Who Names The Colors

Persephone

Jo woke up ravenous, and early. When Ethan was young she had discovered that when she woke up early, between five and six, those hours could be hers and she would not feel guilty for having them. She would make a brew, and sometimes sit quietly, enjoy rare stillness, read the news until it became too depressing, or prepare Ethan's lunch and tidy before her whirlwind came back from his sleepy, dreamy wanderings.

The habit remained all through his growing years, though the need for silence was replaced by a hope to be seen, appreciated, for all the little things she did. And now, she was back to the beginning with Zoe. Once she had clawed out of the sleep deprivation cave, she found her early morning routine reasserting itself. It was really the only time to herself.

Curiously, she never painted. That was a night time activity for Jo. Perhaps that was why the trenches of motherhood were not full of painting; she had to make a choice between giving up sleep in the am or pm.

She found when she did not sleep well that it was worse. Jo would be up extremely early if her rest was disturbed by bad dreams, hers or Zoe's, or worry, or sadness.

Jo was up before dawn this morning, and she felt like painting. Perhaps because the world was still dark. And she had slept very little. But that had everything to do with her bedmate.

Harry was sprawled out over her bed that had always seemed too big for one person, but was perfect for the two of them. They made good use of the space after she had met Audrey at the back and sent her out the front. Harry had barely waited for the babysitter to clear the garden wall before he was attaching himself to her neck and walking her through the house to her bedroom.

He hadn't let up for most of the night. Jo's thighs smarted when she stood and she could feel finger bruises when she smoothed up some plaid pants to her hips. He'd held her hard when she was sure she couldn't stand another orgasm. Turns out she could, but when she went to finish him in her mouth she felt a small abrasion on his glans. Harry was going to need a break. Too much friction.

Turns out, he was a tummy sleeper, she knocked away the comparison to Ethan and looked at her lover. That title felt right. He certainly loved her right. And it wasn't so heavy on the feelings she was trying to ignore after their excellent date and streaming conversation. If they shared one more conspiratorial smile over a shared interest or love she was gonna have to consider other shades of the appellation. This morning she refused.

But her golden valley was calling her away from the curl obscured face and sheet wrapped lower torso of the Adonis in her bed.

Jo reapplied the gold, shading it over the gray she had smudged in the background of the piece she was working on just a few days ago. The gold wasn't so perfect now, it was shadowed. She liked it, felt more realistic. The brush end rolled smoothly over her lips while she thought about the golden footsteps. Now it looked like her lone female was running through sand, where she had smudged the golden footprints away. She'd seen pictures of dark sand beaches. There were yellows sands, right? Golden and sand was glass unformed, so she could give some shimmer.

Her teeth bit lightly over the wood stick while she planned and thought about what colors to mix; she needed more gold paint, again. What would it look like over the sandy grey path? She'd need a lighter base yellow, and some white with the gold to get it the way her mind's eye did.

Jo's stomach growled loudly, and she realized the sun was up, but no one else was. When was the last time she ate? A flash of Harry spooning crema catalana into her mouth made her tummy sound again, and her mouth water. Her toes curled a little into the carpet shag.

Breakfast. She'd make eggy bread. Jo thought everybody liked that. Well, Zoe did and she was the hard one to please. Jo would eat anything at this point, and she imagined Harry would wake up ravenous.