Late afternoon. I climb the seven stairs from my lower level office to the kitchen, put on an apron, and begin mixing the dough for the calzones we’ll be having for dinner. K is in the living room, which is open to the kitchen, watching the early news.
I don’t say a word.
“How’d it go?” His eyes are glued to the TV.
“Fine.” I add olive oil to the dough in big, gold-green dollops, not bothering to measure.
“You okay?” he asks from the recliner.
“Yup.” Now I’m sprinkling flour on the kneading board.
The television goes off, the chair creaks, and K comes into the room. “What’s the matter?”
He’s concerned because I can be such a chatterbox. Because when I’m upset I get quiet. Because I’m not giving him enough information to know what’s going on.
So I turn to him and shrug. Smile a smile that feels apologetic though I didn’t really mean it to be.
“I used up all my words,” I say.
He relaxes and a grin splits his face. “That’s great. Really great.” And he wraps his arms around me in a big hug.
I stand there with my arms straight out. My hands are covered with flour, so I can’t really respond in kind without leaving big white hand prints on his sweater. He doesn’t care, just gives one last squeeze and goes back to the news.
‘Cuz he gets it. I’ve been writing all day. He doesn’t know the details: emails, an article, an interview, 9 pages of new material for my WIP and almost ten pages of character work and brainstorming for another possible project.
But he doesn’t have to know the details, just that I used up all my words, that I wrote and wrote and that’s really great. Not having to explain more is the best Christmas present he could give me.
Happy Holidays to you all. Thank you for stopping by, for reading the words I spill out here, for your comments and feedback and well wishing. I appreciate each and every one of you.