Doing the Work
*
It’s time to put on your big girl pants.
Two days later, I turned twenty-five. Sunlight streamed through the curtains, casting a golden glow over Robert’s face as I woke beside him.
His peaceful expression made me smile, and the quiet Saturday morning wrapped us in its comforting embrace.
Since our playful living room escapade, I’d made a point to be honest with him at least once daily—something that felt both foreign and liberating.
When he asked what I wanted for dinner the previous evening, I immediately answered, “Mexican,” even though I knew it wasn’t his favorite.
He raised an eyebrow, smirked, and suggested Indian food instead.
We settled on a compromise that left us both satisfied.
I marveled at how effortlessly we reached decisions now, a far cry from when I avoided saying what I wanted, afraid of creating conflict.
Back then, I would have suggested something he liked, only to simmer with resentment while we ate.
He would sense my mood and ask what was wrong, and the night would spiral into accusations, frustration, and bruised feelings.
But now, we found peace in something as simple as choosing dinner, and with that peace came a more profound desire for closeness.
“Mmm, happy birthday, Mrs. Rook,” Robert mumbled, his voice groggy but warm as his eyes fluttered open.
I grinned, leaning down to kiss him, but he pulled back with a playful smirk. “Nope. You’ll mess up my birthday tradition.”
I flopped onto my back with a groan, bracing myself for his silly ritual.
He turned toward me, his rough stubble brushing my skin and sending a pleasant shiver through me.
“One,” he whispered, kissing my lips slowly.
“Two…” His kisses quickened, each more insistent than the last until I gasped for breath between them. “…twenty-four, twenty-five!”
The final kiss lingered, leaving me giggling as his hand rested on my hip.
His touch felt familiar and comforting, yet it set my heart fluttering.
Thoughts of a lazy morning tangled in each other briefly filled my mind, but reality barged in—lunch plans, shopping, and a dinner with friends loomed ahead.
“Ouch!” I yelped when his fingers pinched my rear.
His lips brushed my ear as he teased, “And a pinch to grow on.”
I laughed as he slid out of bed in his pajama pants, grinning mischievously. While he stretched, I burrowed deeper into the blankets, hoping to steal a few more moments of sleep. But before I could drift off, he yanked the duvet away, exposing me to the cool air.
“Get up,” he urged, his smug grin daring me to argue. “I’ve got a gift for you, and we need to leave soon.”
He disappeared into the other room to rummage through the dryer while I slowly pulled myself from the warmth of the bed.
My feet sank into the carpet as I crossed to the closet, sorting through the outfit I’d planned: navy-blue pedal pushers, a pale blue blouse, and a simple black cardigan.
I buttoned my blouse and moved to the nightstand to grab my phone.
The screen lit up with a voicemail notification, making my heart drop.
(1) New Voicemail – Martha (Mom)
I froze, gripping the fabric of my blouse as unease settled over me. Robert returned, tugging a Henley over his head. He noticed my expression immediately and sighed. “Your mom?”
I nodded, stepping into my trousers and pretending I hadn’t seen the notification. I wanted to throw the phone out the window to cling to the illusion of a carefree day.
Robert fastened his jeans and gave me a knowing look, his concern evident. “Why are you avoiding her calls?” he asked, his voice gentle but firm.
I exhaled slowly, my fingers brushing the waistband of my trousers.
“My mom doesn’t call because she cares,” I said, bitterness creeping into my voice.
“She wants something. She’ll give me a gift she can’t afford, expect endless praise, and act like remembering my birthday is some monumental achievement. ”
Robert listened patiently, his gaze steady as I spoke.
In the past, I would’ve deflected, laughed off her behavior, or changed the subject.
But today, I let him see the chaos she stirred in me—frustration and guilt.
I waited for him to urge me to answer, to remind me to be compassionate, to “let her in.”
Instead, he smiled softly. “Then don’t answer. Call Martha back when you’re ready.”
His words stopped me in my tracks. “What?”
“It’s your birthday,” he said. “You’re an adult. You don’t have to call her back right now.”
I hesitated, my brows furrowing. “But my mom is dying.”
His expression softened, but he didn’t waver. “Answer me honestly. If this were your last conversation with Martha, and she made you feel terrible, would that change anything?”
I swallowed hard, my chest tightening as the truth hit me. “No.”
He nodded, brushing a lock of hair from my face. “Do you think Martha has become the loving, compassionate mother you’ve always wanted?”
The knot in my stomach twisted tighter. “No.”
“And do you believe answering her call will improve your birthday?”
I exhaled shakily, the weight of my answer pressing down on me. “No.”
Robert kissed my forehead gently, his arms wrapping around me. “There’s your answer. I’ll support you no matter what, but I’d rather give you your birthday gift first.”
For the first time in years, I smiled, the tension in my shoulders easing. I stood on my toes and kissed Robert, a sense of clarity breaking through the emotional fog.
I didn’t need to call her back.
I didn’t need to sacrifice my plans for her needs.
I could live my life on my terms.
“Thank you,” I whispered, my voice trembling with relief.
Robert shook his head, his chuckle soft and affectionate. “You don’t need to thank me. You made this decision.”
I kissed him again, feeling the warmth between us intensify.
People had always wanted me to do things for their benefit.
I existed because my mother wanted to be known as a “good Catholic mother.” As I’d grown up, I’d become another financial attempt at stability—my parents had only seen me as dollar signs.
Boys I’d met had seen me as some cute thing to fuck and discard.
This life with Robert was different. It wasn’t perfect, but it felt real.
He wanted me to be stable, sure, to be someone he could rely on, but he didn’t expect me to be anything I wasn’t.
He embraced the messy, chaotic, fun-loving parts of me, the parts I had always felt the need to hide.
He didn’t just love me—he liked me. In the quiet moments like this, I could feel that he wanted me to enjoy being around myself, too.
The realization hit me with a warmth that spread through my chest. I was ready to forfeit all our plans. Schedules be damned. At that moment, nothing mattered but us.
We became a tangle of limbs and laughter, the outside world forgotten entirely.
We collapsed onto the bed, our hands rediscovering familiar territory but with the thrill of something new.
The soft rustle of discarded clothes fell away as we moved together, the connection between us pulling tighter with every kiss, every touch until nothing was left but the simple joy of being wrapped up in each other.
When we finally redressed and moved from the warmth of the bedroom, Robert took my hand and led me down the hallway. His fingers laced through mine with quiet confidence, a small smile tugging at his lips as we approached the office. I raised an eyebrow, noticing the door shut—a rare occurrence.
With a deliberate pause, he opened the door, and the sight inside stole my breath.
I gasped, my hand flying to my mouth. Sometime in the past few days, he had transformed the space into a cozy art studio.
A beautifully refurbished drawing desk stood in the center, the shelves along its sides neatly displaying my paint bottles, each color organized as if it had been waiting for me.
A small, teal-colored stool sat in front of the desk, the low back perfectly proportioned, inviting me to sit and create.
“Oh my god, this is amazing,” I whispered, stepping closer, my fingers tracing the desk’s edges. “You shouldn’t have.”
Robert gave me a gentle nudge forward, his smile widening with satisfaction.
“I saw an opportunity, and I took it. I knew you needed a space like this.”
I sighed softly, the excitement momentarily tempered by practicality. “But we’re leaving soon,” I said, my fingers resting on the stool’s back.“Does it even make sense to set all this up?”
He came up behind me, wrapping his arms around my shoulders, his chin resting lightly on the top of my head. “Yes, it does,” he murmured, his breath warm against my hair.“You need a place to express yourself. Now more than ever.”
I chewed on my lip, a familiar unease creeping in. I’d always avoided setting up a proper studio because the cost of a drawing table seemed like an indulgence I couldn’t justify. “Rob,” I started, frowning slightly, “this must have been expensive. You shouldn’t have spent so much.”
To my surprise, Robert released me and crossed his arms, his expression a mix of amusement and mild exasperation. I braced myself for his response, convinced I had ruined the moment. But instead, he took a deep breath and said, “You told me to keep your birthday gift under $100. I did it for $98.”
My eyebrows shot up in disbelief. That didn’t seem possible. Robert walked over to the desk, pointing out the details with quiet pride.
“These shelves?” he said, tapping one gently. “I made them myself. The desk”—he paused, glancing at me sheepishly—“I found it at the dump. I bought the stool brand new.”
He ran his fingers through his hair, a gesture I recognized as a sign of embarrassment. It was as if he was worried that he had somehow lessened the gift by scrounging together materials. His hand traced the edge of the desk, his voice softening.
“The metal base was in perfect condition. I brushed off the rust and resealed the legs. Then, I replaced the top with new wood and oiled the gears so you could adjust it properly. I revarnished everything.” He hesitated, his eyes flicking to mine, full of uncertainty.
“If you don’t like it, we can take it to a thrift store or something…”
Before he could finish, I crossed the room and embraced him tightly.
This desk, this space—it wasn’t just a gift.
It was a reflection of us. Two people who had started with so little yet always found a way to make something beautiful out of it.
Tears pricked the corners of my eyes as I pressed my face into his chest.
“It’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen,” I whispered, my voice thick with emotion.
He beamed down at me, his face lighting up as he kissed my forehead gently. “You’re happy with it?”
I smiled, lifting onto my tiptoes to kiss him, the tenderness between us wrapping around the moment. “I love it,” I murmured, my lips brushing his. “I love you. This desk is one of the best gifts I’ve ever received.”
Robert released an exaggerated sigh of relief, a smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth.
“Good,” he said with a chuckle. “Because those table legs are at least a hundred pounds, and I didn’t want to haul it again.”
I laughed, and tears stung my eyes. “It’s perfect. Thank you.”
“It’s yours,” he said, kissing my forehead. “Create something amazing.”
And in that moment, I knew I would.