tragedy in humor.
to be with the man I loved. The one who was supposed to love and cherish me in
return.
blind dates was an ongoing tragedy.
situations.
dates.
son, Hayden. But when Hayden had a life-threatening allergic reaction, the man
who came to help my little boy became my own savior. His laugh, his smile, and
the way his eyes lit up when he spoke to my son made him a beacon of light in
both our lives.
friend had fallen for, I knew following my heart would once again lead to a fresh
round of heartbreak.
“I don’t watch TV at night…” Her voice drifts off, and I know it’s because she realizes I’m going to ask why.And I do.
“You’re going to laugh.”
“Probably.”
“It’s because I can’t hear things.”
“What kinds of things are you trying to hear?”
“I don’t know. Strange noises and things…”
“Strange noises?”
“Do I need to spell it out for you?” She’s trying to sound annoyed, but I can hear the smile in her voice.
“Apparently, because I have no idea what you’re talking about. What kinds of strange noises are you going to hear? I usually turn my TV up to block out all the strange sounds like the neighbor’s kids and the lady behind me that sounds like Fran fucking Drescher.”
“You know who Fran Drescher is?”
“My mother was a big fan of that stupid show she was in. Stop changing the subject. What are you listening for? Hayden won’t sneak out.”
“What if someone breaks in?”
“You’re not serious.”
“Of course I’m serious!”
“What do you do all night?” I ask.
“Work,” she admits. “Well, usually I clean, and then I work.”
“I’m coming over.”
“You can’t.”
The panic in her voice doesn’t make her sound upset about the idea, but afraid.
Is it because she likes me?
“Why not?” I ask.
“It’s like nine o’clock.”
“Are you about to turn orange and sprout a stem?”
“That and I’m not wearing a bra, if you must know.”
“So put it back on.”
“You don’t understand. That’s like saying put your jeans back on.”
“I am in jeans,” I lie just to get a reaction out of her.
“What is wrong with you?” she cries.
“What’s wrong with jeans?”
“They’re stiff and uncomfortable. Wearing jeans all day is basically equivalent to walking on sandpaper. But at least you guys have pockets that will actually hold something larger than a thimble and don’t ride up your ass.”
Author Bio
with her husband, two sons, and two four-legged children who are the axis of
her crazy and wonderful world. Mariah grew up in a
tiny town outside of Portland, Oregon where she spent most of her time immersed
in the pages of books that she both read and created.
She has a love for
all things that include her family, good coffee, books, traveling, and dark
chocolate. She’s also obsessed with Christmas ornaments and all things Disney.
The Never Ending Book Basket 