Mother F*cker in Law

1. how i met your mother

WARNING: This story contains mature themes such as depictions of domestic abuse and coercion that may be upsetting to some readers. Reader discretion is advised.

The opening of the window unlocked a portal to a dimension filled with buzzing life, very contrary to the other side of that window where life seemed inanimate and still.

Their apartment wasn't on a very high floor but sat in the middle of the fourth floor, facing the east with a stationary posture. Every time she opened that window, she saw the same things and heard the same sounds. Yet, each time she opened that window, her eyes and ears strained as hard as they possibly could to be privy to the life unfolding outside the box she seemed to hide inside.

That morning the sun peeked over the shorter building across from the apartment, its golden rays dripping over the building's roof and spilling into the window she looked out of. Warmth casting across her cheeks, she glanced down to the road where traffic was as heavy as ever. It must have been all the stay-at-home moms and relatively leisurely businesspersons on their way to their regular brunches. Or perhaps it was all the people who had stayed up a little too late the night before and had slept through their alarms—horrendously—and were now rushing to their workplaces in feverish hopes that they wouldn't be met with unemployment upon their tardy arrival.

Birds that sat in the sparse trees on the strip of grass that separated the two sides of the one-way roads sang a song to her, their chirps and whistles transmuting into repetitive harmonies and liberated melodies drifting into her eardrums. She wondered if the people walking hurriedly down the sidewalks also could hear the birds' songs or if the cheery animals of flight sang specifically to her. Either way, she smiled as she rubbed remnants of sleep from her eye with the back of her hand. She was always keen to appreciate the recognized lights in her moments of shadowy haze.

The shadowy haze that morning was the sound of a suitcase being zipped open from the other room.

"Is your suitcase packed?" called Keith from the bedroom, his voice edged with a futile zeal to have everything packed hours before they were even supposed to leave.

"No," she called, sighing softly to herself as she closed the window and let the white curtains close in front of it. Stretching her arms in the air, she walked over to the kitchen island where freshly made coffee sat in the coffee maker. Keith's early bird syndrome was good for one thing, at least.

"Babe, we have two hours before we need to leave." His raspy voice emanated from the bedroom straight ahead.

Taking her favorite mug from the cabinet—the white one with the minimalist-style caricature of a fluffy cat drawn on the front—she took the pot of coffee and enjoyed the way it steamed as she carefully poured it into her mug. While pouring, she stole a glance across the living room where their open bedroom door stood straight ahead, eyeing the back of her boyfriend, Keith, as he stood over the bed to fold his socks.

"Socks don't need to be folded, you know," she lilted as she took a hesitant sip of the steaming coffee, quickly curling her lip at its hotness and bitterness. Setting the mug down, she began a hunt throughout the kitchen for her French vanilla creamer.

"Cleanliness is next to godliness." He matched her lilting tone as he meticulously fit his socks into an empty space in his suitcase. "Plus, I'm nervous, and I feel like making things perfect will make things go more smoothly."

"Aha!" she exclaimed as she found her creamer, excitedly pouring it into her coffee before returning to the conversation. "That's not normal, by the way," she said a bit more quietly, knowing he did not pick up on humor very easily. "I'm nervous, too, but you don't see me pulling lint off the edges of my jacket."