i just want you to be happy

Part I

Floral curtains hung over the double French door openings to the balcony. Corresponding patterns lined the sitting room chairs, and the golden-plated mirror echoed the reflection of flames fluttering up the chimney from a wood-burning fireplace. In one of the chairs sat Maurice, comfortably settling into his seat indentation, formed over years of development. The mirror covered most of the wall, and when Maurice turned, he could see his bald head and horn-rimmed glasses settled above his full, white beard. He grabbed each arm of his chair, and through considerable effort, hoisted himself into a standing position. He wore a grey cardigan with a seasonally festive plaid shirt that smelled like sandalwood. His flannel pajama pants swished between his legs as he made his way towards the kitchen.

Maurice waved to his maid as he entered the kitchen. What time did she get here? He did not think he had let her in, but she sat at his granite island with a dozen pill bottles in front of her, caps laying everywhere. They look like landmines, he thought. The last thing he wanted to do was to disturb her, but she looked oddly familiar to him. Then he thought, of course she looks familiar, she is my maid. She sat at the island, whispering under her breath, placing pills in what must be the perfect corresponding holder. Her orange sweater and khakis reminded him he was hungry. The fridge was just past the island, and before reaching in to grab an orange he saw a note on the door. It said that the lease on his apartment was ending soon, he wondered where he would go. He had been in this Woodhaven apartment for as long as he could remember. On his way back to the sitting room he reached in his pocket and felt a course, sandy marble. He had found it in his garden just the day before. It made him wonder what it would be like to have a son. He had always wanted one.