8. Astrid #2
I’ve become a speaker, an author, an advocate. I’m proud of that work. I spend my time helping other people work through their failures and disappointments because of what I’ve been through. That’s rewarding.
I’ve developed a hockey league that celebrates the sport itself and its fans, rather than getting caught up in the greed and corruption I’ve seen throughout the sporting world. That is amazing.
I’ve definitely come a long way toward embracing the idea that just because a plan changes, doesn’t mean it’s gone wrong.
And if I can just get this wacko marriage annulled—without the family freaking out because ending it is the king’s idea—then I can avoid failing at this wife-thing, and I can start over being the happily single, contentedly childless duck-and-cat lady.
And if I never have amazing sex, and I have to give up this intriguing, intelligent, intimidating, yet tempting man, well, I’ll be okay. Eventually. Probably.
“I’ll admit that the house is not anything I would’ve expected. But I think it’s the most interesting space I’ve ever been in,” Declan says.
I narrow my eyes as I study his face. Is he making that up? Is he messing with me? I never would have guessed Declan O’Grady would be the type to tease. If that’s what he’s doing, I’m astonished. If he’s not, and he means that, I’m…also perplexed. “Seriously? You have a thing for the color orange?”
He lifts one of those broad shoulders, and my eyes are drawn to the way the soft cotton shirt clings to all of those planes.
“I mean, if you’d asked me forty-eight hours ago, I would’ve told you no.
But considering I don’t think I have anything in my life that is orange, I probably can’t honestly say that.
” He looks at Oscar, almost as if he’s gauging if he can take a step closer.
He decides not to, and I feel a twinge of disappointment. That I quickly quash.
I did not teach Oscar to get into the baby sling to keep my husband at arm’s length, but it’s working out.
This clingy Velcro cat would climb inside my skin if he had a chance.
This baby sling is simply a way to comfort him and still get things done around the house.
But if it keeps me from throwing myself at my husband, I’ll consider that a perk.
Maybe the Universe sent the gray tabby to my porch as a way to protect me from the man who was going to show up on that same porch months later.
“Do you know why green and brown and gold were so popular in the seventies?” Declan asks.
I do actually. Because I looked it up after I moved into the house. I was sitting in the living room one evening, realizing that I found the colors somewhat comforting, and I had to know how the trend became popular.
It’s strange because on the surface, it all just smacks you in the face as ugly and outdated. But as I sit in the midst of it, I feel myself calming. I look at the colors, and they make me smile and breathe deeper.
“Why?” I ask him, wondering what he knows.
He holds up his phone. “I was curious, so I looked it up.”
Surprise makes my stomach flip again. He was actually interested enough to look it up?
“It was a reaction to the psychedelic bright colors and synthetic look of the sixties. It was almost like everybody got a little too much of all of that, and they wanted to reset. So they turned to the earthy colors, especially the browns and greens. Then they added the pops of color that are still found in nature, like the golds and oranges. People wanted more of a return to nature and the basics, and it’s reflected even in the more natural textures and fabrics of the time. ”
That’s exactly what I’d found when I’d looked it up. The wood paneling, the macramé, and the shag carpet was a cozier feel that people sought out at the time.
“I’ve often felt like when I step from the house out here on the porch and then into the yard, it’s a pretty smooth transition,” I say.
I’ve always loved the backyard of this house. There’s so much greenery, with all the plants and bushes and trees.
“Did the ducks and the pond come with the house?” Declan asks.
“Oh no. They’ve only been here for about three months.”
He looks surprised. “Did you get them for eggs or something?”
I laugh. “I’m not getting any eggs from these guys. This is a bachelor flock. They’re all boys.” I cast an affectionate glance at the eight birds in my yard.
“Why did you get all boys?”
“Well, I didn’t really get them that way on purpose.
But it’s hard sometimes to find homes for male ducks.
Many people who keep duck flocks want mostly females.
They definitely want fewer males than females.
Males can be very aggressive, and it can be hard on the females if there are too many.
So you’ll find lots of flocks with multiple females and only one drake.
But then there’s the question of what to do with the extra boys.
One day, we found a bunch of ducks had been dumped by the stream at the town park.
We still haven’t figured out who did it because if we did, they’d be in a lot of trouble.
But we had to rescue them. Domestic ducks can’t just be dumped out into the wild.
They can’t fly; they don’t have adequate foraging skills to actually live in the wild, and they, of course, are very at risk for predators.
” I frown, remembering that day. Everyone in town was really worked up and upset about the dumping.
“In fact, we were worried that they were going to draw predators to the park and threaten the other animals there. Like the otters.” I laugh lightly.
“The otters were very upset about them being there too. So we needed someone to take them in. I was fascinated by them, but I knew nothing about how to care for them. But that’s all I had to say. ”
Declan’s watching me with a smile. “What? That you’d take them?”
I nod. “And that I’d need help. Two days later, this whole thing had been built in my backyard, and I’d been given a crash course. One of my neighbors, Letty…” I point to the house to the west. “…still stops by to check on us and is my go-to for any questions or issues I have.”
“Four months ago, you just had a regular backyard and then within a couple of days suddenly you had an entire duck haven and eight pets?”
I grin. “Pretty much. I’ve learned that that’s kind of how things happen around here. Like a hurricane—it starts suddenly, is over pretty quick, you barely remember what happened, and everything is rearranged after.”
“You’re okay with that?”
He’s watching me with true interest, and I shift my weight from foot to foot. I’ve never been this close to Declan for this long when it’s just been the two of us.
“I’ve gotten that way. I guess I’m not really a stranger to having things upended all of a sudden and having to pivot.”
He winces, visibly, clearly knowing what I’m referring to. Obviously, Declan and I have never talked about my injury and the end of my career, but I’m used to acknowledging it and talking about it by now. I’ve spoken about it, written about it, been interviewed about it over and over.
“Do you want some breakfast?” I say, suddenly desperate to end this conversation.
“Yeah, sure,” he says, following my lead, though he seems hesitant to drop the topic.
I really need him to drop the topic.
Getting personal with my husband is a terrible idea.
He follows me into the kitchen, and I am pleased that the purposely horrible sausage and gravy on the stove at least smells good.
The freshly baked buttermilk biscuits are resting on the stovetop, and I go to the cabinet to retrieve a plate.
“You made this?” Declan asks, watching me plate sausage and biscuits and sliced and quartered strawberries.
I nod as I hand him the plate. “I’m learning to cook a lot of southern dishes,” I fib.
I am because Patty, my neighbor across the street, is lovely and keeps bringing me produce that I have no use for.
When I finally admitted that to her, she determined to teach me what to do with it other than eating it raw and putting it in salads.
I’ve learned a few things, and now I intend to use them against my husband.
He looks at the plate. “Okay.”
This is far heavier than anything he typically eats in the morning. Hell, it’s probably heavier than he normally eats at any time of the day.
The same is true for me, for that matter.
One thing I will admit about living with Declan for the short time I did, our grocery needs matched up pretty well.
We both preferred smoothies in the morning, light lunches, and protein and vegetable-forward dinners.
We didn’t eat any of them together, but Declan’s cook always provided enough for me as well.
He takes the plate to the little Formica-topped table near the window and sits. The kitchen isn’t huge, and I’m acutely aware of the space he fills.
He smells so good. Even after a morning workout.
That’s as unfair as that T-shirt he’s wearing.
“So did you just fall in love with this house when you first saw it?” he asks.
I look at him with surprise. “What do you mean?”
“It’s just so interesting, and it’s clear you like it. Was that immediate or did it grow on you?”
How does he know I like it? Just because I haven’t changed it? “I actually was just trying to buy a house quickly, so I had a place to live.”
The full truth is, I walked into this house, was actually shocked by how it was decorated, and instantly wanted it because it was completely opposite of anything Declan O’Grady would ever live in.
I cross my arms and lean back against the counter behind me. “Do you think it’s interesting?” I ask. “Really?”
“Of course. I’ve always lived in black and white and stainless steel. This place is about as opposite of that as you can get.”
Exactly.
“You could’ve changed that at any point. You could have easily hired people who could’ve painted, re-carpeted, redecorated,” I point out.