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1182 Hudson St.
Rachel is back from vacation - has been for about a week now. I, however, have been out of town on an errand of my own. An old friend paid a visit and insisted on a trip. Not my idea of a vacation, but it ended well enough for me.
****
"Connor!" Rachel calls from upstairs. This can't be good.
"What is it, Rachel?" I call back as I finish typing an e-mail - and I can't beleive I even have e-mail. I remember when there weren't even calculators, much less, computers. But, Adam seems to think these machines are useful tools, so, I suppose I'll put this 'internet' thing to use.
She comes down the stairs, her footsteps falling in the same manner as always - I think she does that so I can't tell if she's angry at me or not, and stops a few steps from the bottom. "What happened to your shirt?" she asks, holding up the very expensive silk shirt she just bought me, that I wore for the first time last Thursday. Oops.
I turn back to the computer as I answer, "I, uh, had a little accident."
"Yes. And why, exactly, were you fighting in this shirt?"
"Rachel, it's a shirt." I look up again. She knows how this goes. "I didn't mark it in my datebook to have a fight the same day I wore that shirt."
She's really is angry at me now, she's turned and gone back up the stairs - probably to fix my shirt, or turn it into a really expensive dust rag. Shit. I get up and climb the stairs behind her. She's picking up my clothes, wandering around the apartment.
"Rachel, stop," I tell her, but she keeps cleaning. I put a hand on her shoulder and turn her to face me. "Rachel, I'm sorry. I'll pay you for the shirt."
She glares at me with those beautiful eyes - the ones that haven't changed since I met her when she was a little girl. "Don't pay for the shirt."
"I'll buy you dinner?"
The glare hardens. "No you won't."
I tilt my head a little. "A pack of gum?"
The glare cracks and she smiles - just a little - I win! "Every time. Go to bed, Connor MacLeod."
"Yes, ma'am." I smile back and she kisses my cheek before shoving me toward my bedroom. Still just like a mother. I have no idea how she puts up with me. Or why.
No, wait. I know the answer to that last one... same reason I put up with her. Love her to death. No one else in the world is a better friend to me than she is.
I am going to bed. It's been a long day.
****
"Connor!" Rachel calls from upstairs. This can't be good.
"What is it, Rachel?" I call back as I finish typing an e-mail - and I can't beleive I even have e-mail. I remember when there weren't even calculators, much less, computers. But, Adam seems to think these machines are useful tools, so, I suppose I'll put this 'internet' thing to use.
She comes down the stairs, her footsteps falling in the same manner as always - I think she does that so I can't tell if she's angry at me or not, and stops a few steps from the bottom. "What happened to your shirt?" she asks, holding up the very expensive silk shirt she just bought me, that I wore for the first time last Thursday. Oops.
I turn back to the computer as I answer, "I, uh, had a little accident."
"Yes. And why, exactly, were you fighting in this shirt?"
"Rachel, it's a shirt." I look up again. She knows how this goes. "I didn't mark it in my datebook to have a fight the same day I wore that shirt."
She's really is angry at me now, she's turned and gone back up the stairs - probably to fix my shirt, or turn it into a really expensive dust rag. Shit. I get up and climb the stairs behind her. She's picking up my clothes, wandering around the apartment.
"Rachel, stop," I tell her, but she keeps cleaning. I put a hand on her shoulder and turn her to face me. "Rachel, I'm sorry. I'll pay you for the shirt."
She glares at me with those beautiful eyes - the ones that haven't changed since I met her when she was a little girl. "Don't pay for the shirt."
"I'll buy you dinner?"
The glare hardens. "No you won't."
I tilt my head a little. "A pack of gum?"
The glare cracks and she smiles - just a little - I win! "Every time. Go to bed, Connor MacLeod."
"Yes, ma'am." I smile back and she kisses my cheek before shoving me toward my bedroom. Still just like a mother. I have no idea how she puts up with me. Or why.
No, wait. I know the answer to that last one... same reason I put up with her. Love her to death. No one else in the world is a better friend to me than she is.
I am going to bed. It's been a long day.