick in Jack's voice and I can feel my own throat tighten a bit as I nod and smile over at him.

"Mine too," I tell him because it's nothing but the truth. After all, I picked those pictures for a reason. They're both pieces of a larger story, capturing not only the moment but the relationship between them and what they mean to both us. They might be the closest thing to children we ever have together and I think they fill that spot pretty well, completing our little family of five, so to speak.

When he looks over at me, his eyes a little wet, I let out a rough sort of laugh and shake my head as I step in close, curling my arm with his. "I'm not the amazing one here. If anything, I'm showing you how amazing you are. How talented."

"We are not going to stand here and argue over which one of us is more amazing," I say with a laugh, reaching out to pull him in for a hug as I let out a trembling breath. "We're both pretty great."

The dogs are whining from the hallway while Elvis dozes on the back of the sofa, tail flicking smugly in their direction. "I need a little break before I keep going or I will definitely cry. And now I want to love on our dogs."

Taking Bittle's hand, I lead him across the living room, stopping to scratch Elvis behind the ears as I pass. The dogs go wild as we approach, tails thumping loudly against the hardwood floor, and I open the gate to free them. Macha nearly bowls me over as I crouch down to give them love, and I laugh happily as I wrap my arms around their necks to accept their kisses.

"Hey guys," I croon softly, scratching them behind their ears. "Did you see what Bits did? You guys got a place on the wall!"

"There's nothing wrong with expressing your emotions, Mr. Zimmermann," I tease him as he slips his hand into mine. "In fact, it's extremely healthy. If you feel like crying, you should let yourself cry. Plus, it's kind of hot when you're all vulnerable."

It's not a real argument by any means, even if I mean every word of it, and my grin widens when we reach the gate holding the pups in. Jack, being the giant softy he is, frees them and is almost immediately bowled over by Macha and I reach down to scratch the top of her head as the sniff and lick all over Jack's face.

"Oh, I showed them," I promise him, moving my scritches to Shannon when he insists with a flip of his nose. "They even helped me pick out the photo. It's their favorite one, too."

"Beep boop," I joke, making jerky robot motions with my arms. Macha licks my face and I laugh as she crawls on me, forcing me back until I have to press my elbows into the floor to brace myself. "Is that so? Our dogs have a discerning eye for art, eh?"

After awhile I disentangle myself from the dogs and whistle sharply, sending them to their beds before I pull myself to my feet. My clothes have fur and slobber on them and I give Bits a lopsided smile. "Are you still gonna want to kiss me a bunch if I smell like dog?"

My eyes drift to the covered frame over the television and my breath catches slightly, because I have no idea what could be underneath. Whatever it is, Bits decided to make it the focal point. It will probably make me cry for real.

For once, I hadn't been trying to allude to the whole Robot Zimmermann thing, but his motions are amusing all the same and, grinning, I knock my shoulder against his arm playfully. Jack's come a long, long way from all that in the past year and a half, but I know it's still hard for him to show emotion sometimes. It makes sense, of course. That's not the kind of thing that's easy to change.

"I'll always want to kiss you," I tell him even as I reach out to start picking tufts of fur off his shirt, arching an eyebrow when he looks over my head and back toward the other room. Following his line of sight, I see what it is that's caught his attention and turn my grin back on him.

"Go on," I encourage him, stepping aside to lead him back toward the living room. "I think that one's my favorite, though. Maybe you should save it for last."