It's been, what, two months since I updated? Trust me, I've been trying to write but everything has been super difficult and my stress level has gone through the roof sometimes. But it's here now, right? First things first, this is dedicated to petrichor for her meaningful comment (that I haven't forgotten about, it made me infinitely happy to know that it impacted someone so much. Thank you.) The song to the side is "Land of Canaan" by the Indigo Girls, and I feel like it represents the Nineteenth Reason. The end.
Reasons Nineteen and Twenty
Remind me why I let Thatcher in my house with a bag full of feathers.
I had to have been temporarily stunned, inebriated, anything, if I thought that the odds would tip in my favor, and I wouldn’t have to dig out my heavy-duty shop vac.
Sure, he promised that they would yup, definitely, they will be staying right here in this bag, I swear on something, like, I dunno, ice cream, but we both knew, deep down, that feathers could be controlled by no person, vacuum, or anything else designed by the human race to rid their lives of anything craft related. I swear, they functioned as a living, breathing organism, reproducing and everything.
My kitchen floor can testify.
“Explain why we’ve been infested by feathers again,” I asked cautiously, trying not to get too near to the craft zone. There was enough glitter, felt, and – you guessed it – feathers to swallow me, and my unsuspecting coffee mug, alive.
Thatcher raised an eyebrow. “Only if you explain why you have never participated in the annual Turkey Day festivities.”
“I’ve never felt inclined to dress like a giant piece of poultry.” When he raised a questioning eyebrow, I added, “Or pose with one.”
“I like turkey,” Sofia supplied from on top of my dishwasher, an island in the endless sea. Honestly, I was starting to forget what my actual floor looked like.
“You’re missing out,” Thatcher said seriously. As if to demonstrate this, he forcefully hit a wad of foam with his staple gun. “There is nothing – nothing – more fulfilling then walking in the Thanksgiving Turkey Costume Parade. Except maybe stopping world hunger.”
I took another sip of coffee, unconvinced. Sofia didn’t look too enthused either. “And you know this because …”
“… I’ve been runner-up three years in a row. It’s kind of my claim to fame.”
“And this is why you have to start your costume mid-October?”
“Yeah.” He scrunched his nose in concentration. Bang, bang, bang with the staple gun. My neighbors were probably expecting to find several bodies in the garbage disposal. “Why?”
“Just clarifying.”
“Look.” Bang. “I would do it at my place –“ Bang. “- but this whole operation –“ Bang. “- is kind of on the down-low.” Bang. “Think Mission Impossible meets Macy’s Day Parade.”
YOU ARE READING
99 Reasons Why It Wasn't Love
RomanceBronwyn Kirk doubts that anyone can be as much of a romantic wreck as her - until she meets Thatcher Lucas, divorcee, bad driver, and determined to find out about Bronwyn's past.
