Ours Now....

Ours Now…

Letter 8
Sid,
Do announcers have to talk this long? I swear, this Olympic commentator could win a medal for talking. He’s going on and on about both teams, the likes of them winning and losing, starting lines, everything! I’m ready to go up to that booth a tell him off. Maybe it’s just the pregnancy- bitch coming out in me, who knows?

Speaking of bitchiness, you and I were a bunch of royal ones for a few days. We spoke to each other, but it wasn’t in our usual manners. Conversation was strained and we kind of just skirted around each other. Things definitely were not normal.

About two days after the fiasco with Ovi, you and the boys were gone on a week long road trip. I still wasn’t a fan of staying in the house by myself (I know, I married a hockey player who spends half his time on the road for at least 6 months), so I was having Janine stay with me.

“You sure you got everything?” she asked for the hundredth time.

“Yes,” I sighed. The team I coached for in Pittsburgh was having a banquet to celebrate the senior swimmers that night and I must say that I was looking pretty hot. My green one-shoulder body-con dress played well against my nude shoes and clutch. Looking down at my ring finger, I sighed again.

“You guys will work it out,” Janine comforted me. “You always do.”

“But we’ve never gone this long without confronting the problem!” I protested. “What if we went too fast?”

“You and Sid?” she asked. “That’s ridiculous. I’ve never met two people more made for each other than the two of you.”

I smiled. Were we perfect on our own? Hell no. Were we pretty close together? Hell yes.

“And too fast?” Janine asked. “Please, from the moment I saw you two together all those years ago, I knew that it was going to last.”

“You think he’ll call?” I asked. Your game started in an hour.

She nodded. “But will you pick up?”

“Probably. I want to talk to him about all this,” I conceded.

“Just go take a long look at those flowers and you’ll remember just what you got yourself into when you said ‘I do’,” Janine advised. “I’ll be here when you get back.”

She was right, of course, about everything. Janine always was. Looking at the floral arrangement you had sent that day, my heart fluttered in my chest. You had remembered my favorite color of my favorite flowers. The blood red roses stood out against my pale skin as I touched the petals. The card that came with it was simple. A thick crème paper with your messy hand writing. ‘I love you, Rory. Missing you. –Your Golden Boy’

I never did get to talk to you that night. When you called, I instantly grabbed my phone from my clutch. Jumping from the table, I scurried into the hallway.

“Hel-,” I began to say. “Oh shit.” I collapsed against the wall. I heard a crack in the worst possible place I could hear it come from. My hip was throbbing, I couldn’t move my leg. What the hell just happened?

All My Love,
Rory