If Only...

FOR PEANUTS

I puff up my cheeks and roll onto my front yet again, reaching for the shriveled bunch of orchids that sit on my nightstand.

The last hour that has passed has been a blur.

I remember the first ten minutes of it very clearly, though.

I remember staring plainly at the closed door for the first few with a smug grin on my face, just waiting for what I was sure would happen.

Danny walking in, rubbing the nape of his neck adorably and reporting his little 'accident', and I taking over with an 'I told you so'. And maybe along with a teasing kiss.

But that never came.

Then, I emptied out the duffelbag and touched up a few things in my room in order to spark neatness, followed by my honest attempt at doing some laundry but because the duo wouldn't let me out, I've changed a dozen outfits since, until I've finally settled for a knee length floral printed dress and then wallowed around in bed ever since.

I had started to get more and more restless with every passing minute, when finally, while putting the bag away, my fingers happened over the bulge in the side.

And out came the flowers from yesterday.

Ever since I've found them, Time has painstakingly crawled forward on his knees, and my brain has been sprinting a marathon on her toes.

And to top it off, the finish line is nowhere in sight.

By the end of the hour--That measure I can find accountable only because of my still alive phone; the one sign of freedom in the duration of my house-arrest--I have narrowed down the options of who had put the flowers in the bag to Aynsely, Danny, or even Rosie.

Not really in order of probability.

Great work, huh?

Well, in my defense, I've ruled out Gatsby, atleast.

But if it were either Aynsely or Danny, the message they were trying to send could not have been clearer.

And so I've fallen into one of those thinking pits in my head, gathering rope lint by logical lint and processing it through hindsight to pull myself out.

If it was Aynsely, then there were two possibilities for the reason: She either thought I had forgotten them in the coat closet and that I'd like to have kept them, or. . . she had put them in for the same reason as Danny must have.

A subtle reminder of its significance.

It just grazes my mind that I might be over-thinking this because let's face it; I have nothing better to do, when I hear a soft knock on the door.

"Come in."

I drawl, stowing the flowers away in the drawer of the nightstand.

"How're you doing, mommy?"

I smile at his slow, breathy voice in my ear, which hightails me out of that pit. My heartbeat spikes and all of my senses elevate, all in one second. Only he can do that.

I smile bigger as Danny nuzzles my hair.

"Well, apart from the fact that I've been imprisoned in my own room by my daughter's father and denied doing the one thing I love doing most in this world, . . . I'm doing great, honey."

He chuckles before moving my hair out of the way and kissing the side of my neck. I sigh and tilt my head to the left.

"That's all I am to you? Your daughter's father?"

"One of many things."

I grin and turn onto my back, and Danny does the same on my left, grinning back at me.