Thank you, Christmas
“I am sorry to call you on a Saturday, Mack. But we have a problem. The beam on the Jensen project, fell and landed on Aiden. He is in the hospital.” shit.
“How the fuck did that happen. I thought you guys stabilized the beam?”
“We thought so too. Something must have either come loose or a piece of the equipment is corroded.”
“Andrew, how the hell is that possible? Fuck. Alright send me the hospital information. Send me the number for the supplies guy. If someone sold us fucked up equipment, I want to know it now.” I hang up pissed and annoyed that my night with my Angel is being interrupted.
“You have to go?” she asks, sliding my plate across the counter. I look at her face trying to see if she is upset, but all I see is compassion and understanding.
“Yes, baby. I'm sorry. I know you were making us something to eat.”
“It’s ok Jami. I understand. Someone was hurt. It is important for you to go handle this. I will be fine here. I will miss you though.” she says smirking. Cheeky little Angel.
“Come here.” I pull her into my arms and kiss her like I am going off to war. “I am going to miss this cute little ass too. It shouldn’t take more than a few hours. I promise.”
“Ok.” she answers kissing me back before I walk upstairs to get ready. As pissed as I am about having to leave, I am equally as happy to know that when I return, she will be here, in our home, waiting for me, like she will for the rest of our lives.Chapter 9AnaThis is the first moment I have had since Jamison came and changed my life a little more than 24 hours ago to actually take everything in. I find myself cleaning up the kitchen and walking throughout the house, looking around at everything. At the open kitchen with bay windows setting everything aglow in the morning and making everything seem cozy at night. I walk through the foyer and see the beautiful living room, set up for a family to enjoy game nights and movies and moonlight dances when the kids are asleep. The backyard, wide and spacious, beautiful brick walls built around for gardening. Everything from the warm colors to the space is made for a family. Walking past the fireplace, I see a couple of tea light candles and grab them. After locating a lighter, I spark them and place them on the floor beside me in the spot next to the fireplace that has no furniture and simply sit.
I sit on the floor and stare into the nothingness of my mind and run through everything that has led me to this moment, right here, in this house, that the man of my dreams has created for us. I relook at everything I have felt throughout the years. The loneliness. The sadness. The hopelessness. The recurring feeling of being not good enough. Not worthy of love, laughter, happily ever after. I sit in this spot and let the feelings and thoughts play one more time before I release them and the power, they had inside of me. I choose, right in this moment to let only the light in. To let only the love and happiness nestle in my heart. I vow to myself right here to embrace everything in this life I am being blessed with and not doubt my worthiness. I am going to start by telling Jami what has been in my heart from the moment I laid eyes on him two years ago. That I love him.
I am not sure how long I sit there in that spot reflecting and making plans for this new beginning, but by the time I get up, it is dark out and I am beginning to miss him. Not sure what else to do, I check through the cabinets and refrigerator and note that there are enough ingredients to make spaghetti with Italian sausage. Remembering that I saw butter and garlic in the refrigerator as well, I grab some bread and make garlic bread. Deciding not to put the food in the oven yet, not sure how much longer before he comes home, instead, I take the time to go up to the bedroom and grab my journal from my bag.
When I first got to the foster home, I used to sit for hours writing down things I wanted to do with my life. I would make plans for each year as it came and watch as each year went by and none of the plans became a reality. It never stopped me from making them, however. Flipping through the pages, I can’t help but look back at some of them. When I was sixteen, they were to become a teacher. Become a writer. Become a social worker. Become a mom.