Souvenirs of Starling Falls

“I wouldn’t lie about that.”

Now that it was daytime again, our house overwhelmed me with its beauty. The sunlight streaming over everything felt glorious and lovely. Tom followed me to the kitchen where the coffee pot and a mug were waiting. I rubbed my eyes, unsure how I’d felt so isolated and depressed just a few hours ago.

“You’re too sweet.” I gave him a kiss.

“Comfy bed, wasn’t it?”

“No comment,” I said.

“You must have liked it,” he said, “considering you got your full eight hours of sleep in.”

“How was breakfast?”

“Good. They said they were going to leave some food out in the kitchen for you.”

“I didn’t even look. Anyway, I’m okay with just coffee. Where were they off to?” I sipped my coffee and raised my eyebrows, imploring him to dish on them with me.

“Huh… I forget what they said.”

“Oh, come on. Try to remember.”

“I don’t know that they said.”

“Fine. How was breakfast with them? What did you three talk about?”

“Breakfast was really good. You’ve got to get that quichey casserole recipe from Priscilla.”

“Seriously?”

“Yeah,” he said.

“You’re killing me. What did you guys talk about?”

“Hmm.” Tom found another mug and poured himself a cup of coffee. “Not much. They told me about some shops in town. Do you know there’s a used bookstore across the river?”

“I didn’t know that.”

“And they said there’s a little clothing boutique. Maybe you’d like to check it out?”

“Sure. We could take a walk later this afternoon and see what we haven’t discovered yet,” I said.

“That would be nice,” said Tom. “I have to write at some point, too, though.”

“Aren’t we going to at least unpack and get settled in?”

“We moved here so I could write and I think it’s important that I develop a habit of it right away.”

“Wouldn’t you write better if you were all settled in?” I asked, doing my best to smile in that adorable way he used to never be able to refuse.

“Writing’s like exercise. You can’t take too long of a break or it’s hard to get back on track.”

“I guess you’re right. I wish you liked it better.”

“Then it would be a hobby, not a career,” he said.

“Do you think you’ll find some critique groups here like you had in Seattle?”

“I think I’m past sitting in coffee shops reading other people’s slop. Having had three articles published in the Space Needler proves that I’m beyond needing critique groups,” he said, naming one of Seattle’s free magazines found in their local grocery store entranceways and gas stations.