Sasha Roiz Imagines

Toques

"Darling, have you seen my toque?" Sasha calls to you from the front foyer.

Lost in your French 101 homework for university, you don't register the question right away. "Darling?" Sasha calls out to you, breaking your concentration.

Closing your book, on a huff of frustration, you get up, answering, "Yes, honey?"

"Have you seen my toque?"

You frown in concentration, trying to remember when you last saw his toque. "Umm, no I haven't seen it since you wore it last week," you say, walking towards the front foyer to help him look.

"It's not where you left it last week?" you say, watching him rummage in the closet.

"No, it's not," he says, a frown crossing his face.

"What about your other toques?"

"I can't find those either."

It was the mystery of the lost toques. Which was odd, considering how neat you kept everything and everything had its place. You were baffled and didn't know where to start looking as there wasn't any other logical place for them to go.

"How's your homework going?" he asks, still rummaging in the closet for his lost toques.

Huffing out a breath, you complain, "Not well. I don't understand how you get it so well. It's harder than it looks. I keep messing up the conjugations. And then the whole female male thing. It's a lot."

He turns around from looking for his toques, to smile at you. "Well, darling, I was a lot younger than you were when I first learned to speak it. You know what they say about learning languages at different ages and also, learning languages isn't for everyone. Maybe it's just not something you have an affinity for. You do have many other talents. Why is this one so important?"

"I've explained this to you. I would like to be able to converse with my husband in the other language he knows. It would be nice to know when you are cursing me." Running a hand over your face, you take a deep breath. "Sorry, that was bitchy. I just expected this to be a lot easier than it is. And it's not. I'm sorry."

Crossing over to you, he tugs you into an embrace. "It's okay. I get it. You just need to ease up on the pressure you are putting on yourself. You are a great student. You will get this. Stop being so hard on yourself. Why don't I start helping you with your homework? Think you can finally accept my help?"

You nod into his chest.

"Okay. I'll start helping you when I get home from work tonight. If I can ever find my bloody toque," he mutters.

You laugh. "Can you wear something else?" you ask him.

"In minus twenty degree weather and it's snowing like crazy out there? I don't think so," he says in frustration.

You both hear a little kid giggle. Glancing at each other, you wonder what your daughter could be up to.

A look crosses Sasha's face. Heading towards his daughter's room, he leans against the door frame, watching his daughter play. She glances over at him and giggles again.

Walking into the room, he crouches down beside her and asks her, "Sweetie, do you know where Daddy's toques went?"

Peeking at him from under her eyelashes, she answers, "No, Daddy, but Monkey does."

Monkey was her stuffed monkey. She had had him since she was a baby. He went everywhere with her. He went on sleepovers, camping trips, shopping trips and car rides. He had even gone a trip to Mexico they had taken last year together as family. The poor stuffie was quite well used, but he was very well loved. He had been restuffed three times over the course of her six-year-old life and washed countless more times.

His lips twitching, he turns his attention to Monkey. His voice dropping an octave, he sternly interrogates Monkey, "Monkey, what have you done with my toques?"

His daughter answers for Monkey in a high pitched squeaky voice, animating him with her hands, "I borrowed them for the tea party I held for my friends. We forgot to return them. I'm sorry. We can give them back now if you want them."

Trying to hold back a grin, he says to Monkey with a stern look on his face, "Yes please. It's cold outside and I need to stay warm. Next time you borrow them, please ask before you take them. And try to remember to return them next time."

"Okay," answers Monkey, giving him a hug.

Sasha hugs the Monkey back, then snags his daughter in for a hug. "I love you, you little rascal," he says, kissing the top of her head, squeezing her close.

Her little arms come around him, squeezing him back. "I am sorry, Daddy. I didn't think you'd miss them that much. I'll ask next time. Love you too."

"I know you will, sweetie. Now which toque should I wear?"