Author: The Mischievous One PM
One shot about a married couple having breakfast where the wife feels guilty and the husband seems blissfully unaware.Rated: Fiction K+ - English - Romance - Words: 883 - Reviews: 9 - Favs: 2 - Published: 06-02-06 - Status: Complete - id: 2184778
|A+ A- Full 3/4 1/2 Expand Tighten|
"Are men necessary?" I ask in a shirty tone.
You raise an eyebrow at me and say teasingly, "Why are girls so weird?"
Gazing into your eyes, which captivate my heart and soul, I send you a loathing look from my place and say, "It's not PMS, it's you." I say this before you assume that that is the reason of my annoyance.
You cringe at the mention of my feminine problem but hey, it's not like I asked for it. Shifting in your seat you give me a soft smile that would normally make me melt. "I love you, a chuisle." You say in that brogue.
I love your voice but I don't say this aloud. I just filch the sports section, ready to ignore you but you have other plans. You scoot close enough to the table so that my long legs come into contact with yours. I toss my muffin at your head, folding down a corner to watch. You let it hit you and pout.
Rolling my eyes, I return my attention to…nothing. You tear the paper from my hands and smile at me. "I was reading that, berk." I say crossly.
"No you weren't love." You smirk at me and raise a brow. "Or should I speak to you in Gaelic?"
A nasty gesture is my reply. The telephone shrills as the doorbell wails. I seize the cordless phone mid-second ring as you reluctantly leave the dining room. You're sulking but so adorably cute as I watch you. I put my ear to the phone and hear someone squawking at me.
"I'm ringing the doorbell, open up." My thumb slips and ends the conversation. You walk in with an apologetic look while your mother squawks behind you. "Why did you hang up on me? That was rude. What if my darling baby boy hadn't answered so quickly?"
I smirk. "I was just saving you money." I shrug and pick up the comics. "Daytime minutes and all that." Right now I would kill for an easy out.
The old bird glares at me, snatching the paper from me as well. "Talk to me, I'm lonely dear."
I ignore her as I glare at you, the spineless fellow that was my husband. "I hate you, you incorrigible troglodyte."
More squawking comes almost immediately. "That's no way to treat a good man!"
"Mum, please." You finally say, turning your gaze away from me momentarily. Your mother huffs and sits back and glares at me but I'm too focused on you.
"I hate you," I tell you. "I hate that you're clueless to what's been going on with me lately. I hate that you were born to that bird of a woman at my left. I hate that I'm madly in love with you. I hate that you don't want kids at all.
"I hate that ever since that cheap tart tried to trap you into a dangerous liaison. I hate how you confessed to me that you were tempted not because you don't love or cherish me but because you're a male and then made to prove your love to me by lying with me that night. I that since then you've been like my shadow. You're everywhere I go when you're home and you're constantly calling or emailing me and telling me how much you love me and can't wait to see me later and surprise me with whatever you felt you had to buy me.
"But most of all, I hate how I can't hate you for this: I'M PREGNANT!" You smile at me. "Why are you smiling? This is the part where you get mad that we weren't practicing safe—"
You silence me with an achingly sweet kiss. Your smile widens as you pull away. "I've been waiting nearly a month for you to tell me yourself." You lean across the table and kiss me again. "I've heard you in the bathroom."
A sigh escapes me. "Why didn't you tell me?"
"I figured that you would tell me whenever you were ready to."
"Don't wait next time you know something that I'm agonizing over and trying to figure out how to tell you."
You smirk and I know you know. "You being pregnant isn't what you were really agonizing over. You knew that I wouldn't mind having a child even though I may have said that I don't want kids, you knew I was messing with you. You were agonizing over this because you felt bad about quitting the birth control pills."
I glare at you. "You are a pain in the—"
"A chuisle mo chroi."
Curse my weakness for Gaelic and that brogue. I walk around the table to sit on your lap and kiss you as sweetly as you did me. Your hand moves starts on my knees and moves slowly up my thigh to my waist and then rests on my flat stomach. We're so far away that even the bird can't bring us back.