leaked (l.h.)

47

"Jesus Christ, Petunia!" I chuckle as I bring Luke and I's puppy out from the pouring rain. "You are soaked!"

She runs across the living room floor, leaving a trail of water droplets across the hardwood behind her. She runs in circles, her way of drying herself off, and when she finds herself dry enough she huddles right beside the oven. It's warm there, for she had dragged her doggy bed across the kitchen to rest right in front of the oven. And on cold and rainy days like today I like to pop something in, just so she's warm.

Tip-toeing around her, I gently place the gift bag I had bought Luke earlier this beside the oven, a blue bag. His favorite color.

She keeps me company when Luke isn't home. Which is most of the time, but I've learned to get used to it. I don't mind, because most of the time I'm too distracted to see how incredibly empty my house is without him. Most of the time I'm focused on my eight shows a week on Broadway. And I'm only a month or two away from completing my Fine Arts degree at NYU. Valedictorian, of course.

But today, I took off. Today I tell Luke that I've got more than just a few pastries in the oven.

I smile softly as I lean down in front of Petunia, bringing her blanket up over her sleepy body. But she's snoring already, and when I run my hand over her head I see that she's tired from five or so minutes running after squirrels outside.

Our home is beautiful. Floor-to-ceiling windows, a beautiful view of the city below, not to mention how close it is to the theatre. One bedroom, big enough for just Luke and I. I like to keep it tidy in here, and when it doesn't smell like whatever I'm baking it smells like the flowers Luke brings me whenever he makes his weekly stop home. And as I take a stem from the last bouquet he bought me, I press it between the songbook he and I had written our first song inside of. The songbook that contained the letter that brought me to where I am now.

I still see my therapist once, twice a week. Three times if things are going worse than I wanted them to. But the bad days happen a lot less frequently than they used to. Me, I am more focused on fighting to keep the fire in my eyes alive. I've got a baby who relies on me now. A baby boy who deserves more than a broken heart trying to keep beating. 

As I hear Luke's keys jingle at the door, I close the book quickly. I slide it back on the bookcase in the center of our living room, quickly walking towards the door when I watch the doorknob twist open. Luke's home.

He's grown more than I thought he would. His face grew more muscular, his beard grows in, like, twice a week. He allowed his hair to grow out, and now it's curlier than ever. As he walks through the door, I see that he wears it in a bun on top of his head. He wears a leather jacket, a Guns N Roses t-shirt and some sort of red plaid pants that hang loosely around his thighs. That's one thing that's changed about him - his fashion. He's confident now, much more than he was four years ago. He isn't afraid to be feminine, and I like the way that he and I can sit at the kitchen table and paint our nails together. We match a lot, too. this week's color: gold.

"Well, hi," he beams at me as he brings in an armful of brown paper grocery bags. He sets the paper bags on the kitchen island, tilting his head to the side when I walk over to him. "You're home? Don't you have a show to be getting ready for?"

"Mmm," I shrug, walking over to him as he looks at me up and down. He does this a lot, each time he comes home after a day or two away he acts as if it's the first time he's
laid eyes on me. "I took a night off."

"Aww, that sucks. I was going to surprise you," he chuckles quietly, nodding towards a sleeping Petunia behind me. He knows that I only skip a show on the worst days, or when I'm just too sick to get out of bed. "Is everything okay? Are you feeling okay?"