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NaNoWriMo 2019, Day 22
Daily wordcount: 3,682
Total wordcount: 30,464
On/off target: -6,210
Good day today, made some progress, have some hope?
My brain was still whirring with possibilities when I got home to find Steve had beaten me there. I briefly wondered what his ‘commute’ was like, did he just pop into place, was there a transition? But I wasn’t going to ask, because that would just bring up the whole sham (I was pretty sure it was a sham) of the ‘alternate universe’ explanation, and my brain hurt enough from trying to figure out my own mess. Though, yes, technically the Steve situation is also my own mess, and I promised myself I’d spend more time on crafting the symbols this evening. I’d fallen a little off track, but I should still be able to get everything done and in place with a minimum of suspicious furniture rearranging. That reminded me that I needed to start acclimating him to the candles, so once I’d set the groceries on the counter, I walked over and lit a small grouping of candles on a side table. Steve instantly noticed and did I imagine the look of suspicion on his face?
“What are you doing?” he asked, starting to chop some vegetables.
“Aromatherapy,” I said lightly. “Unless the smell bothers you? I find it relaxing, but I know not everyone does.”
Was it my imagination, or did he visibly relax? Was I reading way too much into it, and was it just my own nerves and guilty conscience making me see that in him? I really did need the aromatherapy, I thought.
“Oh, no, that’s fine,” he said. “But what happened that was so bad that you need to de-stress? Did you not get your flight booked? I’d think even the idea of your upcoming vacation would be enough to melt away all the stress, though I suppose there’s still the worry of not finding Evan and when you have to admit defeat.”
“Oh my goodness, I forgot that you don’t know anything that happened today!” I blurted out. It seemed like it had been more than a day, and I honestly expected, somehow, for him to know about all the new developments. “Let me tell you what happened today…”
I stood at the breakfast bar and regaled him with everything I’d learned today while he finished making dinner. I had to keep backtracking and interjecting little bits of the story as I told it, and I was afraid I was making it even more confusing than it was, but he seemed to follow along okay. When I was done, he was dishing up dinner and we took our food into the living room to sit in front of the television.
“So no vacation to Hawaii, then?” He asked.
“I don’t think that would be wise, isn’t fleeing the area considered rather suspicious, especially if your trip wasn’t already booked? I can write off the ‘getting a passport’ appointment as something I was doing because I was tasked with finding Evan, but the impromptu holiday would be tough. Because I would either have to admit I had no intention of really looking for Evan, which would make them question my dedication to my job, and how much I knew, and if I had a reason to want her dead, or… it was an idea I had after she was dead, which looks like I’m running away. As much as I really would like to get away right now, I don’t think it’s prudent.”
“Probably not, but that’s a bummer. I know how much you were looking forward to it.”
I hadn’t realized, up until that point, just how much I had been looking forward to it. The accumulated stress and uncertainty had really started to wear me down, and I was just tired. And now I couldn’t even take some time off work, not with the additional workload we were all bound to be given. Jess might not have been as active in all aspects of the cases, but she did do work. And until they replaced her, someone else was going to have to pick up that slack.
The question of who was going to replace her was not a new one. Most of us figured she was slated for promotion in the very near future, and had begun to openly speculate whether there would be another promotion from within, or if they would bring someone in from the outside. It was generally agreed that there would be a mass revolt if Mindy was promoted, and I think Jess and Rhonda both understood that. Then again, I was only assuming either of them would have any hand in filling the position. Maybe they wouldn’t have.
“But it also means I continue to get paid, and that means more money towards the embroidery machine fund,” I said, trying to sound upbeat. And, to be fair, having more money to buy myself something I’d been pining after for years probably did trump a vacation I hadn’t even considered until now. Probably. Unless staying here would get me killed or imprisoned. Which were unlikely scenarios, but not impossible ones.
“Because you don’t have enough hobbies or supplies?” Steve asked, casting his eyes around the heaps of craft projects laying around the room.
“Never!” I said vehemently. “But enough about my crafting problem, we’re not going to fix that. What do you think about the whole Jess and Evan thing? She was definitely just looking for him, it had absolutely nothing to do with the contract. I don’t know why she had to fake that, I mean, maybe she thought that was the only way she could get info from his lawyer? Technically our firm was representing Tanner and Birch, so maybe she didn’t think they’d divulge anything unless it had to do with the contract in progress? That seems feasible.”
“You’re the expert in the legalities. Would you have handed it over in any other circumstances?”
“I’m not even entirely sure I would have handed it over in that circumstance. But then, I don’t really know what all is going on with Evan, or what his explicit instructions were, or what his relationship with his attorney is. I can see an annoyed attorney being more likely argue that it wasn’t a breach of privacy because of the contract, and I could see a fiercely loyal attorney refusing on grounds of confidentiality. It all depends on how you look at it.”
We sat in silence for a moment as Steve flipped through the movie choices, unable to settle on anything to watch. I wondered if he felt as antsy and out of sorts as I did, but then I chided myself. What does he have to worry about? This whole mess is simply an academic exercise for him. I suppose he has to worry about me trying to send him back from whence he came, but I think I was keeping my knowledge of that, and my plans, pretty well hidden. He hadn’t taken an interest in what I was knitting, and I was getting ready to start craft number two. I just needed a reason to abandon my knitting for a little bit. Maybe if I splurged on that embroidery machine a little early, I could substitute that for the planned cross stitch piece. And if I designed the patterns on my desk, I could leave the rejects – which would include symbol number three – on the desk, while putting the finished piece on the tree in the corner when I put it up, then I could move the proposed sketching/art project of symbol number four over to the side table next to my chair. That would only leave one symbol, and I’d have to find a reason for it to be next to the fireplace. Maybe on the mantel? What could I craft that could contain a symbol and be on the mantel?
The idea came in a flash, bunting! Christmas bunting! It wasn’t anything I have ever put up before, because truth be told I didn’t really like it or see the reason for it, but it would do well to hide a pattern in some quilting. And maybe I could justify it as a whim if, when I went looking for pieces of fabric to do my embroidery on, I spilled my box of tiny scraps, and decided to use them up and make bunting? To be fair, it’s completely the kind of thing I would do, it just wouldn’t be bunting I was making. I must have looked very concerned, or worried, because Steve looked up from flipping through movies to stare at me.
“Penny for your thoughts,” he said lightly.
“Huh? Oh, I was just thinking about the whole ordeal, and my mind kept going back to the embroidery machine. Weird, I know, but part of me just wants to splurge on it. I mean, why not? What am I waiting for? I’m not getting any younger, and it’s something I’ve wanted for a long time. I think people dying around you makes you want to go ahead and do all the things, whether or not they are reasonable.” I shook my head sadly. “Morbid thought, but there you have it. And, if I had an embroidery machine, I could make little Christmas ornaments for everyone. I’ve done cross stitch ones before, but they take forever. With a machine, I could make a few designs, have the machine stitch them up, and frame them, all in the time it would take me to maybe make one cross stitch ornament.”
“Will that make you as happy as going to Hawaii?” He asked, not really looking very invested in the conversation, with his eyes already sliding back to the television.
“You know, I think it would make me happier,” I said, and I meant it. He didn’t reply, his attention already back on the list of movies on the screen. I settled back with my knitting, and he picked out another bad monster movie.
I don’t entirely remember stumbling to bed, but it was somewhere in the middle of a movie about giant slugs. I’d dozed off, but since I had to get up and go to work, I managed to rouse myself off the couch and get myself into bed, turning on my alarm very, very reluctantly. I never loved mornings, but I was not looking forward to getting up and facing work. It felt odd being there with what was going on, and with what I knew I had withheld. It was going to be a stressful day of wondering if they suspected anything and watching closely what I was saying. And that sounded exhausting.
As it was, I needn’t have worried. Apparently, their search warrant was good enough that our lawyers had allowed them to go through the relevant files, and they had, indeed, found the pictures. None of us were supposed to know about it, but the stipulation by our lawyers was that a member of the firm would be present to make sure they did not stray outside the bounds of allowable searchable files, and, well, word had gotten out that something had been found in the old Tanner and Birch files. Of course I knew it had to be the pictures, but no one else knew exactly what it was, and speculation was rampant. My favorite, and somewhat closest to the truth, was the idea of steamy love letters between Jess and Melody. Tragic, star-crossed lovers and all that.
And maybe that was true. It would be a sad, but rather mundane explanation, if Evan had gotten angry about being kicked out of the trio and it was a case of a love triangle turned deadly. There was still the problem of finding the actual killer and then connecting Evan to them, but it would tie up the story fairly neatly. Occam’s Razor, and hoof beats being horses instead of zebras. It would make perfect sense, and maybe it was just the fact that there was a bloody demon in my life that made me think it should be something so much more interesting. I couldn’t accept that it was a plain case of a lover’s quarrel, for all the oddity of the threesome and their proclivities added to the story.
The finding apparently widened the search parameters, though, and we found ourselves crowded out of our offices by the police. It was decided by management, after much grumbling by staff, that we would be allowed to work from home for the rest of the week (which, granted, was only today and tomorrow, but it was a rare treat and no one complained). I didn’t actually have much work left to do, so I took off for the sewing machine store to see if they had any good used machines in stock. As excited as I was about the project, I wasn’t sure I was up to paying full price for a new embroidery machine. Those suckers are super expensive, and I could only justify so much. The fact that it would facilitate the banishing of a demon definitely added to what I’d pay for it, but if I was being honest with myself, it was not necessary for the plan to work. But it made a nice excuse.
I was thrilled when I found they had a semi-decent used machine at a semi-reasonable price. Not the Cadillac of machines by any stretch, but certainly good enough for my hobby embroidery. I picked up a selection of threads and a few pre-programed designs, as well, and tried not to listen as they gave me the total. It would be worth it, but that didn’t make that number hurt any less. Even though I could afford it, it felt like a luxury I didn’t deserve. And that made me pause. This wasn’t money I was saving for retirement, I had accounts for that. And it wasn’t something I needed for other expenses, which were budgeted separately. I was allowed to spend money on myself, doggone it! Why did I never splurge on myself? Especially considering that I was caught between a killer and a demon, and while one seemed unaware of my involvement (I hoped) and the other had been nothing but nice, I didn’t think I could guarantee that would continue to be the case.
Even with the time spent at the sewing machine shop, and another quick stop at the grocery store, I still got home well before sunset. This gave me plenty of time to do more planning and subtly move things around to make them line up for the ritual in the name of making a space for my new embroidery machine. And then, well, then I just let myself play with my new toy and not think about anything else until I heard Steve clear his throat behind me. I jumped about a mile, and turned with my hand held to my chest.
“Oh my stars, you gave me quite the fright!”
“You were pretty into what you were working on,” he said. “I was trying to figure out how to get your attention without giving you a heart attack!”
“Well, you failed,” I said, panting slightly, and then grinned. “Look at this, isn’t it awesome?! I bought a few designs, but I’m working on an original one. It’s a little slow going, but I think I’m getting the hang of it from getting it from the paper and into a digitized file. I kinda wish I had a drawing tablet, it’s a little hard to make the changes you need to with a mouse, but I’m making it work and that’s honestly an expense too far.”
“That’s lovely, but…” he hesitated, and flapped his hand at the heap of fabric scraps on the floor. “You’ve made quite the mess.”
“Are you a neat freak?” I rolled my eyes. “It’s fine, I’ve been meaning to go through those anyway and quilt them up. I can’t stand throwing away fabric, and once I pick out the pieces large enough and plain enough to embroider on, I’ll cut up and stitch together some blocks. Or maybe do some crazy quilting. I don’t know yet.”
“Are you… have you… I mean, you seem a bit… unnaturally hyper,” Steve said, peering at me. He looked genuinely concerned, and I had to stifle a giggle.
“I sometimes get that way with a new project,” I said. “It’ll wear off, eventually. But the unexpected time off is also really, really thrilling. Well, I mean, it’s sort of time off? I’m supposed to be working from home but I don’t really have any work to do! So it’s time off, right?”
“Why do you have unexpected time off?”
“Oh, right, right, I keep forgetting you don’ know everything the minute I do. They found the photos where I planted them, and expanded the search, and were so in the way in the office no one could do their jobs, so they sent us home to work there. Only today and tomorrow, they said everything should be back to normal on Monday, but even a three-day weekend is thrilling. I haven’t had one of those in forever!”
I slotted another hoop into the machine and started the program. It wasn’t terribly noisy, but Steve opted to not try to talk over it and drifted back into the kitchen. I thought he was actually vaguely annoyed by the mess, which irked me. This was my house. It could be as messy as I wanted it to be. He was, at best, a guest here. Granted, a guest that was cooking and cleaning, so that made it a little bit odd, but still. I started sorting through the scraps of fabric while waiting until it was time to change the thread color, still in a warm, happy glow of crafting.
11/23
Apparently the annoyance of the mess had either worn off, or I had imagined it, because once we sat down to eat Steve was his usual, jovial self. I set down my sketching to eat, but as soon as I was done I picked up the pad once more. I had already worked one of the symbols into a design, not I just needed to do another and decide which would be stitched and which would be the 'reject' that was left on the desk.
"You're really into that," Steve remarked.
"If I'd known it was going to be this much fun, I would have scrimped and saved to buy one sooner. I'm still working out the color changes and the layering, though. It's hard!" I held up a sketch for him to see - not one of the hidden symbol designs - and pointed at a tricky area. "It's not just the color changes, but making sure nothing gets too bulky, and being able to flow the colors as much as possible to cut down on the stops and starts. I do wish I was a better artist, I was doing an art class once but quit about halfway through."
"Why did you give up?" He asked.
"I dunno, I mean, I could see myself improving with practice, but it took a lot of time, and I think I just ran out of enthusiasm. This was a few years ago, and I had some other things going on, and just didn't want to devote the time to it. It was a downloadable class, though, and I still have it saved. If I recall correctly, there were some fun lessons, like designing something out of a scribble, picking patterns out of watercolor blobs, that sort of thing. I liked the ones that required less actual artistic talent!"
"You try a lot of things, don't you?" Steve said, and I felt like there was an undercurrent to his question, but I didn't know where it was going.
"Yeah, I like trying new things, but there are some old favorites I go back to. I don't think I'll ever completely give up knitting, for one. And there will always be some level of sewing in my life - fixing things, if nothing else. But other things come and go, some because I decide they're not for me, some I just lose interest in. What about you? You like to cook, do you have other hobbies?"
"No, cooking is my only real hobby, if you can call it that," he said.
"Well, true, you do have to cook, but I would argue that once you elevate it past basic cooking? Maybe? I don't know, it feels like it should be something if not a hobby, and interest? Huh." I cocked my head to the side, thinking. Maybe a little theatrically, but Steve seemed to be taking the conversation seriously.
"Exactly, calling it a hobby doesn't seem quite right, but there is something to be said for it when you put in a lot of extra time and effort, like when you pay attention to presentation, which I admit has been lacking in my dishes here, I do try sometimes, but I'm not the best at it. I really would rather concentrate on the flavor."
"I am a hundred percent with you on that," I said, glad I seemed to have distracted him and we were off the subject of my hobbies. "Taste over appearance any day, though I wouldn't say your presentation has been at all unappealing, you also haven't graced my plate with a carrot rose, so..."
"Are you supposed to eat those?" Steve asked. "I mean, it's food, but it somehow feels wrong to eat them, if you know what I mean?"
"Yes, I know exactly what you mean! I had a coworker once who made a salad out of the lettuce that was lining a fruit tray, and I thought it was really odd, but she was like, 'it's lettuce, why not eat it?' and I couldn't argue with that, except it still seemed incredibly wrong? I think that's very much a luxury of the first world, having purely decorative food on your plate."
Total wordcount: 30,464
On/off target: -6,210
Good day today, made some progress, have some hope?
My brain was still whirring with possibilities when I got home to find Steve had beaten me there. I briefly wondered what his ‘commute’ was like, did he just pop into place, was there a transition? But I wasn’t going to ask, because that would just bring up the whole sham (I was pretty sure it was a sham) of the ‘alternate universe’ explanation, and my brain hurt enough from trying to figure out my own mess. Though, yes, technically the Steve situation is also my own mess, and I promised myself I’d spend more time on crafting the symbols this evening. I’d fallen a little off track, but I should still be able to get everything done and in place with a minimum of suspicious furniture rearranging. That reminded me that I needed to start acclimating him to the candles, so once I’d set the groceries on the counter, I walked over and lit a small grouping of candles on a side table. Steve instantly noticed and did I imagine the look of suspicion on his face?
“What are you doing?” he asked, starting to chop some vegetables.
“Aromatherapy,” I said lightly. “Unless the smell bothers you? I find it relaxing, but I know not everyone does.”
Was it my imagination, or did he visibly relax? Was I reading way too much into it, and was it just my own nerves and guilty conscience making me see that in him? I really did need the aromatherapy, I thought.
“Oh, no, that’s fine,” he said. “But what happened that was so bad that you need to de-stress? Did you not get your flight booked? I’d think even the idea of your upcoming vacation would be enough to melt away all the stress, though I suppose there’s still the worry of not finding Evan and when you have to admit defeat.”
“Oh my goodness, I forgot that you don’t know anything that happened today!” I blurted out. It seemed like it had been more than a day, and I honestly expected, somehow, for him to know about all the new developments. “Let me tell you what happened today…”
I stood at the breakfast bar and regaled him with everything I’d learned today while he finished making dinner. I had to keep backtracking and interjecting little bits of the story as I told it, and I was afraid I was making it even more confusing than it was, but he seemed to follow along okay. When I was done, he was dishing up dinner and we took our food into the living room to sit in front of the television.
“So no vacation to Hawaii, then?” He asked.
“I don’t think that would be wise, isn’t fleeing the area considered rather suspicious, especially if your trip wasn’t already booked? I can write off the ‘getting a passport’ appointment as something I was doing because I was tasked with finding Evan, but the impromptu holiday would be tough. Because I would either have to admit I had no intention of really looking for Evan, which would make them question my dedication to my job, and how much I knew, and if I had a reason to want her dead, or… it was an idea I had after she was dead, which looks like I’m running away. As much as I really would like to get away right now, I don’t think it’s prudent.”
“Probably not, but that’s a bummer. I know how much you were looking forward to it.”
I hadn’t realized, up until that point, just how much I had been looking forward to it. The accumulated stress and uncertainty had really started to wear me down, and I was just tired. And now I couldn’t even take some time off work, not with the additional workload we were all bound to be given. Jess might not have been as active in all aspects of the cases, but she did do work. And until they replaced her, someone else was going to have to pick up that slack.
The question of who was going to replace her was not a new one. Most of us figured she was slated for promotion in the very near future, and had begun to openly speculate whether there would be another promotion from within, or if they would bring someone in from the outside. It was generally agreed that there would be a mass revolt if Mindy was promoted, and I think Jess and Rhonda both understood that. Then again, I was only assuming either of them would have any hand in filling the position. Maybe they wouldn’t have.
“But it also means I continue to get paid, and that means more money towards the embroidery machine fund,” I said, trying to sound upbeat. And, to be fair, having more money to buy myself something I’d been pining after for years probably did trump a vacation I hadn’t even considered until now. Probably. Unless staying here would get me killed or imprisoned. Which were unlikely scenarios, but not impossible ones.
“Because you don’t have enough hobbies or supplies?” Steve asked, casting his eyes around the heaps of craft projects laying around the room.
“Never!” I said vehemently. “But enough about my crafting problem, we’re not going to fix that. What do you think about the whole Jess and Evan thing? She was definitely just looking for him, it had absolutely nothing to do with the contract. I don’t know why she had to fake that, I mean, maybe she thought that was the only way she could get info from his lawyer? Technically our firm was representing Tanner and Birch, so maybe she didn’t think they’d divulge anything unless it had to do with the contract in progress? That seems feasible.”
“You’re the expert in the legalities. Would you have handed it over in any other circumstances?”
“I’m not even entirely sure I would have handed it over in that circumstance. But then, I don’t really know what all is going on with Evan, or what his explicit instructions were, or what his relationship with his attorney is. I can see an annoyed attorney being more likely argue that it wasn’t a breach of privacy because of the contract, and I could see a fiercely loyal attorney refusing on grounds of confidentiality. It all depends on how you look at it.”
We sat in silence for a moment as Steve flipped through the movie choices, unable to settle on anything to watch. I wondered if he felt as antsy and out of sorts as I did, but then I chided myself. What does he have to worry about? This whole mess is simply an academic exercise for him. I suppose he has to worry about me trying to send him back from whence he came, but I think I was keeping my knowledge of that, and my plans, pretty well hidden. He hadn’t taken an interest in what I was knitting, and I was getting ready to start craft number two. I just needed a reason to abandon my knitting for a little bit. Maybe if I splurged on that embroidery machine a little early, I could substitute that for the planned cross stitch piece. And if I designed the patterns on my desk, I could leave the rejects – which would include symbol number three – on the desk, while putting the finished piece on the tree in the corner when I put it up, then I could move the proposed sketching/art project of symbol number four over to the side table next to my chair. That would only leave one symbol, and I’d have to find a reason for it to be next to the fireplace. Maybe on the mantel? What could I craft that could contain a symbol and be on the mantel?
The idea came in a flash, bunting! Christmas bunting! It wasn’t anything I have ever put up before, because truth be told I didn’t really like it or see the reason for it, but it would do well to hide a pattern in some quilting. And maybe I could justify it as a whim if, when I went looking for pieces of fabric to do my embroidery on, I spilled my box of tiny scraps, and decided to use them up and make bunting? To be fair, it’s completely the kind of thing I would do, it just wouldn’t be bunting I was making. I must have looked very concerned, or worried, because Steve looked up from flipping through movies to stare at me.
“Penny for your thoughts,” he said lightly.
“Huh? Oh, I was just thinking about the whole ordeal, and my mind kept going back to the embroidery machine. Weird, I know, but part of me just wants to splurge on it. I mean, why not? What am I waiting for? I’m not getting any younger, and it’s something I’ve wanted for a long time. I think people dying around you makes you want to go ahead and do all the things, whether or not they are reasonable.” I shook my head sadly. “Morbid thought, but there you have it. And, if I had an embroidery machine, I could make little Christmas ornaments for everyone. I’ve done cross stitch ones before, but they take forever. With a machine, I could make a few designs, have the machine stitch them up, and frame them, all in the time it would take me to maybe make one cross stitch ornament.”
“Will that make you as happy as going to Hawaii?” He asked, not really looking very invested in the conversation, with his eyes already sliding back to the television.
“You know, I think it would make me happier,” I said, and I meant it. He didn’t reply, his attention already back on the list of movies on the screen. I settled back with my knitting, and he picked out another bad monster movie.
I don’t entirely remember stumbling to bed, but it was somewhere in the middle of a movie about giant slugs. I’d dozed off, but since I had to get up and go to work, I managed to rouse myself off the couch and get myself into bed, turning on my alarm very, very reluctantly. I never loved mornings, but I was not looking forward to getting up and facing work. It felt odd being there with what was going on, and with what I knew I had withheld. It was going to be a stressful day of wondering if they suspected anything and watching closely what I was saying. And that sounded exhausting.
As it was, I needn’t have worried. Apparently, their search warrant was good enough that our lawyers had allowed them to go through the relevant files, and they had, indeed, found the pictures. None of us were supposed to know about it, but the stipulation by our lawyers was that a member of the firm would be present to make sure they did not stray outside the bounds of allowable searchable files, and, well, word had gotten out that something had been found in the old Tanner and Birch files. Of course I knew it had to be the pictures, but no one else knew exactly what it was, and speculation was rampant. My favorite, and somewhat closest to the truth, was the idea of steamy love letters between Jess and Melody. Tragic, star-crossed lovers and all that.
And maybe that was true. It would be a sad, but rather mundane explanation, if Evan had gotten angry about being kicked out of the trio and it was a case of a love triangle turned deadly. There was still the problem of finding the actual killer and then connecting Evan to them, but it would tie up the story fairly neatly. Occam’s Razor, and hoof beats being horses instead of zebras. It would make perfect sense, and maybe it was just the fact that there was a bloody demon in my life that made me think it should be something so much more interesting. I couldn’t accept that it was a plain case of a lover’s quarrel, for all the oddity of the threesome and their proclivities added to the story.
The finding apparently widened the search parameters, though, and we found ourselves crowded out of our offices by the police. It was decided by management, after much grumbling by staff, that we would be allowed to work from home for the rest of the week (which, granted, was only today and tomorrow, but it was a rare treat and no one complained). I didn’t actually have much work left to do, so I took off for the sewing machine store to see if they had any good used machines in stock. As excited as I was about the project, I wasn’t sure I was up to paying full price for a new embroidery machine. Those suckers are super expensive, and I could only justify so much. The fact that it would facilitate the banishing of a demon definitely added to what I’d pay for it, but if I was being honest with myself, it was not necessary for the plan to work. But it made a nice excuse.
I was thrilled when I found they had a semi-decent used machine at a semi-reasonable price. Not the Cadillac of machines by any stretch, but certainly good enough for my hobby embroidery. I picked up a selection of threads and a few pre-programed designs, as well, and tried not to listen as they gave me the total. It would be worth it, but that didn’t make that number hurt any less. Even though I could afford it, it felt like a luxury I didn’t deserve. And that made me pause. This wasn’t money I was saving for retirement, I had accounts for that. And it wasn’t something I needed for other expenses, which were budgeted separately. I was allowed to spend money on myself, doggone it! Why did I never splurge on myself? Especially considering that I was caught between a killer and a demon, and while one seemed unaware of my involvement (I hoped) and the other had been nothing but nice, I didn’t think I could guarantee that would continue to be the case.
Even with the time spent at the sewing machine shop, and another quick stop at the grocery store, I still got home well before sunset. This gave me plenty of time to do more planning and subtly move things around to make them line up for the ritual in the name of making a space for my new embroidery machine. And then, well, then I just let myself play with my new toy and not think about anything else until I heard Steve clear his throat behind me. I jumped about a mile, and turned with my hand held to my chest.
“Oh my stars, you gave me quite the fright!”
“You were pretty into what you were working on,” he said. “I was trying to figure out how to get your attention without giving you a heart attack!”
“Well, you failed,” I said, panting slightly, and then grinned. “Look at this, isn’t it awesome?! I bought a few designs, but I’m working on an original one. It’s a little slow going, but I think I’m getting the hang of it from getting it from the paper and into a digitized file. I kinda wish I had a drawing tablet, it’s a little hard to make the changes you need to with a mouse, but I’m making it work and that’s honestly an expense too far.”
“That’s lovely, but…” he hesitated, and flapped his hand at the heap of fabric scraps on the floor. “You’ve made quite the mess.”
“Are you a neat freak?” I rolled my eyes. “It’s fine, I’ve been meaning to go through those anyway and quilt them up. I can’t stand throwing away fabric, and once I pick out the pieces large enough and plain enough to embroider on, I’ll cut up and stitch together some blocks. Or maybe do some crazy quilting. I don’t know yet.”
“Are you… have you… I mean, you seem a bit… unnaturally hyper,” Steve said, peering at me. He looked genuinely concerned, and I had to stifle a giggle.
“I sometimes get that way with a new project,” I said. “It’ll wear off, eventually. But the unexpected time off is also really, really thrilling. Well, I mean, it’s sort of time off? I’m supposed to be working from home but I don’t really have any work to do! So it’s time off, right?”
“Why do you have unexpected time off?”
“Oh, right, right, I keep forgetting you don’ know everything the minute I do. They found the photos where I planted them, and expanded the search, and were so in the way in the office no one could do their jobs, so they sent us home to work there. Only today and tomorrow, they said everything should be back to normal on Monday, but even a three-day weekend is thrilling. I haven’t had one of those in forever!”
I slotted another hoop into the machine and started the program. It wasn’t terribly noisy, but Steve opted to not try to talk over it and drifted back into the kitchen. I thought he was actually vaguely annoyed by the mess, which irked me. This was my house. It could be as messy as I wanted it to be. He was, at best, a guest here. Granted, a guest that was cooking and cleaning, so that made it a little bit odd, but still. I started sorting through the scraps of fabric while waiting until it was time to change the thread color, still in a warm, happy glow of crafting.
11/23
Apparently the annoyance of the mess had either worn off, or I had imagined it, because once we sat down to eat Steve was his usual, jovial self. I set down my sketching to eat, but as soon as I was done I picked up the pad once more. I had already worked one of the symbols into a design, not I just needed to do another and decide which would be stitched and which would be the 'reject' that was left on the desk.
"You're really into that," Steve remarked.
"If I'd known it was going to be this much fun, I would have scrimped and saved to buy one sooner. I'm still working out the color changes and the layering, though. It's hard!" I held up a sketch for him to see - not one of the hidden symbol designs - and pointed at a tricky area. "It's not just the color changes, but making sure nothing gets too bulky, and being able to flow the colors as much as possible to cut down on the stops and starts. I do wish I was a better artist, I was doing an art class once but quit about halfway through."
"Why did you give up?" He asked.
"I dunno, I mean, I could see myself improving with practice, but it took a lot of time, and I think I just ran out of enthusiasm. This was a few years ago, and I had some other things going on, and just didn't want to devote the time to it. It was a downloadable class, though, and I still have it saved. If I recall correctly, there were some fun lessons, like designing something out of a scribble, picking patterns out of watercolor blobs, that sort of thing. I liked the ones that required less actual artistic talent!"
"You try a lot of things, don't you?" Steve said, and I felt like there was an undercurrent to his question, but I didn't know where it was going.
"Yeah, I like trying new things, but there are some old favorites I go back to. I don't think I'll ever completely give up knitting, for one. And there will always be some level of sewing in my life - fixing things, if nothing else. But other things come and go, some because I decide they're not for me, some I just lose interest in. What about you? You like to cook, do you have other hobbies?"
"No, cooking is my only real hobby, if you can call it that," he said.
"Well, true, you do have to cook, but I would argue that once you elevate it past basic cooking? Maybe? I don't know, it feels like it should be something if not a hobby, and interest? Huh." I cocked my head to the side, thinking. Maybe a little theatrically, but Steve seemed to be taking the conversation seriously.
"Exactly, calling it a hobby doesn't seem quite right, but there is something to be said for it when you put in a lot of extra time and effort, like when you pay attention to presentation, which I admit has been lacking in my dishes here, I do try sometimes, but I'm not the best at it. I really would rather concentrate on the flavor."
"I am a hundred percent with you on that," I said, glad I seemed to have distracted him and we were off the subject of my hobbies. "Taste over appearance any day, though I wouldn't say your presentation has been at all unappealing, you also haven't graced my plate with a carrot rose, so..."
"Are you supposed to eat those?" Steve asked. "I mean, it's food, but it somehow feels wrong to eat them, if you know what I mean?"
"Yes, I know exactly what you mean! I had a coworker once who made a salad out of the lettuce that was lining a fruit tray, and I thought it was really odd, but she was like, 'it's lettuce, why not eat it?' and I couldn't argue with that, except it still seemed incredibly wrong? I think that's very much a luxury of the first world, having purely decorative food on your plate."