Flames

Booked and Busy, part 1

Seth took one look at the stacks—stacks, plural many times over—of boxes in their foyer and cringed. The last time there had been that many boxes in the entryway, Becky's mother had sent care packages primarily composed of mint chocolate and the scent had lingered in the front of the house for days. He didn't want to get too close just in case they were filled with chocolate again, so he peered at the one that had the largest address label. The sender was based in the United States, but that didn't necessarily mean he was safe; Becky simply might have found a North American supplier. "Becks," he called out, "what are all these boxes?"

Becky trotted down the stairs and met him in the foyer. "What? Sorry. I was just on the phone with your mom. She and Bob asked if they could take Roux out for dinner and if there was anything she shouldn't have." She hugged Seth and rested her head against his chest, letting out a long sigh. "That's very sweet of them."

"They love spending time with her. You know that." Seth kissed the top of her head and lingered there a moment before gesturing to the stacks of boxes again. "They don't look like they're from your mom," he reported, "so what are they? Should I be afraid?"

"Only of me developing carpal tunnel syndrome," Becky replied. "It's all my stuff from the publisher. Bookplates to sign—I thought I might take some of those with me to the hairdresser tomorrow, since I'll be stuck in a chair for a while anyway—and the author-copy inserts." She pointed to the smaller boxes. "And author copies and then all the ones I sign by hand." Tilting her head back, she grinned up at him. "Good thing I have a hot husband built like a god who can help me take all these boxes into the dining room, huh?"

Seth rolled his eyes. "Why do we even have a dining room at this point? It's part office and part play zone...."

"Well, we do eat in there sometimes," Becky replied. "Sort of. We have coffee, anyway. And Roux's tea parties. And when your mom and Bob came over around Thanksgiving, I think we ate in there."

"Yeah. And I'm pretty sure it took us longer to clear off the table than it did to cook the turkey." Seth kissed her and stepped back. "Any particular order you want things in?" he asked.

Becky moved the boxes of blank bookplates over against the wall. "Let's leave those out of the equation for now. Books closest to the table. The author-copy inserts can go behind, because there's no rush on those." She tapped her tongue against her teeth as she thought. "A lot of the author copies can come with us on the bus and I can just give them to people backstage, right? Are the boxes labelled specifically? I never checked when the courier brought them because I was on the phone."

Seth started turning the boxes so all the shipping labels were facing forward. "Not that I can see. Maybe there's an invoice or something that tells you how many are yours and how many are supposed to be signed?"

"Hope so. This is all new to me." Becky grabbed a box of books and lifted it gingerly. This close to WrestleMania, neither of them wanted to get injured, let alone doing something so banal as lifting boxes of books.

"Not for long. Pretty soon you'll be a pro." Seth moved most of the book boxes over to where Becky wanted them, then went into the kitchen to get the scissors. "Here you go, Ms. Best-selling Author," he intoned, bowing at the waist as he handed the scissors to his wife. "You do the honours."

"With my luck," she replied, opening the scissors and running the blade gingerly down a box's taped seam, "I'll end up slicing through the covers."

Seth watched her open the largest of the book boxes with a sense of awe and pride. I'm married to an AUTHOR. Some days he was still amazed that he was married, let alone that he was a husband and a father. "Roux and I will have to get you an official box opener for Mother's Day so you're all ready to go for your next book," he declared.